Why We Never Went Overseas

And now I will thrill you with a list of major U.S. cities I have been lost in the ghetto of because of my father's natural directional ability:

• New Orleans
• Jackson
• Mobile
• Montgomery
• Birmingham
• Nashville
• Memphis
• Little Rock
• And, saving the best/most scary for last, Atlanta.

On any given family vacation during my childhood, there was always a moment – a point of no return – where things would take a turn, a very serious turn. And that turn would always lead us into the poorest, most degenerated part of a major city. The result of which would be my mother screaming for us to all lock the doors, sit down in the seats and not make eye contact with street thugs, beggers or would-be gangsters. My father, always the driver in these situations, would then speed toward (what he guessed) was the nearest major Interstate with a blatant disregard for speed limits and stop signs.

By the time we made it to our destination, we could always be assured we had already been through an adventure. Griswald style. And if by some fluke we actually missed our tour of the inner city, inevitably there would some crisis of equal – or possibly greater – magnitude. In Knoxville, for example, the car-top luggage carrier blew off the roof our station wagon, spilling our soiled laundry and sleeping bags across three lanes of roaring traffic. Somehow, my mother and father were able to gather most of our belonging and resecure the box atop the car. (Proof that Duck tape can fix anything.)

For 25 years I have been convinced that no one could come close to the antics of MY family. We are legendary. However, last night I was schooled. By my father-in-law. As we returned home from our weekly trip to the seafood restaurant, somehow we got onto the subject of vacationing. And for the next hour, Grumpy described the two trips he took my husband and sister-in-law on with his wife, Grummy.

The Aggie was eight and his sister five and my in-laws decided that an educational vacation through picturesque Germany would be a magnificent idea. So off they went, renting an RV and hauling down the Autobahn at 50 miles an hour.

Did I mention that this was in the height of the Cold War? 1983-ish? This is actually important, because the Aggie’s daddy is as directionally challenged as my daddy.

It’s just my daddy doesn’t take us behind the Iron Curtain.

During this excursion to Germany—WEST Germany—Grumpy got lost. He got off on a backroad, not too different from what you’d see in Franklin County. This was certainly not the wide, well-paved Autobahn. In fact, they weren’t sure what it was, or where it was.

Then, they came out of the forest and saw a very large chalet in front of them, with a large flagpole in front. The flag flying on it was not a German flag; it was red, white and blue.

But not American. Or Dutch, or French for that matter.

It was the flag of Czechoslovakia. Problem.

For those of you who don’t know, Czechoslovakia at that time was under Soviet domination. Grumpy had driven the family into the Communist Bloc!

The Aggie was the first to recognize the problem and saying astutely, “We’re in trouble.” Grumpy agreed and, not wanting to remake “Stripes”, hauled ass back down the road (at 35 miles an hour).

Once he got done telling that story, he got quiet. The Aggie said, “Well, what about the other one?”

“Oh yeah. East Germany.”

EAST GERMANY? ARE YOU KIDDING?

The very NEXT summer, the family went back to Europe—this time, with Mom-Mom and Grandma Duck in tow (ask the Aggie, I don’t know who named them). A little background—Mom-Mom is Grummy’s mom; Grandma Duck was Gumpy’s. Mom-Mom is liberal. Nobody else is (or was).

Once again, Grumpy gets lost. This time, he ignores the barbed wire along the side of the road (the wrong side, the Aggie points out) and the wrong flag (as the Aggie pointed out, it had some drawy thing in the middle, which means East Germany).

He started paying attention when three guards in green uniforms with AK-47’s started over to greet them. He hauled ass in the other direction, must faster than the year before.

Mom-Mom, the whole time, was blaming Ronald Reagan for the inconvenience. She stopped when she was told that if she said another word, she’d be left in Commieland.

So there you go, Daddy, you’re off the hook—the guys who chased our car only looked like they’d be carrying AK-47’s.