Funny Guy Friday... I just want to get there...

    In spite of my family's failure to understand the meaning of doing nothing... we had a great vacation. Unfortunately, it came to an end on Saturday as we made the trek home from North Myrtle Beach. As we traveled, it became very clear to me that Cheryl and I have had very different family vacation experiences.
    This was never more evident than when Cheryl excitedly suggested that we stop at the North Carolina rest stop because... North Carolina has great rest stops and this is going to be a good one! 
    What? A rest stop is a place to take a pee when you don't need to get gas! If you do need gas, you go to a nice North Carolina gas station and bypass all rest stops! 
    That is not true... when we were kids, we stopped at every rest stop along the way. We would get peanuts in Georgia and fresh-squeezed orange juice in Florida. We loved stopping.   
    We don't stop... for anything... except gas and bathroom breaks! And when we do stop, it is a one-stop shop... Preferably, there's a Dairy Queen, but if not... no ice cream until we hit our destination. And to be even more succinct, no crossing the road for gas or bathroom breaks. Having to make a left turn is a non-starter! There is always a gas station up ahead... on the right! Hold it until we get there! 
    You don't enjoy the journey, you just want to get there!
    That is correct.  I want to get there, and then I want to get back. I want to do it in as short a time as possible... and I want to arrive before my expected time of arrival. I detest anything that slows me down.
    This was never more evident than when, in a moment of weakness, I agreed to stop to feed my family. I needed gas and there was a request for Chik-Fil-A from the back seat. I saw a sign for gas and a Chik-Fil-A right off of exit 61.  I thought that I could curry favor by killing two birds with one stone right off of exit 61.
    As we exited, I saw no restaurant and no gas station. Against my better judgment, I continued. I was perfectly calm... for about the first mile. This restaurant and this gas station were nowhere to be seen. I may have expressed my displeasure and accused this major chain of false advertising at the three-mile mark. After four miles, I had to make another turn off of that road to get to the food.
    Four miles... that is ridiculous!
    Where do you have to be? 
    Home... I need to get home and I need to do it in less time than it took to get down to Myrtle Beach. This is killing my time. I may say something to the manager about that sign.
    Does every one have kids that are mortified at the thought of their parent complaining. I had absolutely no intention of actually complaining to the manager, but when I made the threat, I got the impression that my kids would have preferred that I pull a gun and shoot the poor slob versus making a formal complaint.
    To make matters worse, they forgot Noah's nuggets. That was forgivable... Noah could have eaten some of his brother's fries for all I cared... but we had wasted close to an hour. That I could not forgive. As a result of this personal affront, I have declared Chik-Fil-A off of my list until further notice.
    My pleasure... my rear end!
    Once we got started back on the road, we had our usual battle for control of the radio.
    My dad used to rule on all radio-related activity in the car. Whatever he put on, stayed on. Typically, it was talk radio. I hated talk radio, but the thought of touching the dial and changing stations was unthinkable.
    Our front seat, on the other hand, is a scene out of the Wild Wild West!
    Anything goes to get to your station. My strategy is to flip around and if I happen to hit a song that Cheryl likes but I don't, I quickly hit the button in the hopes that she did not hear. When Cheryl hears my music choices, she typically fakes a headache. Certain favorites of mine invoke the worst headaches. Jackson Brown invokes a mild pain behind her eyes. The Rolling Stones causes a throbbing on the top of her head, and Springsteen causes a full-out migraine. If she doesn't immediately flip the channel, she turns the volume down to dog levels.
    Of course, if ABBA, The Carpenters or Toto are playing on a new channel, she recovers long enough to turn the volume up. The headaches return once The Doors shows up!
    We actually got into an argument over 80's music.
    Cheryl loves channel 8 on XM Radio which plays 80's music. I expressed my displeasure with hearing the Go-Go's for the tenth time and she said the music you like came out during the same time frame. The Rolling Stones played in the 80's, Bob Dylan played in the 80's, Neil Young played in the 80's.
     No, no, no, no... just because they happened to have songs that were popular in the 80's. they are not known for 80's music. They had great songs in four or five different decades. 80's music is full of one-hit wonders and songs with a specific sound... an awful specific sound. To place those classic rock groups and singers in the same musical genre as the The Bengals, Cyndi Lauper and Rick Springfield is a joke! 
     We agreed to disagree. Fortunately, I was able to change the station in the middle of the argument, so it was not a total waste of time.   
     The worst of all worlds is when the kids start flipping channels from the back. Who knew that they could even do that? For the longest time, I thought that Cheryl was changing channels through telekinesis. She just sat there and channels were changing to songs that neither one of us even recognized. I was afraid to do anything when the station landed on some rap song because I honestly thought that Cheryl might be some type of bipolar witch. I was relieved... and a bit embarrassed... when I found out that Gracie was the guest DJ rocking it from the back seat
     Fortunately, we made it home safe and sound. Unfortunately, I was unable to beat my time. Typically, I blame Cheryl for these types of failures. This time, the finger was pointed directly at
Chik-Fil-A.
     Four miles... I still can't believe it.
     On a different note...our little man has hit double digits. That's right, Noah turned ten this week. Actually, he is ten going on thirty. He has such a mature presence and sense of humor, it is hard to believe he is only ten years old.
     When he was younger, he loved being with his momma. I used to say that if Cheryl and I ever got into a custody battle, Matthew would want to go with me, Noah would go with Cheryl, and Grace would go to a friend's house.
     Now, I am not so sure about Noah. I think he likes me more than Cheryl at this point. Not that I keep score on such things... But I do!
      Anyway, Noah and I are hanging out more and more these days. On vacation, he was my partner in crime, hanging out on the beach, in the water, building sand sculptures, shopping or parking the car after dropping off the rest of the crew at the condo's entrance.
      His sense of others at such a young age is pretty amazing as he opens doors for his mom, his grandmothers or just about any damsel in distress. He walks arm in arm with his grandmothers, he talks with kids that may be sitting by themselves, and he helps around the house without being asked. All reasons why I love him the most... er uh... I mean... all great reasons to love him.
      Grace and Matthew actually do make the accusation that Noah is my favorite child. I tell them that he is cuter than they are, so it is a pretty simple choice. Of course, I don't really have a favorite child... I love them all the same.
      Having said that, sometimes, Noah is just so dang easy to love!
      Happy birthday, buddy.