Road Trip

With 318 miles in front of us, I check to see that the suitcases are loaded in the back and all seatbelts are clicked securely in place. Everything we physically need to accompany us is intact. The mental faculties are the ones in question.

Screams immediately fill the vehicle, even before the car pulls out onto the asphalt. Little can be done to soothe them, aside from an abrupt end to the journey altogether.

The young one’s angst is understandable – only four months into the world and instead of the freedom to explore the abundance around her, she’s shackled in an uncomfortable, unforgiving car seat; forced to watch the magic pass her by at 70 mph.

Comfort sets in for the rest of us as we hold firm to the knowledge that soon she’ll fall asleep. The hum of the highway will turn her current despair into quiet slumber.

Reports of unfavorable weather filter in from the radio airwaves. Soon our trip will likely be met by high winds, rain and even hail. We could delay the drive by an hour and avoid the treacherous weather. With evening rush-hour traffic starting to thin out, however, the risk of inclement weather feels like one worth taking. A shared glance with my wife is not necessary to know we would both prefer to drive through the storm and complete the trip sooner rather than later.

Miles tick by and tension begins to mount as the screaming persists longer than anticipated. By occupying the passenger seat, the role of quieting the baby falls to me. Either by giving her a pacifier, gently rubbing her head, singing her to sleep… something must be done. The family is depending on me. As the father and the husband, it’s my duty to restore calm and order to the chaos that ensnares us. This is my role. I cannot fail. I mustn’t.

But I do.

From the back, the elder child makes a request for some driving music. Eager to not enflame any other passions, I quickly grant the request. We are soon serenaded by the chorus sounds of “E-I-E-I-O!” It means nothing to the baby, but typically keeps our two-year-old son gleefully occupied, even if it’s just for the short term.

However, his younger sister’s cries make his favorite songs less enjoyable, so he joins me in the task of trying to calm her down. Being a small child, his simpler, more direct plan involves looking at her and yelling, “Stop crying!”

A genius plan, and yet… it too fails.

Soon the noise level inside the car is matched by the noise level outside the car. Rain begins to pound the windshield. If nothing else, it distracts my son from his sister’s screams, as his pleas of “Stop crying,” turn to shouts of “Rain!” Oddly enough, it’s a welcome change.

Peace is momentarily restored inside the car as the little one finds happiness in a padded baby book. Its mere presence dries her tears. Controversy stirs, though, as the sight of the book in the arms of the infant sets off a primal, territorial reaction from the first born. He wants it. What is she doing with it?

Attempts to appease my son with the other 30+ books we brought for him come up short. Apparently there is some magic contained in the padded book that is unequaled by any other piece of children’s literature.

I find myself wanting the book; to be swept away by its powers of escapism.

The car is in danger of getting swept away, not by the reading material, but by the increasing wind and rain. The unexamined option of postponing the trip now seems like one worth exploring. No matter, though. Should we find ourselves in peril, we can always cling to everyone’s favorite padded book as it calmly floats us down the river to safety. The kids clearly believe in its capabilities.

Besides, the storm pales in comparison to the threat of hearing damage we’re all suffering from due to the internal - rather than external - factors.

An eternity passes. The sun begins to set and the rain finally lets up. Soon we will arrive at our destination. I gaze out the window at the sign by the highway to see just how close we are.

Only 298 miles to go.