Never Can Say Goodbye
If you've got 'im, you get it.
They come home from college. They spread out over every square inch of the house (and if your home is a small New York apartment, this is especially...cozy?) If they happen to be a 6'1" teenaged boy, they eat you out of house and home. This occurs at least six times a day. Chargers grow out of every outlet. The couch and the remote become Winter Break Central. Dirty laundry is a viral affair. And your wallet is a direct conduit to parental communication. Just say "sure!"
So why, after three, starting-to-seem interminable weeks have crept by, would you ever offer to drive your kid back to college in upstate New York – via Maryland, North Carolina, West Virginia, Kentucky, Chicago, Cleveland and 2,500 miles in between!!?
Because you love them to pieces. And even though they're all grown up and on their way to greatness, they're still your kid. Which makes the 79 hours in the car, two college basketball games, seven sacks of burgers, 3 lbs. of Twizzlers, and in-depth analysis of every sport ever played since the first Greek Olympics in 776 B.C., worth every single mile.
I only cried for the first 10 minutes after we said s'long. One day I'll get better at this. Okay. Probably not.
The original incentive was to re-live our minor league baseball road trip from many summers ago.
We drove 576 miles for a pre-game feast. Closed due to a snow "state of emergency" in North Carolina. We soldiered on.
Wheels by Enterprise. Late nights & early mornings by Hampton Inn. Great customer service counts. Pay dirt on both scores!
Somewhere in Kentucky. The back roads are still analog.
Halfway point. Chicago. Benefits of a commuter marriage.
Snack 'em. Nap 'em. And just like that...