Contributing Writer

On all vacation trips I was the instigator.�Guess that's why I was

the only one who got yelled at.

Growing up we had two vehicles: Dad's old rusty van he used for his

furniture business and the family car, er, station wagon.� It was really

cool, though, all green with faux wood panels, and it was certainly big enough

for all of us.

Only Dad drove us on road trips. I asked him once during one of our rare

bathroom breaks why he didn't let Mom drive.�My motive was simple: I

knew that Mom would take more breaks.�Dad said he just felt we were safer

when he drove, which I thought was funny 'cause Mom drove us everywhere

else during the week.

We all had our assigned seats. Dad drove; The Sister was in the front seat

sandwiched miserably between him and Mom; I, Instigator always sat in the

middle of the second row, and for very good reasons.�The middle of the second

seat was the best place for Mom to keep an eye on me, and the best position

to be hit by her backhand. When I was growing up, my mom had one wicked backhand;

with that thing she could've played at Wimbledon!

The rest of the seating order depended on the winner of the rock-paper-scissors-dynamite

game.�The winner when we went to Jacksonville was Richard, so he sat in the

third row, or as we liked to call it the 'Way Back' jump seat,

all by himself.�The Way Back was the most desired seat in the station wagon.

Whoever sat way back couldn't sit straight up without his head hitting

the roof, and when Dad hit the brakes you'd hit the back window, so

Richard was the only person who got to stretch out and sit sideways; he was

so lucky.�Mark and James fought over the next seating with the winner sitting

behind Dad, and the loser sitting behind Mom.

While we were growing up, Mom smoked.�That was back when they didn't

realized smoking was really bad for you.�(With all the known health risks

linked to cigarettes, no one smokes nowadays, do they?)�Mom smoked all during

the road trip and flicked the ashes out the window, which was very considerate

of her, except for the fact that our green station wagon with the faux wood

panels didn't have air conditioning and Dad drove with all the windows

down.�This meant that whoever sat directly behind Mom would get a face full

of hot ashes every now and then.�On the road trip to Jacksonville during

the summer of '71, that lucky person happened to be Mark.

About ten miles away from 110 Flamingo Street, Mom lit one up. I knew what

was about to come and started to giggle. Mom turned around and held up her

backhand, which immediately stopped the giggling. Five more miles, and she

flicked ashes out the window; wind blew them into Mark's window and

hit him right in the face. As he whimpered and wiped hot ashes away, I laughed

out loud which started a chain reaction.

Mark punched me in the arm, then James laughed and I punched him in the

arm, then Richard laughed, but we couldn't reach him to punch him so

I threw the little green bazooka army man at him.�That was it! Dad pulled

over the green station wagon with faux wood panels, and I, Instigator got

pulled out of the car by my ear and got yelled at.�Not bad, we'd made

it almost 15 miles without a pullover.�A new record for us.

Long before handheld video games, pulldown flat screens, I Pods, or portable

CD players, kids had to entertain themselves while on road trips.�We played

games like spot a license plate from every state, find the alphabet in order

on bill boards and road signs, and (my favorite) look for the man picking

his nose. I, Instigator spotted him driving a big LTD and pointed him out

to Mark, who turned to look just in time to see him flick the booger out

his window as he passed us and hit Mark right in the face!�I laughed, Mark

punched me, James laughed, I, Instigator, punched him, a green army man was

thrown in the back, Mom followed through with another lighting fast backhand

and Dad pulled over.

Nine hours later, six more pullovers, and three precisely-placed backhands

from Mom and we eventually made it down to Jacksonville.�The next morning

Mark, James, Richard, and The Sister ran and jumped in the ocean, rode waves

on half blown up floats, and dug up sand fleas.�I, Instigator, sat on the

beach and watched.�At about eleven o'clock Mark waded out into the ocean

up to his waist, turned, placed his thumbs in his ears, and wiggled his fingers

as he stuck out his tongue at me.�Right then a huge wave came out of nowhere,

crashed down and engulfed him.�He came up coughing, spitting out salt water,

and pulling seaweed out of his hair.�I laughed so hard I thought I would

die, and Mom demonstrated her tennis skills once again.�Boy, that year I

really believed she could've won Wimbledon.