Here we were again, set off to the annual Sanders family Christmas. There I was crammed in the front seat between mom and dad. That certainly sucked, but it was far better than Julia’s place – in the back between Uncle Everett and Aunt Carol. Uncle Everett had a serious problem with spitting as he talked. Plus, he couldn’t hear anything, yet insisted on still carrying on conversations. So, instead of us talking louder, he would talk louder and always in your face. Great aim for spitting right on you. His breath always reeked of the long black cigarettes he hung from his lips any chance he got and menthol dip – his method of covering up the cigarette smell. Aunt Carol was mom’s oldest sister – there were five total and one brother. Aunt Carol talked too much and didn’t care whether you wanted to hear it or not. She had no problem telling you what you looked like or what you were doing wrong or even telling you how you should do something different. As if that weren’t bad enough for a 5 hour car ride, she farts, a lot. She always said she had a spastic colon. I think it was just the steady diet of pork rinds, fat back, beans, and ruffage.
Not even 30 minutes into the trip, mom did her annual job of making everyone happy. She didn’t realize, and was too sweet of a soul for anyone to tell her different, that it really just made the misery drag on longer. As she began the first round of “Jingle Bells,” I got to hear my favorite part of the trip - all of dad’s forbidden four letter words under his breath. He had been griping about this annual affair since Thanksgiving, but every time a four letter word would come up, Mom would start quoting the Bible and all the reasons why we must celebrate this holiday as we do.
When we were finally half way, dad pulled over to get gas, check the oil, and all the other things he insists on doing. We all truly knew that was his idea of taking his time getting there, but since Julia and I enjoyed a break from the foul smells, flying spit, and Christmas carols, we didn’t complain a bit. We also really liked the place where Dad always stopped. It was off to the side of the Blue Ridge Parkway and the views were breathtaking. It was a great place for us to run around, stretch our legs, and breathe in as much fresh air as we could muster.
Mom brought out the picnic basket and we dug in to bologna sandwiches, canned dill pickles from last summer’s cucumbers, lemonade from big Mason jars, and homemade chocolate chip cookies. Aunt Carol started her typical complaining about the menu – while the rest of us knew that as soon as we would get back in the car, we’d have to pull over at the next rest area for her colon cleansing. After much pleading from mom, dad finally quit tinkering with the car and joined us for lunch. This small meal was just a sampling of what was yet to come when all the cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents, and even neighbors from down the street would get together on Christmas Day.
After lunch, we piled back into the car, all of us wishing inside that we were already there and not just halfway. Even mom truly can’t stand this, but she’ll end up dying with that secret. Last of all of us to get in was Dad. He put the key in the ignition and turned, but all that happened was a grumble and a growl from somewhere under the hood. I dared not turn my head to look at him, but I didn’t need to. I could sense the look on his face. It was somewhere between a hidden happiness at the thought of taking longer to get there and sheer hatred at the car for not being perfect.
Dad jumped out of the car, telling all of us that this would only take a minute. Uncle Everett was two steps behind him, mumbling something about Dad not knowing what he was doing and what an idiot he was. Julia and I stayed in the car, looking at mom for encouragement. She just sat there, like she’d just seen a ghost, unbelieving the situation.
From inside the car, we could hear Dad and Uncle Everett. We could also hear that they were both clueless, both blaming one another for not knowing how to fix the unknown problem, both probably secretly enjoying this drama. Some truck drivers saw the two men and the old Chevy and came over to offer their assistance. That’s when I knew, this was going to be no ordinary Christmas vacation.
Not even 30 minutes into the trip, mom did her annual job of making everyone happy. She didn’t realize, and was too sweet of a soul for anyone to tell her different, that it really just made the misery drag on longer. As she began the first round of “Jingle Bells,” I got to hear my favorite part of the trip - all of dad’s forbidden four letter words under his breath. He had been griping about this annual affair since Thanksgiving, but every time a four letter word would come up, Mom would start quoting the Bible and all the reasons why we must celebrate this holiday as we do.
When we were finally half way, dad pulled over to get gas, check the oil, and all the other things he insists on doing. We all truly knew that was his idea of taking his time getting there, but since Julia and I enjoyed a break from the foul smells, flying spit, and Christmas carols, we didn’t complain a bit. We also really liked the place where Dad always stopped. It was off to the side of the Blue Ridge Parkway and the views were breathtaking. It was a great place for us to run around, stretch our legs, and breathe in as much fresh air as we could muster.
Mom brought out the picnic basket and we dug in to bologna sandwiches, canned dill pickles from last summer’s cucumbers, lemonade from big Mason jars, and homemade chocolate chip cookies. Aunt Carol started her typical complaining about the menu – while the rest of us knew that as soon as we would get back in the car, we’d have to pull over at the next rest area for her colon cleansing. After much pleading from mom, dad finally quit tinkering with the car and joined us for lunch. This small meal was just a sampling of what was yet to come when all the cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents, and even neighbors from down the street would get together on Christmas Day.
After lunch, we piled back into the car, all of us wishing inside that we were already there and not just halfway. Even mom truly can’t stand this, but she’ll end up dying with that secret. Last of all of us to get in was Dad. He put the key in the ignition and turned, but all that happened was a grumble and a growl from somewhere under the hood. I dared not turn my head to look at him, but I didn’t need to. I could sense the look on his face. It was somewhere between a hidden happiness at the thought of taking longer to get there and sheer hatred at the car for not being perfect.
Dad jumped out of the car, telling all of us that this would only take a minute. Uncle Everett was two steps behind him, mumbling something about Dad not knowing what he was doing and what an idiot he was. Julia and I stayed in the car, looking at mom for encouragement. She just sat there, like she’d just seen a ghost, unbelieving the situation.
From inside the car, we could hear Dad and Uncle Everett. We could also hear that they were both clueless, both blaming one another for not knowing how to fix the unknown problem, both probably secretly enjoying this drama. Some truck drivers saw the two men and the old Chevy and came over to offer their assistance. That’s when I knew, this was going to be no ordinary Christmas vacation.
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