During those seven magical years spent growing up at 110 Flamingo Street, I learned many things about life. One of the first was rich kids lived on The Duke of Gloucester; the not-so-rich kids lived on Flamingo Street.
You’d think, just being one street away, us Flamingo Streeters would feel as if we were missing out on a lot of stuff because our parents weren’t as well off. When in fact, just the opposite happened – especially when it came to family vacations.
As rich kids go, Preston Weston III was one of the richest that lived over on The Duke. For summer vacations he’d jet off with his family to remote locations around the world, and when he returned told us of his adventures.
I actually felt sorry for him. You see, his family’s choice not to drive meant they lost out on a lot of the fun of traveling. It’s hard to play car games like: I Spy, Bug Punch, or License Plate from 30,000 feet. In a plane, you’re also not traveling backwards like you are in a way-back of an avocado green station wagon with faux wood panels.
Preston never had the opportunity to enjoy a road trip in the way-back like my three brothers, The Sister and I did at least once a year.
Our station wagon’s way-back seat faced the rear and was equipped with seatbelts and space enough for two passengers, although there were usually more back there. Us kids, not seatbelts.
We didn’t use seatbelts for two reasons. First, we figured with three of us wedged into a bench seat built for only two, even if we crashed, we wouldn’t go anywhere. Second, by design, seatbelts restrains the occupant. Being restrained meant we couldn’t climb over the seat trying to escape from getting Bug Punched or wet two-finger slapped.
Bug Punch was a simple, fun, yet very painful game. The first to see a VW Beetle calls out “Bug Punch” and punches the person next to them in the arm or leg – depending on whether they’re trying to escape by crawling over the seat.
The game continues until someone starts to cry – that someone usually being The Sister or Twin Brother Mark.
Screaming and crying in car meant Dad yelling, “You kids better stop! Don’t make me pull this car over!” The threat was repeated many times during all road trips, but seldom ever acted upon.
“I Spy with My Little Eye” was another car game we played. Once someone spots their choice of item, they give a clue. Then the rest of us would have to guess what was spied. The winner would get to give everyone else a wet two-finger slap.
Eventually someone cried, Dad threatened to pull the car over, and another game would be chosen. Only this time, our parents picked the games.
Dad’s games were always the same. The first was which one of us could be quiet the longest. The winner got $5 and the loser cut grass when we got back home. I’m not gonna tell you who won, but I got really tired of cutting grass after every vacation.
Dad’s second game was to see who could last the longest without picking on The Sister. I lost quite often at this game also.
Not to be outdone, Mom invented her own car games, but they were very different than Dad’s.
Mom’s games were always educational. One of her best was License Plate. The object of the game was to spot a license plate from every state and to name the state’s capital. The winner got $5 and the loser had to help Mom clean the house upon returning from our vacation.
Did I mention I really got tired after almost every vacation, cutting grass and cleaning house?
Next weekend The Wife and I are headed to Florida for a much needed vacation. I think we’ll play Dad’s quiet game and Mom’s license plate game.
The Wife just received her Ph.D., so I’ve been working hard and am ready for both. But just in case, I’ll clean the house and cut the grass before we go.
[Rick Ryckeley, who lives in Senoia, served as a firefighter for more than two decades and has been a weekly columnist since 2001. His email is storiesbyrick@gmail.com. His books are available at www.RickRyckeley.com.]
