"Hey, if we drive forty-five miles south we can see some of the actual wagon ruts on the Santa Fe Trail," the dark-haired man cried excitedly. "Won’t that be interesting?"
"Ken! We’ve already been in this car for nine hours today!" the woman in the front passenger seat replied in horror. "The kids are tired. I’m tired. Besides, once we got there it would already be dark and we wouldn’t be able to see anything anyway!"
"But honey…" the man behind the wheel began. "We’ve never been to this part of the country and may never get by here again…"
He didn’t make the turn though, and they kept speeding west on the Interstate toward Southern California and Disneyland, leaving the wagon ruts for some other tourists to see.
"When are we gonna get to the motel?" a ten year old boy called from the back seat of the white Dodge. "You promised we could swim tonight!"
"Get over on your own side!" the blonde teenage girl sharing the space with him said from behind her book. "Your leg’s on my magazines!"
"I AM on my side!" the boy protested. He pointed to a piece of red labeling tape stuck to the back of the front seat. "See! THAT’S the middle! YOUR magazines are on my side!"
"Mom!" the girl protested as the boy unceremoniously shoved the stack of movie magazines onto the floor in front of her.
"Mom!" the boy yelped as his sister punched his arm.
"You two cut it out!" their father said with irritation. "Why can’t you just enjoy your surroundings and being together? A lot of families never get to do anything like this."
"Lucky them!" the girl declared as she settled back into the corner made by the seat and the door and opened her book once more.
"You’ll feel differently one day," her mother gently cautioned, "and you’ll miss these family vacations."
"Oh yeah, they’re SO much fun!" the teenager replied, lowering her novel once more. "I wonder what I’ll miss most—sitting in this back seat for HOURS every day, only stopping to see another boring historic landmark, but NEVER getting to go into a souvenir stand… eating cereal with warm milk for breakfast in some motel room that looks just like all the others… then bologna sandwiches from the cooler in the car, or at some ‘scenic’ picnic spot on the side of the road—the wind blowing and maybe even bees or wasps or something… sharing a bed with my little brother…? I wish I could’ve stayed home!"
"But you’re seeing America! Look around you!" her father exclaimed, taking one hand off the steering wheel and gesturing out the window. "Isn’t this beautiful?"
The girl lowered her book once again to look at the landscape whizzing by. "It looks pretty much like Kansas to me, and I could’ve seen that on a day trip from home."
The man behind the wheel sighed, but grinned just after. ‘Ah, family,’ he thought.