Road Trip – Grandson Style


‘Gramma, wanna’ take a little road trip?’ Our eldest grandson (aka #1) texted. I stared at his words wondering why a nineteen-year-old wants his grandmother along on a road trip? But decided since it’s was a nineteen year old mind – don’t question – just go with it.

‘Okay. When? Where? Do I have to pack underwear? And who is driving?

‘Soon as I get to the island. To Campbell River to visit my dad. Refuse to talk underwear with you. In my car.’

‘Your car – the former RCMP vehicle? The sirens and flashing lights aren’t still on it are they?’

‘No lights. No sirens. Don’t need them. Everyone thinks it’s a ghost car and they get out of the way pretty quick.’

Maybe the light bulb should have clicked on at that point, but it didn’t. Hell, it didn’t even flash when I was discussing the text with Man-Wonder. . . (who never gets invited on road trips because he is a vomiter; A real quick-to-get-car-sick kind of vomiter unless he’s driving)

Road-trip day arrives and all is well for the first five minutes; until #1 hits the parkway and proceeds to put the pedal to the metal as they say. I suggested (numerous times) he should slow down and do the speed limit. The posted speed is merely a suggestion I am told. My immediate thought right then was – how many drivers say that just before they crash?

The one thing he was right about – other drivers were quick to pull into the slow lane, out of our way, causing #1 to feel like he owned the fast lane. I kept telling myself to focus  on the scene once we arrived at his dad’s place; without a doubt Mr. Mach 1 and his father would be outside, knee-deep in car parts and happier than pigs in muck while I would be inside, enjoying a calming cuppa with my daughter-in-law.

But once again life had other plans! Daughter-in-law wasn’t able to be there but our middle grandson (aka #2) was. And even though I did enjoy (mostly) their male version of a tea party, it wasn’t quite as relaxing as hoped.

Neither was the ride home.

You see, #2 caught a ride with us, which meant #1 chose to drive to impress his younger brother rather than his grandmother and managed to ignore all fear-based, well-meaning advice being ripped from the lips of dear old gramma (and I need to note here – I almost did need that change of underwear mentioned at the start).

I was never so glad to arrive back home to my dear Man-Wonder with his calm, quiet, no-need-to-flash-my-testosterone attitude. I spent that evening doused in rose hydrosol, sipping on a way-too-tall shot Tennessee Fire and ignoring the occasional giggle from Man-Wonder’s recliner.


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