We grew up 8 miles outside of a town of about 1500 people. We credit any worldliness or interest in cultures and places unfamiliar to us to our annual family vacation, subscriptions to National Geographic, and our parents’ interest in Sunday Morning and PBS. God bless our parents for helping us see a world beyond “our world”.
That said, each year we loaded up in the family vehicle for points known–carefully planned for months. We couldn’t sleep the night before “bacation” as Janie called it. Long before car seats, cutesy snack packs, and in-car entertainment systems, it was just the two of us in the back seat of our parents unairconditioned maroon Reliant K, with time to burn. My mom and dad often became frustrated with us, as we repeated this sequence over and over again instead of “looking out the window”–one round of tickling, followed by sweaty fighting that became too rough, followed by my dad ordering us to separate sides of the 4.5 foot long vinyl back seat.
Somewhere between rest stops in New England, on our way to Nova Scotia, Leslie discovered that Janie’s socks made a whooshing sound as they were sucked out the back ventiliaton window of the car (we weren’t allowed to roll down the back windows!). This became a real game–everytime mom and dad told us to take note of a “Welcome to ‘X’ state” sign, we christened the moment with one of Janie’s white or pastel bobby socks.
It wasn’t until years later that we told our parents why Janie never had socks on our trips, and certainly none that matched. Ahh the places we’ve been . . . Maine, Nova Scotia, Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Kansas, Nebraska, Missouri, Wyoming, Iowa, Colorado, Maryland, Delaware, North and South Carolina, Georgia, and Florida should have a flapping bobby sock somewhere along a major highway thanks to us.
