Abstract: The Middle of the Trip
As a child, my family took long road trips to western Pennsylvania every summer.
We’d visit grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins.
The drive began early in the morning, before the sun was bright.
And from our neighborhood we eventually found the highway north,
It led us into North Carolina, past the sparkling skyscrapers of the Queen City,
And up the southern slopes of the Appalachian Mountains.
The first part of the trip was full of excitement and plenty of interesting distractions.
But as the morning began to fade, the excitement died.
The sun worked across the sky above as we turned onto route 19,
churning through the endless green mountains of West Virginia,
with more driving still ahead than behind.
For my part, I’d encouraged my poor mother,”we’re lost, we need dad.”
We were not lost.
I was lost, because I hated the waiting and the confines of the car.
As an adult, I grew to love those old mountains and appreciate their beauty.
And what a gift it was- to sit in the back of our silver station wagon and look out on such majesty.
What I wouldn’t give to be driven across America with people I love.
The journey is half the trip.
I’m still learning to enjoy it,
especially the middle part,
when the excitement of the start is gone,
and the finish seems five hundred miles away.
