Roadtripp’n Down Memory Lane: ’79 Style

365 Days of Thanksliving — Day 161

Raise your hand if you have (or had) a mama?

Now, for all you “Homer Simpsons” out there, listen up: before it’s too late, make sure you call your mom if she’s still on this side of the dirt. She brought you into this world, and she deserves a standing ovation just for putting up with you. That is, of course, unless you were a perfect angel... like me.

If you know me at all, you know that’s the biggest fib I’ve ever told. I wasn’t an angel; I was the kind of "nice boy" who put his mother into therapy—and probably dragged my poor dad along for the ride. But hey, that’s a story for another time.

To all the ladies reading this who hold the title: Happy Mother’s Day!

For the longest time, the best this Reverend could do was ring his mama and share some love over the phone. Today, however, we had better plans. We were going to show that love in person.

The moment service ended this morning, the wife and I bolted out the back door. It’s not that we don’t love our congregation—we truly do—but we had a date with the open road and a pair of Boxers. We headed across southern Minnesota, hoping to pull off a surprise visit for Gloria. (Though, let’s be real: I’m 99% sure Dad let the cat out of the bag the minute he hung up the phone.)

After a pitstop in Mankato for some "go-go juice" and a little Slim Chickens for the hoomans and pups, we rolled into Rochester. For the next three hours, we sat with Mom and Dad and talked about this, that, and everything in between. We found ourselves repeating the same stories every five minutes—the silliest little things. My mom’s memory has been failing for some time now. It’s a hard thing to watch, you know? It’s like watching a book you love slowly lose its ink.

On the journey home, while flipping through SiriusXM, my mind wandered back to a different road trip. Summer of ’79.

It was Grandma and Grandpa’s anniversary, and Mom decided she was going to throw her "baby" in the car and trek 1,400 miles one way. We ventured through New York, crossed into Canada, and eventually wound up in International Falls, MN, for a vacation at Lake Kabetogama.

I honestly couldn't tell you where my dad was. Maybe a business trip? Maybe following my brother around the DCI circuit? Who knows. But I remember that trip with Mom like it was yesterday.

Now, you have to understand: back then, my mother was "directionally challenged." My job was Navigator, tasked with getting us through Buffalo and every other major city. Buffalo... man, that was a blast. Not.

Mom missed the exit for Toronto three times. Three times, I had to be the backseat driver: “Mom, the exit was back there.” By the fourth loop around I-90, Mom was losing her patience with herself, and I—a chip off the old block—had lost mine, too. I finally blurted out, “Listen to me, Mom! You gotta go THIS way. Turn NOW!”

She was so proud of her boy for finally navigating us through the maze of Toronto and the endless Canadian countryside (a drive so boring it makes I-80 through Nebraska look like the Las Vegas Strip).

We made it, though. We celebrated Grandma and Grandpa’s 50th, laughed until it hurt, and I spent hours reading aloud to her just to keep her eyes open behind the wheel. I hated it then, but I see the logic now. It was also the trip where I took my very first communion at a little summer church and shouted for the whole congregation to hear: “Mom, this isn’t wine! This is grape juice!”

Those were the days.

That memory is as fresh today as it was 48 years ago. I wish I’d thought to bring it up with her today. I think those old stories are still accessible in the deep recesses of her mind. The things that happen today? Those get erased as quickly as the tape writes them. But those "years long past" are still tucked away like treasures.

Someday, my mom will go the way of her mother and all those who went before her. When that day comes, all I’ll have left are these memories. That 1979 trek—1,400 miles of wrong turns and grape juice—is just one of many that will always put a smile on my face.

Happy Mother’s Day, Glibia. I’m thankful God gave you to me to be my mom, and that He put you in my life. My guess is you won’t be reading this, but if you are, just know that your "Hongo" loves you dearly. I’m holding onto the memories for both of us.