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You Can’t Get There From Here
My fiancé and I had crammed two households, a child, two dogs, and an old, battered truck into one enormous U-Haul as we set off for an unknown destination. At least, it was unknown to us.
We were relocating from North Carolina to Arkansas, chasing a new job and a fresh start, far away from the chaos of our past lives. It was late April, and I could hardly wait for my parents to come visit once summer vacation hit.
As we cruised down I-40, I took meticulous notes, jotting down where the road was under construction and advising them to take the bypass instead of driving through certain towns. When we reached Hot Springs, I recorded every single turn they needed to make, the distances between each road, and what to do once they got to the end of our street. (The answer? Stop.)
I mailed them the notes, underlining crucial parts and even suggesting tasty places to eat along the way. I included a map (because you definitely couldn’t find one in North Carolina, right?), highlighting their route and adding notes in the margins with big arrows directing their attention to specific spots. Calling was out of the question since long-distance rates would have made that a costly endeavor.
This was back in the days before GPS, cell phones, and social media. The Internet didn’t exist as we know it, and phone booths were a common sight at gas stations. When you traveled, you relied on good old-fashioned maps and memories, accepting that you might get lost at least once but hoping you’d eventually find your way. There were no notifications about “estimated time of arrival” or “miles to destination” and no voice telling you “right turn ahead in two miles.”
It’s worth mentioning that my parents were seasoned travelers, having explored much of the United States before and after I was born. They had a wanderlust that stirred in their hearts every few years. I remember sitting in the back of a camper during a six-week journey across the country, peering through a hole cut into the front of the pickup truck. It was an adventure filled with nights spent in grocery store parking lots, roadside rest areas, and picnic lunches with watermelon. We took in sights like the Grand Canyon and the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, with stops for pictures at every state line. It was undoubtedly the most adventurous time of my childhood.
When my parents received my meticulously crafted map, notes, and travel suggestions (let’s be honest, it was more like an “absolute must-stop here!”), they didn’t call to tease me. They didn’t pick up the phone (long-distance rates were no joke) and say, “Dear, we’ve driven across the country so many times, we’ve lost track of the states, so we’re pretty sure we can make it from North Carolina to Arkansas.” Instead, they sent a quick note back saying, “Thanks, we’ll see you in two weeks.”
When they finally rolled into my driveway, all I could think was, “Wow, I really nailed those directions!”
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