Apparently, Daughter and I will be embarking on yet another Epic Road Trip in approximately 30 days.
What goes to the East Coast eventually must come back.
I have it on Good Authority (the AAA Route Planning Lady who provided TripTiks for our original journey) that we will absolutely, definitely not encounter snow anywhere along our path in mid-May, unless we take a detour through Canada — which, by the way, we may end up doing if we have to depend on either my defective Tom-Tom or Daughter’s defective iPhone Maps app.
“Dad, this road doesn’t exist on my phone. We’re in another dimension.”
Yep. I’m looking forward to that again, all righty.
And that AAA Lady? To quote her words to me in early January: “I’ve looked at the ten-day forecast and you will have smooth sailing all the way.”
Two snow day delays later had me looking for her business card to make sure I avoided her travel advice in the future at all costs.
But our return trip, no matter how exciting it may turn out to be, is in quiet jeopardy today, because it is completely dependent on Daughter’s planning and responsiveness, especially to Yours Truly.
We have texted (not talked) about tentative travel dates or, rather, Daughter’s determination to depart from her Lesbian Cult College as soon as is practical this semester, but I find it very challenging to make arrangements when the responses from the other end are episodic, at best, and completely absent, at worst.
I’m not sure exactly what kind of higher education she’s receiving, but if her blog posts are anywhere near accurate, she has replaced the contact sport of Varsity Soccer with Muggle Bar Pinball. Given the lack of overt communication with me, Daughter’s posts are a
frightening scary pathetic insightful look into the workings of the Modern College Female.
So, Daughter, I’ve got a medical appointment on the 13th. That means I can fly out on the 14th. As far as I’m concerned, if you have the truck packed up you can meet me at the airport and we can launch from there. If not, we will leave bright and early on the 15th, and we will stop for your last cup of East Coast foo-foo coffee on the way out of town.
I have planned for you to read to out loud to me for most mornings, beginning with Paradise Lost, and ending with Heart of Darkness. I have also chosen some selections from My Losing Season, my all-time favorite book about basketball, for those times we find ourselves in the endless plains of Kansas, dodging tornadoes and flying cows.
Because like good literature, basketball heals all things.
In the meantime, Daughter, please answer my texts, or write me an email, or even, God Forbid, give me a call on a real, live telephone.
I look forward to talking to you. I think you know my number!