Summer holidays of today bear little resemblance to the summer holidays of years gone by.
Because my Dad ran a gasoline business and spring, summer and fall were his busy times, our summer holiday period for travelling time was restricted to a day or two when someone could be found to supervise gas deliveries.
Vacations of those years were usually spent in the company of relatives or long-time family friends. I do not recall if we were invited, phoned ahead or just dropped in. I only recall one time when we were not invited to pull up a chair at the table even though we knew there was a turkey cooking in the oven.
Despite the cold shoulder from the aunt and uncle, we did not starve. Mom always had a sandwich or snack in the cooler in the car — just in case.
I was almost an only child because of the age difference to my siblings, I was a bit timid around some of my cousins. At another aunt’s home, we were made welcome and we stayed overnight. To my consternation, I didn’t want to use the bathroom on my own because the door didn’t go to the top nor the bottom of the frame.
I believed that the boys in the house would either be looking over the top or underneath while I was in there doing my business. So Mom tagged along with me and stood watch against Peeping Boy Cousins. I’m sure they would have laughed and made fun of me if they had suspected my fears.
I can still imagine the older boy claiming: “Nothing to see there.”
The longest holiday I ever recall was a trip to return my Great-great-aunt Jennie to her mountain-side home in Idaho, a spot I’d only heard of. She kindly sent interesting Christmas gifts for a youngster she had never met.
Her letters were long and a challenge to decipher in her tiny, spidery handwriting.
For the most part of my childhood vacations were made up of several day trips, or maybe an overnighter. I found myself envious of my classmates who told glorious stories of amazing adventures on trips with their families. One friend’s family always went to Candle Lake to a family cabin. On one hand, I wished I had been invited along, but on the other, if there was a lake that meant there was water and even then I had an unhappy relationship with large bodies of wetness.
After my parents retired, they hit the road and travelled and saw the sights and spent weeks and weeks away from home. They always returned with happy stories about enjoyable visits with friends and family.
I wonder if they had such good times because they didn’t have a kid in the backseat, reading a book and ignoring the scenery. Or complaining about having to eat homemade sandwiches instead of fast-food hamburgers.
The sight of a top-over camper on the back of a three-quarter ton truck on a city street the other day brought back memories of the camper the parents took on many of their excursions, the latest one being larger and more elaborate than what they owned when I was still at home.
Imagine their expressions if they could see today’s recreational vehicles going down the road, taking along everything including the kitchen sink, indoor bathroom facilities, microwaves and televisions.
Mom could have cooked her own turkey and she certainly would have invited the unfriendly relatives to pull up a picnic table.
Joyce Walter can be reached at [email protected]
