Post Cards From The Edge

I'm about to become an eight year old again. No....sadly to say, I have not found the fountain of youth. It's a road trip! My brother and my parents and I are about to get in the family truckster and take a road trip. Pedal to the metal in the Oldsmobile - going to the low country to see my brother hitched. That's right. The boy is getting married.

Of course, I am excited about the wedding but, I am also excited about the road trip. It's going to be like my brother and I are little kids again. I'm going to punch him a lot and scream, "Mom! Andy hit me!" just to get him in trouble. I'm going to eat Cheeto's cheese puffs and wipe my orange powder fingers on the back of the bench seat. I am going to regain the bladder of a child and ask to stop every 30 miles adding 10 minutes more to the trip with each stop as my parents try to rope me back in to the confines of the car when the fresh grass feels like home in every town.

It is going to be surreal. I haven't taken a trip with my family in almost 20 years. I wish we still had that custom-by-my-parents 1970's van with the carpeted walls and the tinted windows. I wish we were going to listen to 8-track tapes and stop for fresh sprays of Solarcaine and lunches of deviled ham and mayo sandwiches on soft Sunbeam bread. I want to smell the Hawaiian Tropic and cheap vinyl floats and sleep that little kid, back seat sleep that only lulls deeper with each bump and dip in the road.

But, I'm off to see what the new version is like. I'll probably come back covered in brother-induced bruises and sunburned shoulders; with sacks of cheap souvenir trinkets just like I used to. I wouldn't expect any less.

Fire up the time machine. I'm going to get myself a sister-in-law, more Hardee's food than one person should consume and some good quality time with my family.