Reflections

I recently found this piece among my “Memories” on Facebook. And even though my circumstances may have changed since 2017 when I initially composed and shared these thoughts, they are no less bubbling beneath the surface today.

So indulge me, if you will, as I revisit once more these feelings first expressed in 2017.

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After driving with my work carpool these past couple of weeks - I don't know if it's the weather or my age or perhaps some combination of both - but it's given me time to reflect on the many road trips I took with my family as a kid.

My kids are seldom home or around long enough to sit still in my company to listen to my stories, but I'll write them down here to share, just in case they ever find themselves wondering... and just in case anyone else can relate.

"Back in my day...", there was no leaving home a few minutes early to grab a coffee and a snack at Tim Horton's or McDonald's along the way from Point A to Point B. Dad always had the car tanked up and just about packed the night before. Mom would have the sandwiches made - flakes of ham on white bread with mustard. If there was coffee, it must have been in a thermos, otherwise it was three cups guzzled and peed before we hit the road. And yes, whether you needed to or not, you peed before you left the house. There was no stopping to pee until Dad had to stop and pee. You either held onto it or you used the pickle jar. Imagine! A pickle jar. Even if you had to pee with lady parts.

There were no seat belts in the back seat. Or at least no enforcement of wearing them. And I seem to recall unlimited second-hand smoke in the front seat, which, of course, I'd be leaning over while my brother stretched out the length of the back seat for a well-deserved nap after one of our countless wrestling matches. The TransCanada highway between Montreal, QC and O'Leary, PEI was once littered with socks that didn't match, which were, naturally, the spoils of victory.

The likes of Don Williams, Kenny Rogers, Charley Pride, Conway and Loretta, maybe even some fiddle music and the odd spiritual hymn - this was the soundtrack to my childhood travel. Maybe a little Donna Fargo. And of course, who could forget Paul Harvey and "The Rest of the Story" or the "Borden-Cape Tormentine Ferry report"?

My children have no such memories. We haven't done many family road trips. But what I will always have etched in my memory - god willing, provided my memory serves to see me through my golden years - are the times we had travelling back and forth from Amherst to Truro... or from Amherst to Fredericton... or from Amherst to wherever the track team, hockey team, taekwondo team, basketball team or baseball team would lead us. I will remember the laughter (often at my expense but between the kids), the naps, the stories, the dreadful, awful farts, and the rare occasional moments where we might sing along with the radio. These moments now blend with the cherished memories of my own childhood travels; woven into the tapestry of my TransCanada highway reflections.

We may not all be Carrolls these days, but we are still family. And as the years move on, the memories, though faded, still occasionally come to the surface, bringing warm feelings. There was always love.

And you know what? There always will be.

Because I said so, that’s why.