For Thursday, July 2, 1998 Drummer Column, Gibbs, 730 words

Road trip ahead

It's late in the summer not to be reading an adventure column here. What am I doing, sitting at home on my butt in front of the computer? No, actually, we are presently on an adventure, which I will share when I return home to sit on my butt in front of the computer.

We left Adam home alone to pack all by himself for his trip to Ireland. This, too, will be a new experience for him. He will leave as we return. As my wife says, "If he doesn't have enough socks, or forgets his razor, it's his problem."

We are on a relative run. We're bouncing around the country visiting all my relatives -- my mother's clan in Oklahoma and my father's offspring in Pennsylvania. Susan's family all lives within two hours' drive from Benicia, and we see them a plenty. I haven't been home in seven years.

We were planning a straight, round trip to my mother's house in Pennsylvania. Then my half-brother Harvey who lives in Oklahoma announced his daughter was getting married and invited my mother and us to the wedding. We're going to converge in Oklahoma, then fly over my mother's bus as we all travel back to Pennsylvania for a week or so.

I haven't seen my Oklahoma kin since college in 1973 when I bussed out there to work the oil fields for the summer. I can now pay back the $8 I borrowed from my cousin Donna. It has been 25 years. I'll probably just give her an even ten bucks.

My mother started life in Oklahoma, then moved to Oakland during Hitler's war as a young wife. She made napalm bombs. She had two boys and a bad marriage. Later on, around divorce time, she met my father, a navy cook, and they ran off to Pennsylvania together. She had three more kids -- Carol, me, and Patty. We were born four to six years apart, with Carol the oldest and me in the middle. My little sister is pushing 40.

Carol had four girls who had five boys. She's a full-time grandmother with a big back yard and a McDonalds next door. Patty has two boys and a girl, all teenagers. My mother and sisters all live within walking distance of each other.

I reckon we will go to Parker Dam while we're there and have a picnic. We'll rent one of those aluminum-roofed pavilions with the built-in barbecue pit. I'll be surrounded by family. I'll play in the cold reservoir with my grand nephews. We'll be Great Uncle Steve and Great Aunt Sue from California.

We also have lifelong friends at the far end of the state, down Philadelphia way. We hope to drive over and visit them as well. Perhaps we will kidnap my mother and take her with us. We'll see the Liberty Bell. Whatever she wants.

Visiting with my mother is still the locus of this trip. I want to see everyone else, but mostly I want my mom. I want to sit in her company. I want to hold her hands and hear stories of how she's doing, how the grocer is treating her, how the car is running. I want her to fry me something to eat. I want her to show us pictures.

We also want to escort her out to dinners and movies. We want to take road trips, see parts of Pennsylvania that are new to all of us. We want to have a time to remember.

As of this writing, of course, we haven't left yet. This is all speculation and intent. Anything could happen. We're still packing bags. Well, Susan is packing and I'm in here sitting on my butt in front of the computer.

Right now, Susan isn't sure how much of this trip she's going to enjoy. She feels she is on a mission to reunite me with my mother, come hell or high water. She's afraid I will become overly gregarious with my family and friends, run off and leave her standing in the background. This is a logical fallacy. Anyone who knows my wife understands that with her there is no background. She's never seen a background. She wouldn't recognize a background if it walked up and bit her on the nose.

She's bound to have a good time. "We'll see," she says.