When I was young my Mom, grandmother, older brother, and sister drove our station wagon from southern California to Guatemala. Yes, the country of Guatemala, the one below Mexico. Every time I tell people we did that, they look at me as if my family was crazy. Over thirty years ago we left Dad at home and took off to the country of my Mom and Grandmother’s origin. My mother and brother alternated driving. I was in the far back on my knees so I could face forward on the backward facing back seat.
Along the way, we stayed with relatives I never knew I had, or at hotels. I have no idea what my parents were thinking as they talked about this trip. Did they think this was perfectly safe? Did my dad worry about us, driving all that distance with no man older than a teenager? If I were to consider driving to Guatemala, the first thing I would think of would be getting killed somewhere along the way. Maybe my Dad was trying to get rid of us?
I can think of all kinds of things my siblings and I did as kids, like riding our bicycles off the roof into the pool, that really were not safe and probably weren’t smart, but we did them.
Guess what happened to us when we did these “not very wise” things? Some of us got hurt! My friend Jimmy lost a piece of his chin in an errant bicycle jumping accident; I broke my hand once or twice; my buddy Charlie broke his leg.
And when I tell my children these stories, they look at me as if I’m crazy! What would possess us to do all these crazy things?

When I was a boy, the last day of school was by far the best day of the year.  Teachers couldn’t give you any more homework for three months!  And you didn't have to hand anything in that was past due.  It was too late.  Your fate was set, whether good or bad.
But the best thing about the last day of school was knowing that when you woke up the next morning, it would be summer vacation!  I would always try to sleep until noon every day that first week of summer, but it usually didn't happen because my dad would have projects lined up for us to work on.  Still, my friends and I would ride our mini-bikes all over the neighborhood.  When we were younger it was our bikes, and when we were even smaller, Big Wheels (does anybody remember those?)  We got soaked running and playing in the sprinklers and of course freaked out when we heard the ice cream man.  We'd run into the house to beg money from Mom.  We crammed so much activity into each day that the three months of summertime seemed to last forever – or at least like a whole year went by before school started again. 
At some point during summer, we'd go on The Trip.  You know what I'm talking about.   Dad would take a week off from work so the whole family could go camping or visit relatives.  If we went camping, we had a list of all the necessary supplies and checked them off one by one.  Can opener, check!  Coffee, matches, band-aids; check, check, check!  All the essential items were packed into our homemade recreational vehicle, which was an old potato chip delivery truck my dad transformed into an RV.  We called it the "Big-O" because it was orange.  And then off we'd go on an adventure!