My dad was turning 60, and I was going to miss his birthday. My fiancee was stationed at Ft. Hood, Texas, and I had recently moved there from Louisville, Kentucky where my parents still lived. Even though it was President's Day weekend, it was too far to drive for a long weekend, and I didn't have the money to fly home. Kirk and I had written and illustrated a book for Dad's big 6-0, an allegory about all the life lessons I'd learned from gardening with my dad each summer, and I longed to be there when he opened it.
I was moping around the house when Kirk came home from work He could tell I was sad. "Let's go out to eat," he said, trying to cheer me up.
"What's the matter?" he asked over dinner. "Homesick?"
I had missed my first Christmas, and now I was going to miss my dad's birthday party with the whole family. My aunt was even flying in from Boston. "Yeah," I replied dejectedly, 'I just want to go home for Dad's party."
He was quiet for a minute and then said, "Well, then let's go! We can surprise him for his birthday!"
"We can't drive to Kentucky for the weekend!" I protested.
"Why not?" he asked. "If we leave right now and drive all night, we can be there tomorrow afternoon. Imagine your mom's face when she sees us!"
I couldn't believe he was serious. Drive to Kentucky overnight? We'd get there on Saturday afternoon and then have leave right after the party on Sunday afternoon in order to get home in time to work on Tuesday morning. I tried to reason with him that it couldn't be done.
"Why not?" my very persuasive fiancee asked again. "It'll be fun!"
Thirty minutes later, we were pulling onto Hwy 190E on our way to Louisville.
The miles ticked by. We passed through Waco, Dallas, Texarkana, plotting our route on the AAA map my dad had given me when I moved to Texas a year earlier. I-35 turned into I-30 and then I-40. We sang along with our favorite music, happy to have a CD player in our new Beretta. They Might Be Giants and Crowded House became our goto travel music from that trip on. We drank cups and cups of bad convenience store coffee and ate a bag or two of sunflower seeds to stay awake. I tried to sleep when Kirk was driving, but I was half afraid he'd fall asleep at the wheel, so I didn't rest well. He could sleep standing up in a bowling alley, so he was out as soon as I took over. We stopped in a rest area at some point in the wee hours and took a cat nap, even though we knew it wasn't really a safe thing to do.
The sun was rising as we closed in on Memphis. I remember the rays shining from behind the buildings and thinking, "I'm going to be home today!" We stopped at a Waffle House for pancakes and fresh coffee then continued on our way. When we crossed the Kentucky state line, my heart soared, but those final 150 miles lasted as long as the first 800.
We wanted to make sure my parents were home when we pulled in, so we stopped first at our neighbor's house a street over to use their phone.
"Hey, Mom," I said trying to add to the coming surprise, "Kirk and I are heading to an early dinner and then a movie this afternoon. I wish we could be there tomorrow, but I'll call during the party, okay?"
"We'll miss you, but of course we understand," she replied. "Have fun at the movies!"
I don't know if it was all the coffee I'd consumed the last 16 hours or if I was just that excited, but my stomach was in knots as we drove the two blocks to their house and knocked on the back door.
Mom's face when she opened the door was one of shock and confusion as if she couldn't get her brain around what she was seeing.
"Well, Sharron," she exclaimed, "I just talked to you! You said you were going to the movies!"
Then it dawned on her that we were really there, standing on her patio grinning from ear to ear, and she flew down the back steps and swept us up in a crushing hug.
The next 24 hours are mostly a blur, and I'm glad I have photographs to remind me of it. I took a nap before dinner and slept longer the next day than I'd wanted. I got to be there when Dad opened his book and watched him wipe a tear or two as I read it aloud to him.
We had dinner, sang "Happy Birthday," ate some cake and ice cream and headed on our way.
The drive home wasn't quite as fun as the drive there. We were starting out tired, leaving again at night, but this time in a pouring rain. I cried for awhile and then dozed off, asleep when we crossed into Tennessee. Sometime after midnight, somewhere in Arkansas, we just couldn't stay awake any longer. We pulled into a motel in a town whose name I don't remember and fell into bed. Exhaustion and sadness bringing blissful, dreamless sleep.
Late Monday afternoon, we pulled into our driveway, and I called home to let my parents know we had made it back safely to Killeen.
"I can't believe you drove all that way! You shouldn't have! It was too far," my mom said. "But I'm so glad we got to see you!"
I couldn't believe it either. We had driven to Louisville and back in just under 72 hours, spending more time on the road than we did with my parents, but I was so glad we had done it and had been there for my dad's big day.
I'm the same age now as my mom was on that February Saturday 29 years ago and just a few years younger than my dad, and they've been gone many years now. With age and time, I realize it was too far, and we probably should not have done it. No cell phones...No GPS...Driving all night...Returning already tired...But I'm so glad we did. I'm glad I listened to Kirk, threw caution to the wind, and hit the road.
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