My brother, Ronnie and I in 79′ at picnic area in Iowa.

It was the summer of 1979 at a roadside stop in Iowa.  The day my hatred for all things watermelon began.  I ate WAY too much of it; haven’t been able to stand it since.  Something about the gluttony and the heat mixed together and let’s just say I had to empty my stomach of all of it before we could resume our trip.

The rest of that trip was a good one though; it was my mom, dad, brother, sister and I.  I don’t remember what our vehicle was at the time, but I’m sure the three of us kids were sliding around in the back seat without the restraint of seat belts.  One of us would make a loud slap noise on our own leg and then yell, “Mom, so and so hit me”; so and so was whoever we felt like getting into trouble.

I remember that quite often I got to ride in the front because I got carsick.  This wasn’t one of my sneaky little games either although my brother and sister always thought it was.  Mom and Dad would usually attempt to make me sit in the backseat, but after enough pleas to, “pull over, I think I’m going to puke!” I would soon find myself comfortably lodged right between them up front nearer the air conditioner.  Okay, I admit, I wasn’t always really sick, but most of the time I was.

This was especially necessary in the summer when it was hot or if we traveled mountainous or curvy terrain.  I went on a trip once with my grandparents and aunt and uncle and threw up in the Catskills.  I told people about that for months.  To this day, when someone mentions the Catskill Mountains, it’s always the first thing I think of.

After my move to the front seat, Dad would cajole me into singing along with whatever country song was on the radio or 8 track tape.  One of his favorites for me to sing was Jessie Colter’s, “I’m not Lisa”, or Crystal Gayle’s “Don’t it make my brown eyes blue”.  With my eyes being brown and my name being Lisa, this was always funny to me.

I loved traveling as a child and still do.  Some things about it haven’t changed.  There is something about heading out in the morning with coffee in hand, watching the sunrise as you countdown the miles to your destination.  Then there is the quality family time spent in the car together, arguing over the radio and temperature.  What about trying to get dad/hubby to stop for potty breaks and having him wait so long and pass so many possibilities that finally the only choice you have left is a nasty truck stop with no toilet paper or the other even less favorite option, the side of the road.

All in all, traveling with my family throughout the years holds more pleasant memories than bad ones.  Besides, looking back now, even the bad ones don’t seem so bad anymore.  I think it’s because we were together.