Last week my three brothers, my sister, and I took a trip. Our mission was to attend a funeral to the southeast. My GPS revealed a drive of 114 miles which would take 1 hour and 56 minutes. As we loaded up the extended cab pickup truck, I was relieved to find no one cried, “Shotgun!” or “I’m sitting by the door!” After all these years I suppose a few things have changed.
My sister Shari, and brothers, Tom and Dewey rode in the spacious backseat. After an hour’s drive I was prepared to hear someone complain, “Tell Tom to leave me alone!” or “Tell Shari not to touch me!” or “Dewey’s bothering me!” The complaints never came although I was fully prepared to bark from the driver’s seat, ‘’Don’t make me come back there!” or “Am I going to have to stop this truck?” or “This is the last time I’m taking y’all anywhere!” or “I’m leaving you at home the next time!” But, alas, not one cross word was spoken. Even, brother John, who was riding shotgun, and has been known to stir things up a bit, uttered nary “a discouraging word.”
After 4 hours and over 200 miles in defined space, dominated by pleasant conversation, I concluded we really liked each other.
As we laughed and talked and covered every subject under the sun, we shared a deep sense of gratitude for how we were “raised” (brought up.)
One of the true surprises of my growing older is how very much I enjoy my relationships with my siblings – after all these years. I did not anticipate it being such a blessing. And credit can only go to our father and our mother.
So, it turned out to be a great trip in spite of sad circumstances.
It took me back to the days of our first family vacation. I think it was the summer of 1962. As a family, we had never been outside of Smith County. A trip to the Great Smoky Mountains and Cherokee, NC was like going to the other side of the world. We left our baby sister with relatives, and picked up our cousin, Ray B. McCall, Jr. in Cookeville, TN, and we were on our way. The long drive was uneventful except for the time my father followed through on his threat to pull off on the side of the road if we didn’t settle down. You could have heard a pin drop when he lined up my brothers, Ray B. McCall, Jr., and me along side our station wagon, and headed for the tree line to cut a limb off a tree. I won’t say what happened next, but we didn’t breathe a word for the next 100 miles.
I’ve made many trips to faraway places in my time, but that trip stands out in my memory. We saw 17 bears in the mountains that summer, pitched a big, heavy tarpaulin tent in friendly campgrounds, and ate meals cooked over a campfire. One night my mother left a big, black iron skillet in which she had cooked meat and beans on the picnic table, and a big bear licked it clean. I know it was a big bear because my brother Dewey felt the bear rub the walls of the tent as he walked by. Dewey insisted on sleeping in the station wagon the next night.
Mother’s Day found us back at the farm on Sunday - my brothers, my sister, and me. Of course, there were nieces and nephews, children, and grandchildren.
I was reminded of what a young Hispanic father said to me in a Longhorn Steakhouse one evening when I complimented him on how patiently he worked with his young daughters.
“Oh, sir!” he said, “Family is everything!”
I think he was right.
Copyright 2023 by Jack McCall
