Road Trip To St. Louis - Day 1

I was probably a preteen, like in the above photo above, the last time I took a road trip of any considerable length with my maternal grandparents. 

My grandfather, whom I called "Daddy Bob," passed away almost exactly 10 years ago to the day of this post. He died on August 26, 2004. 

But I'm blessed that my grandmother, Pearlie Mae, whom I call "Nanaugh Pearl," is still alive and well.

This Labor Day weekend, Nanaugh Pearl and I plan to travel from my hometown of Columbus, Ohio, to my cousin Charles' wedding in St. Louis. Charles is my grandfather's nephew. (Or the son of grandfather's nephew; I'm not sure which, and should probably clarify that before the wedding. And, actually, I'm not exactly sure if he's the one getting married - something else I should probably clarify with my grandmother before the wedding.)

When I got off work yesterday evening and called Nanaugh to confirm the time to pick her up this morning for the seven-hour drive, she told me she hadn't been feeling well the night before. She said she was pretty sure she'd feel like proceeding with the trip by the time she got up this morning, but she didn't sound totally certain.

I had mixed emotions, hearing Nanaugh say that she might have to bail on the road trip we'd been planning for a couple months. On the one hand, having unexpected free time over the course of a three-day weekend would be an extremely rare luxury that I could use to catch up on housework, ever-pressing writing deadlines and the gazillion other things that keep piling up and that I never seem to catch up on.

And I could use the time to connect with other family and friends I've been meaning to catch up with.  

But what I mostly felt was disappointment at the prospect of not taking this trip with my grandmother. She will turn 84 on Monday, during the planned return drive to Columbus, and the chance to spend time solo with her on her birthday is an opportunity that most likely will not come along again in either of our lifetimes.

And I've been looking forward to this unique bonding opportunity with the woman who helped raise me (I call her "Mom" when speaking to her). We've never taken a long road trip without my grandfather.





My grandparents and I in 1982. No, we weren't the only black family to visit Aspen that year. It's one of those fake Olan Mills backdrops from the '80s.

Going anywhere, especially a long distance, with Daddy Bob was an adventure, to say the least. My grandfather was a complex man who was a stable, nurturing and even doting father figure to me. But, how shall I put this delicately? He, um, had a very strong personality and could be - ahem - challenging to deal with.

As much as I loved Daddy Bob and will cherish his memory, I have to be frank in saying he could turn a jaunt to the corner store into a hellish experience, let alone a long road trip. He was a speed demon who didn't refrain from tailgating and "blessing" out people who got in his way. 

(Imagine the video for rapper Ludacris' song "Move B***, Get Out the Way" with an AARP member at the wheel. The edited, i.e. "clean" version of the video can be seen by clicking this link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tw429JGL5zo)

My grandfather was extremely impatient, not only with other drivers, but with those of us who happened to be passengers. But he was as loveable as he was irritable.

As a child, I often witnessed my grandmother being the long-suffering wife. Especially on car trips when she'd try to talk sense into my grandfather - an exercise in futility, of course.

So it will be interesting, as an adult, to travel with my grandmother without the - uh, how can I put this tactfully, in case my family reads this? - heavy responsibility of trying to "manage" my grandfather's ever-shifting moods.

And this road trip will also be a chance to catch up and have some good, lengthy conversations with my grandmother, something that doesn't happen very often. Like many adult children, I'm guilty of getting wrapped up in my own life and so "busy" that I don't get by to see parents and grandparents as much as I should.

And my guilt is compounded by the fact that my place is only 15 minutes away from the house where Daddy Bob and Nanaugh Pearl lived throughout my entire childhood.

I'm drafting this post around 7 a.m. on Saturday, Aug. 30, and am supposed to swing by and pick Nanaugh up in a couple hours.

So my next post will either be a narrative kicking off the start of our road trip to St. Louis or an update that my grandmother didn't feel up to the journey, after all.

We'll see...