"It'd be rad if I was black." - Christene
"In (high school gym class) square dancing, you basically got an A if you smiled and looked like you were having a good time. I was always good at it, because back then I was a naturally sunny person. That was back before life handed me some shitty cards." - Christene again.
:: Random Childhood Memory #58: Vacation Edition ::
Growing up, we used to go on one "family vacation" per summer. Once in awhile we'd mix it up – a big camping adventure or Puerta Vallarta (we went when I was 13) – but for the most part, we rotated between three main spots - Edmonton, to visit my uncle and go to West Edmonton Mall; Southern California, to go to Disneyland; or Northern California via the Oregon Coast, to see the sights and visit family near San Francisco.
While each vacation had its charms, as kids, we obviously like Disneyland the best (I think we went two or three times), because, well, because it's fucking Disneyland, and it's basically part of a kids' DNA to like Mickey, Space Mountain and those giant pickles they used to sell for three dollars. Any person under the age of 13 who doesn't like The Happiest Place on Earth is basically a Nazi. But I digress...
Though Disneyland was the most anticipated trip, my most memorable was a journey we took to San Francisco when I was 9 or 10. Though today I'd kill to spend some time in NorCal, back then I'm not sure my brother and I fully appreciated it. The year before we'd been to Disneyland for the first time, and it was very tough for our tiny little elementary school brains to understand why we'd come alllll the way to California again without going to see the Big Mouse and his friends. Sure, the distance between San Fran and Anaheim is 601 km (I checked) but still – WE'RE ALREADY HERE! C'MON LET'S GO!!!!
As we did in those days, we hopped in the Volkswagen camper van that we had purchased from my grandparents earlier in the year, and set out on our two-week trek. Being that I was 10 and Chris was 7, we were not the most easy-going travellers – especially when those travel days are 8-9 hours long. We would have been completely unbearable if my mom had not planned ahead for this situation.
At the time, both my brother and I collected baseball player stickers. They were great – essentially they were baseball cards that you would peel the back off and stick on the designated team page/rectangle.
Before the trip, my mom purchased an entire box of these Topps Baseball stickers, and every hour or two, when we were getting restless, she would reach into the box and toss a pack or two of these stickers at each of us. We would then be kept occupied for the next five to 10 minutes, as we found places in the book for our new Mark Langston or Hubie Brooks sticker.
It was also during the early parts of this trip that we became acquainted with the rock 'n roll stylings of Steve Miller, the Beach Boys and Bobby McFerrin (my dad purchased a Road Trip Tunes mixtape).
But things went bad around Sacramento.
The temperature was about 40 degrees celsius out (or something close) and the old VW van started to fizzle out. Eventually, it just died by the side of the road. While my dad tried to flag down some help and call a tow truck, the rest of us sat in a nearby air-conditioned McDonald's for hours, drinking orange pop and eating fries. Though the ensuing details have been glossed over by time, the end result was this: Eventually we moved out of our new home at McDonald's and into a local hotel, and the van got a new engine put into it for the low, low cost of $3,000 (USD).
Once that was finished, we carried on with our trip, visited our family and the wonderful city of San Francisco, and also ate an Earthquake Sundae at Ghirardelli Square, much to the disgust of the other diners (They were just jealous).
It was, without question, the most expensive family vacation we ever had. But they say you can't put a price on a memory, and if that is indeed the case, then it was money well spent, because to this day, every time anyone in my family (including extended family) sees a Volkswagen camper van driving down the highway, they say the same thing:
"Uh oh, they're in trouble."
I felt compelled to write this long-winded, mildly amusing (at best) story because less than 48 hours from now, I will embark on another holiday. And although it won't be a family vacation in the sense that my parents aren't coming, I will be going with my brother.
We realized today that we've never been on a vacation together since the old family vacation days. He went with Jenna to Disneyland a couple years back. I went to Cancun a couple Octobers ago, but he did not. Then Jenna and him went to the Mayan Riviera for a wedding that I did not attend, and my previous two trips to Vegas were with mom and/or dad.
So Thursday morning when we embark for our trip to Phoenix (and later, Vegas!) for some Mariners spring training baseball, it was be a first. We're gonna drink some beers in the outfield bleachers, hob-nob with minor-league players destined to spend another year with the mighty Everett Aqua Sox, and heckle opposing teams' outfielders from our seat on the stadium's grass.
And I'm gonna check if they sell baseball stickers, too.
(Hey, it's a five-hour drive from Phoenix to Las Vegas.... gotta stay entertained).
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