Birmingham...part one

I’ve learned that even though I’m in the vicinity of a conversation at my house, I am not often considered an integral part of it. After numerous polite reminders that I was not expected nor desired to participate, I eventually developed what the girls have now dubbed “Dad hearing.” This is something I no doubt inherited from my father. He was a Ninja master.


The ability to tune out or ignore chunks of or entire conversations is both a blessing and a curse. Although my girls would prefer that I stay out of any discussions involving boys, clothing, shopping, Twilight or homework, when I fail to respond immediately to the utterance of my name, I am thrown to the gallows, where deadbeat, uncaring fathers go to be punished and die.

It’s not really a fair system, and there is no way I can win. Invariably if I speak, it’s at the wrong time…and if I don’t speak, it’s assumed that I don’t care.

I surprised everyone a few weeks ago when Shelby mentioned how a planned weekend trip to Birmingham to visit her best friend Christine was going to be a problem because of her work schedule. The plan, which I was only vaguely aware of, was that Christine’s mom and another friend, Jori, were going to leave early on Friday afternoon. This created a conflict for Shelby since she does not get off work on Friday’s until after seven.

The surprise came when I made the offer, without being prompted, bribed or threatened, to take her to Birmingham myself. I didn’t realize at the time that my offer was so shocking, but apparently (or so I’ve been told since) this was an uncharacteristically generous and spur of the moment proclamation on my part. I had no idea I had such a stodgy reputation.

Time passed, and although I hadn’t forgotten my offer, it wasn’t at the forefront of my thoughts. My initial idea was that I would drive her down right after work on Friday night, grab a room to get a little sleep, and then return home early Saturday morning. Easy enough. Shelby could ride back to Knoxville with Christine’s mom. It was a really good plan.

No, it wasn’t.

Last Monday, Connie calls while I am in DC and mentions the upcoming weekend, asking if I had reserved a rental car and gotten a room. I told her that I had not, but I would. Then she said something that made me backtrack over the entire conversation and every conversation we have had since I made the offer. I don’t know what she said exactly, but I suddenly realized that she had planned for all of us to go to Birmingham…and stay the weekend. I needed a new plan.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I love a good road trip with my girls. Despite the fact that eighty percent of it is full of arguments over seating arrangements, what music is being listened to, and who has taken off their shoes, the twenty percent when everyone gets along can almost make you forget the rest. The spectacular harmony of them all laughing at the same time is a symphony that Mozart, Chopin and Bach could only dream of.

Let me explain about the rental car. We have three vehicles that run well and get us where we need to go, but like everything else, there are issues. All three have over one hundred thousand miles, and the only one that all five of us can ride in together (our minivan) has over one hundred and sixty. Like I said, it still runs great, but I don’t really trust it for long trips.

Now, I’ve crunched the numbers on getting a new car, but it doesn’t really make sense. On the rare occasion that we have to go on a road trip, it’s cheaper to rent than to take on the additional monthly cost of a car payment and insurance. Also, most of our trips are on weekends, so I use Enterprise and their half off weekend specials. It’s a great bargain…most of the time.

Back to our story, already in progress…

I reserved a car and a hotel room for the two nights we would be in Birmingham, and then I got sick. While still in Washington, I began to feel the familiar pressure and general yuckiness that leads into a sinus infection. Sort of like flu, but not likely to get you any sympathy, a sinus infection starts with a low-grade fever, stuffy nose, sore throat and the aching body of boxer after losing a fight. By the time I flew home on Wednesday, I was fairly miserable.

I was desperately hoping that a winter storm system would sweep through the south and cancel our plans, but our perky local meteorologist assured me that it would be a BEAUTIFUL weekend. Just my luck.

Connie generously offered to let me stay at home, saying she and the girls would go without me. Although I knew that this was a sincere offer, not some kind of test or trick, I couldn’t do that. With all my travel, time with family is rare enough. I couldn’t wimp out over what is perceived by most people to be a minor cold, not the horrifying dance with death that it actually is.

Friday came and I fumbled through my work day, hoping the anti-biotic and Tylenol would perform a miracle. By late afternoon I was a little better, but exhausted, so I threw a few things in a travel bag and took a nap until Shelby got home from work.

It’s funny how people can know they are going to do something, be reminded multiple times that they are going to do something, and even respond that they completely understand that they know they have to do something, yet when that time comes be completely unprepared. Ashlyn and Taylor knew the entire week that they were going to Birmingham. They knew before I knew that they were going to Birmingham. Despite the fact that they should automatically know that a weekend trip would require packing and a slight bit of thought as to what they might want to take, they were still reminded by their mother, and then by me, and then by both of us together. Nevertheless, in that last thirty minutes before we left, there was a mad scramble, arguments, and desperate searches for IPods, chargers, DVD’s and headphones.

The car was finally packed, so as soon as Shelby got home and changed clothes, we piled into our seats and buckled up.  It’s a rare trip that I don’t have to go back inside the locked house at least once after we’ve all gotten in the car. There’s always something forgotten or unsure.  Some light or appliance that needs to be checked.   I don’t even mind anymore. It’s just another piece of the journey.  This was one of those rare trips when I didn't go back. 

We were fortunate that our rental car was a Kia Borrego, fitted with a third row seat. On the weekend special rentals I never know when I reserve a car what I’ll get. It’s kind of like Russian roulette when I pick it up. Sometimes we get a regular sedan, like an Impala or a Camry, but other times we get a mid-size SUV. Having a third row seat is a big deal when you have three kids. Separation equals peace, or at least more peace than if they are all crammed into one back seat.

At 7:30pm, with 267 miles to go, a low fever and four females who, unbeknownst to me, had synched up their monthly schedules and were all at the beginning of what I call “the cranky,” I pulled out of our driveway in Oak Ridge and headed southwest toward Birmingham, Alabama.