My oldest daughter thought it would be a good idea if her first boy called me by a name of his choosing. “Grandpa” was too ordinary, I guess. I didn’t care; I would answer to anything if it was a grandchild beckoning. Noah’s closest 1-year-old approximation to Grandpa was "Dupah", and I’ve been Dupah to my five grandsons ever since, even to their friends.
I have loved being a father — still do — so grandfathering was welcomed. I haven’t been disappointed. One thing: It is a lot easier. All I have to do is be myself. This is most important. We are old enough to risk being real, to have accepted our imperfections and claimed our values, and moved somewhere beyond narcissism and defensiveness.
My wife, Nancy, and I have two grandboys by our first daughter, Layne, and three by our second daughter, Jan. At this writing Layne’s boys, Noah and Micah are 20 and 18. Jan’s boys, Ben, Will, and Jesse, are 16, 14, and 10. Blink, and they will all be voting. I wanted more time with them now. Thus, the idea of a cross-country trip was born.
Nancy and I drove back and forth with Layne, Jan, and son Jay eight times in the 70s. We used our vacation to keep in touch with family in California after we had moved to New England. A humble cabin in the Sierra Nevada was our ultimate destination. The memories have warmed us since, including the clockwork family fight over where we were going to eat dinner each night. Finding a restaurant acceptable to all five of us in the middle of America after riding together all day was impossible. Now, it’s funny.
Eight Days in a Honda CRV
Micah, Ben, and Will joined me for our version of the cross-country, family bonding experience. Micah had his driver’s license; he and I left from Maine in late June. In Massachusetts, we picked up Ben, who had his learner’s permit, and brother Will, who wanted in even if he wasn’t going to drive. The rest of the family was going to fly west and meet us at the cabin, and then we would all backpack into the Sierra together. Great plan, especially the cross-country adventure.
My car has a CD player. We had an eight track in the 70s, and the family still knows and sings the songs of the Mamas and the Papas, The Beatles, James Taylor, and Carol King. When we came across one of those beautiful Great Plains storms with the sun and lightning highlighting nature’s glory, we would stop and put on either Beethoven’s Fifth or his Ninth Symphony.
This time around I invited the boys to bring their music and I’d bring mine, plus some books on tape about Chicago, Lewis and Clark, and Theodore Roosevelt, and a western novel. Our route was going through North Dakota after Chicago and Minneapolis. If anyone asked, I was ready with an explanation of the meaning of life. No one asked. I suppose they have learned all I can teach them about what I believe in and care about by knowing me all their lives anyway. “We know Dupah. It’s all about relationships, right?”
Being the fogy I am, I didn’t realize that inviting them to bring their own music meant iPods. It is just as well. I don’t think I could have lasted the eight days listening to rap. That’s how long the trip took, including stops at Theodore Roosevelt National Park and Yellowstone.
Let the Books Begin
With Will’s agreement I put on the The Devil and the White City near Chicago and a good book about Lewis and Clark as we approached the Missouri River. Will and I listened. Micah and Ben, even when they were driving, kept the iPod earbuds in.
There was no fight about where to eat. With boys, any place with hamburgers was fine. At dinner, Micah and Ben asked what the book was about, a classic comics approach to literature. Will and I did our best, but said they’d get a lot more from it if they heard the book themselves. Next book, and the earbuds stayed in. Next dinner, we recapped.
Our visit to Theodore Roosevelt National Park was preceded by a biography of T.R. and a mealtime recap. In addition, as we drove through the park, stopping to stalk bison and do some fishing — not catching — in the muddy Little Missouri, Will and I shared more of our new knowledge. We were going to camp in the park, but the bugs drove us into a motel with no complaining from Dupah.
Yellowstone was astounding; Yosemite spectacular. Ben drove some 40 miles with the emergency brake on. The boys persuaded me to get our last room in a Reno casino. Circus Circus was glad for our business. Micah, 18 but looks 16 to me, persuaded a blackjack table that he was a young-looking 21. “I’ve always looked younger than I am,” he said.
We got to the cabin missing my fly rod and reel and a down sleeping bag. But we were loaded down with love and memories to last us our lifetimes.
The trip wasn’t exactly what I had planned, but all I had hoped for.
Bond with your grandkids over one of these road trips:
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