Uh-Oh by Mike Freeman

Uh-Oh

By Mike Freeman

Our family vacations are simple. Two weeks of camping, one week in Sequoia National Park, the other week at Yosemite National Park. My brother, Tim, and I sleep in our father's army pup tent. My parents and four sisters sleep together in a larger tent that you can stand up in.

One of our family camping goals is to come back with the same number of children that we left with. My parents would occasionally opine that losing one or two children along the way would not be catastrophic.

Camping vacations teach us how to set up and take down various types of tents, create campfires, read a map, and survive Arctic camping conditions. Our dad loves camping at high mountain altitudes over 5,000 feet, where lakes have near-freezing water temperatures and brilliant star-lit nights. Sometimes we leave a pail of water outside our tents before going to sleep and wake up the next morning to discover a bucket of solid ice. We are constantly attempting to develop ways to keep bears from invading the family ice chest for food.

We all have our favorite parts of the trip. It could be seeing the more than 2,300-year-old sequoia tree named General Sherman that stands 275 feet tall, driving our car through tunnels bored into fallen or still standing giant sequoia trees, or making friends with other campers. My favorite is the Yosemite Fire Falls, where park rangers dump a huge bonfire off Glacier Point at night, creating a waterfall of sparks, embers, and flames bouncing down the cliff.

This upcoming family camping vacation is different. It is 1969, and we are going to take our two family cars, not one. One is a green 1959 Rambler station wagon with large fins on the back. The other is a white 1965 Volkswagen Bug that cost my father approximately $1,600 new.

I am driving the heavily loaded Volkswagen Bug with my brother. My father is driving my mother and sisters in the Rambler station wagon that carries a similar burden of camping items. Packing becomes more of a challenge each year as the six children continue to grow in size, need, and appetite.

The Volkswagen Bug is a welcome addition to our family. One-car families are common in my neighborhood. Getting a second car is almost as exciting as buying a color TV. Both luxury items are celebrated when purchased. Having a second family color TV is beyond our comprehension or experience.

There is a time when all eight of our family members fit into the Volkswagen Bug. Dad drives; Mom sits in the front passenger seat with the youngest, Karol, in her lap. Four of us sit across the back seat. One of the younger sisters climbs into the small space between the back seat and rear window. Seatbelt regulations are still in the future. We often go to Mass this way on Sunday mornings. People laugh at us as we arrive in the church parking lot. We look like a circus clown car unloading a horde of humans going into Mass.

This is the first camping trip on which I can legally drive a car. I am very excited about this 230-mile opportunity. I have mixed feelings about spending five to six driving hours with my brother. I'm sure the feeling is mutual. We are leaving before dawn. Hopefully, he will sleep part of the way and I can listen to the AM radio in peace.

We depart in the early-morning darkness. My father leads the way driving the Rambler. Both cars are underpowered. The Volkswagen has a top speed of 72 mph. I can make the car more aerodynamic by turning in the front window wing vents and gaining a few more miles per hour. We head north on I-5. Tim is sleeping, the radio playing, I am driving, and all is good in the world.

We drive through a very busy freeway interchange in Los Angeles. At the last minute, my dad suddenly lurches to the left, changing lanes and switching freeways. I try to follow him, but cannot do so safely. Our swerving car wakes Tim up.

An "Uh-oh!" escapes from my mouth. A look of surprise and confusion appears on Tim's face. We watch our dad drive our family away from us on a different freeway. As our separation increases, I realize we have no plan for this situation. Worse, we have no way to communicate with each other. Like seatbelts, cell phones are in the future. Such wondrous technology only exists in Dick Tracy Sunday comics in the 1960s.

What are we going to do? How do Tim and I reunite with our family for the camping trip?

I make a quick decision. Tim and I get off at the first off-ramp on our freeway. Early morning light is just starting to appear. I drop Tim off at a donut store on a cross street at the end of the off-ramp. He is less than enthusiastic about my plan.

I tell him that if Dad comes this way looking for us, he should stay at the donut store until I return. I am going to return to the freeway system and go the way our father went. I will get off the first off-ramp to see if he is waiting for us there. I tell Tim I will return to the donut store to pick him up either way.

Tim reluctantly gets out of the car. He has no money, and I do not think about giving him money for donuts. I want him starving and alert. I drive off to see if I can find my dad and family. I look up to memorize the off-ramp street name where I'm abandoning my brother. Once I have memorized it, I drive off and begin my early-morning search.

I get on the freeway route my father took and get off at the first available off-ramp. There is no sign of the Rambler or the family. I take a few surface streets to get back on the freeway and return to my brother. The way is complicated and I get lost.

I pull off the freeway and consult a map to find the street where I dropped off my brother. I find no street with that name anywhere on the map. The street name I thought I saw in the early morning light doesn't exist.

Another "Uh-oh!” escapes from my mouth. This one is filled with panic. What to do?

I admit there are times when I question my brother's usefulness and contribution to our family. Is he expendable? 

He is handy to have around when there is yard work to do. He is responsible for the front yard. I take care of the back. We also split the duty of taking out the trash cans every week.

He can be useful when it comes time to vote on which TV show we're going to watch on our one family TV. He tends to like the same shows that I do. We often vote together as one. My sisters do the same.

When my parents are in the room, deciding which show to watch is a very fair and democratic process. When they are not, tyranny reigns.

My brother and I are the eldest, so we are bigger, stronger, and smarter than my four sisters. The threat of an older brother farting in their faces typically quells any sister rebellion against our decision.

Next comes a more delicate negotiation. Who will get up from their chair, couch, or floor to manually set the TV to the appropriate channel? TV remotes that change channels are rare and reserved for the wealthy. My sisters are especially stubborn after losing the first decision and refuse to cooperate. If one of them cannot be coerced, I pull rank and have Tim do it.

I am blissfully living toward the end of the Golden Era of our family dynamics. As the eldest child, I am taller, stronger, smarter, and more experienced at everything in life than my younger brother or my sisters. I can beat my brother at any sport. I reign supreme over all of them.

I am not aware of the approaching Dark Ages when everyone grows up and things even out. Tim is a better athlete and can beat me at every sport. Sisters Mary Beth and Karen are the two school brainiacs of the family. Kathy is the most successful socially. Karol, the youngest, enjoys being spoiled and is the most easygoing. All four sisters are softball All-Stars. Fortunately, we all become friends as we emerge from the Dark Ages.

I refocus my thoughts on the unraveling disaster I am facing. I am lost in Los Angeles, my family is separating from me more and more each passing moment, and my abandoned brother is sitting at a donut shop on a street whose name I do not remember.

Another word escapes from my mouth. This time, it is not "Uh-oh." I get back on the freeway and attempt to retrace my route. Things are looking very different as the bright morning sun emerges. I start to panic.

Somehow, I end up on the freeway we were originally traveling north on. I look up and see a street exit sign. It's not the name I remember, but it does look somewhat familiar. I decide to take a chance and get off the freeway. I go down to the end of the off-ramp and there are the Rambler and my family in front of the donut shop. They are all very happy as I drive up. Is my arrival the reason, or are they finishing a donut feast?

We leave the donut shop united once again. The only difference is that now we have a clear plan should we ever be separated again. Tim spends the rest of the long drive telling me how great the donuts are and how many he ate. I did not know it then, but this is the beginning of the Dark Ages.

“Uh-oh!”