One of our biggest traditions is the northern migration of family members from the greater metropolitan area to the mountains of New York State on the Saturday after Thanksgiving. Scientists and amateur Family Watchers gather with anticipation to observe this great social experiment.
It starts when I load up the minivan with 2 teenage children whom I am already tired of by this point in the holiday weekend. As an added bonus, these two are also tired of each other. So why not place them in a confined space albeit one with wheels. It’s like taking a war zone exhibition on the road for academic purposes. Minus the academic purposes.
But what would a family trip be without a senior citizen to tag along, regaling the rest of us with tales from The Good Old Days and assorted non-sequiturs? I don’t know. I’ve never NOT had one of those. But I would be quite willing to find out.
Invariably, the whole tribe (complete with a somewhat shell-shocked, somewhat youngish uncle) arrives at their destination in a state of intraspecies non-communication. That’s right. We have already burned out on one another before the actual visit starts.
Some would call it a shame; I prefer to call it a timesaver.