Stories

Head Out on the Highway!

Like most Americans, my wife Kathy and I have a fascination for the open road. We have recorded many memories as we’ve sped along mile marker after mile marker.

When I was a teen, I drove a Plymouth Scamp. I purchased seat covers at the discount store to hide the used car’s holes in the front bench seat. The steering wheel was covered in faux leather, and an eight-track tape player was mounted below the dashboard. It was cool to a seventeen-year-old boy in the late seventies.

Kathy and I began going out in our junior year of high school. I worked weekends to have enough money for dates. I planned the dates, reporting to Kathy’s mom and dad a complete itinerary.

I always opened the car door for Kathy. By the time I walked to the driver’s side and sat down, she had scooted to the middle of the seat.

Our dates mostly were trips to the pizzeria or hamburger joint. Sometimes we would see the latest blockbuster at the MacArthur Village Theatre off Jackson Street.

But wherever we were going, I always built in enough time to make the trip last as long as possible. I enjoyed having Kathy sit close to me. I liked her company.

A few years later, the Chevy Monza speeds away from our wedding reception at the Communi-cations Workers Union Hall. Kathy’s father prepared food for two days, hosting family and friends from both sides.

We chose to honeymoon close enough so we could drive. Only a few hours away, I pull onto the grounds of Toro Hills Resort near Toledo Bend Lake. The next day we drive to Houston, and then, later in the week, we end our trip in Galveston.

The miles that separated us from our families affirmed the beginning of our life together. And although we would return, we never looked back.

Nine months later, Kathy calls to say it was “time!”

We were both students. I worked at a locally-owned retail store on the weekends. I left a note on the door for the owner, locked the door, and hurried to our apartment.

Bursting in, I frantically discover a very calm Kathy brushing her hair in front of the mirror.

“Hurry!” I urge. “We are still thirty minutes from the hospital.”

“We’ll be okay,” she affirms with her sweetest smile.

Traffic was horrible. I must have hit every stop light. Nevertheless, my memory of Kathy and her control as contractions came closer and closer made the trip one of the most memorable of my life.

I check the car seat straps one more time before we sit our newborn son in the car for his first ride with us. We added a wonderful new life to our journey – three more join us in the coming years.

Some trips are less happy.

Kathy and I speed away in the family van. Our daughter Amie has been in an accident. It is a short drive, but it seems to last forever. We ride in silence.

Kathy and I hold each other’s hand as we follow the ambulance’s path. The attending doctor assures us Amie is okay. Our return trip home is filled with offerings of thanksgiving and tears of gratitude.

Recently, nineteen-year-old Jenny spent the weekend at home. The Carolina freshman returns home about every two weeks. After this last visit, it will be a long three weeks before she returns once again to sleep in her own bed.

“I love you guys,” Jenny says as she gives hugs and pecks on our cheeks.

Kathy and I pull away from her dorm’s parking lot. It is always the hardest part of this trip.

We are all heading somewhere. Most often, our focus is on the destination. But it has been said that the joy is not in reaching the destination; it is found in the journey.

I would agree.

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