Off on another Tangent from The Tale of Dishonest Bob from New York City

As young adolescents, my siblings and cousins and I would be more than delighted to desert our parents’ vehicles and hop a ride in Grandpa O’Donnell’s car for the exciting journey from the steaming streets of New York City to the wild, blue openness and lush greenery of the Southern Tier and Northern Pennsylvania.   Each one fought valiantly for the coveted spot in the front passenger seat, next to our Patriarch, T.J.    Once this was decided, we would settle into our places and clamor for takeoff.    The second we pulled away from the curb, our vacation began.   

Being with Grandpa O’Donnell was like being with a peer; it was akin to taking a joy ride with another teenager.   As we took off down the street a sense of total abandonment filled our hearts and minds and bodies.   Our spirits soared as the car overflowed with songs, silly jokes, shenanigans and laughter.   We were now free to do as we pleased, and arms and legs and shoeless feet dangled out car windows as TJ took over the roadway.   Grandpa would have no part of being of being overtaken – woe be it to any driver who attempted to pass us.   As a car would come up alongside us, TJ would speed up and slow down, purposely irritating the other driver.  He or - worse yet- she quickly left in disgust in order to get out of our way as soon as was humanly possible.   We yelled out the car windows and squealed in delight.   Hey – I never thought of this before –possibly this is where Cousin Tom learned his driving tactics.

Periodically throughout the trip, TJ turns to us kids and demands in a rather showy and dramatic way, “Where’s my medicine? Someone hand me my medicine.”   That’s typically the job of whichever grandchild is riding shotgun at that moment and this lucky teen, thrilled to be of assistance, scurries and pokes his hands under the front seats scanning around to feel for the small brown paper bag containing Grandpa’s medicine.   With one hand resting on the steering wheel, TJ is nonetheless expertly able to maneuver a self-medication.    He uncurls and pulls back the top of the paper bag, screws the cap off the bottle, brings the opening to his mouth, leans his head back and takes two or three solid swigs of the soothing light brown liquid.  “It’s good for what ails you”, he says as he smiles broadly and refortifies himself with his drug of choice, a whiskey that goes by the pretty name of Four Roses.    We’re old enough to realize it’s a bit risky, but we’re also young enough to think it’s funny and cool.   
When we reached an occasional traffic light, Grandpa taught us another valuable driving tip that I remember and sometimes use to this very day, i.e., "yellow light means speed up you might make it".

We drive through some rain and after the storm passes, we stop at a rest area.  The fresh, earthy smell of the wet grass and the patches of blue sky pushing through the dark, dreary gray clouds greet us head on.   We’re only at the midpoint in our journey, but already we can sense and feel that we are well on our way to entering God’s country.    Besides, when driving with Grandpa,getting there is half the fun.

to be continued.... sorry Terry, I promise I'm getting there!
Mary Beth