This is an old prompt from every writing class anyone has ever had, but it was still fun this time around.

SUMMER VACATION

Larry sat in the driver’s seat of the burgundy Range Rover waiting for every one to go to the bathroom one more time before they left. It was Standard Operating Procedure for every trip his family had ever taken, but he was still irked.

He flipped his visor down and scanned the titles of the ten CD’s he’d picked for the first one hundred miles. This time he hadn’t even bothered to try for a family friendly selection. The kids all had IPods now, a step up from the Walkmans of old. The wires trailing down the sides of their heads to the gadgets were color coordinated: green for Brian, red for Ken, and white for Nance.

His wife would only listen to classical which was usually fine with him, but not on a trip. Half the fun of trip music was singing along, and Mozart was lyric less. Cheryl’s IPod was pink.

Larry looked in the rear view at the cargo area, pleased at how well he’d packed all the camping gear. Nothing would rattle, and the top of the pile was level and low enough so he could still see out. All the big stuff was up on the luggage rack he’d paid extra for. He didn’t have to get out and check that. It was all in specially ordered duffle bags and criss-crossed with bungee.

His dad used to do that. Larry remembered watching him secure the load ceremonially on top of their old station wagon. The fist time he was asked to help, he was thrilled. When he was finally allowed to do it solo and his dad didn’t double check his lashings, it was a rite of passage. Brian and Ken never even watched.

Larry heard the front door slam, and watched his kids walk down the front steps and cut across the lawn to the car. He’d told them a million times to use the sidewalk. He opened his door to yell at them, but then didn’t. There was Brian striding towards him so tall, seventeen last month. Larry could see the blush of the man he would become in the new muscles of his shoulders. Ken was a few steps behind Brian, his Raider’s cap backwards on his head. Only a year younger, but almost as tall as his brother.

Cheryl had caught up to Nance, and slung her arm over her daughter’s shoulders. They were laughing about something and Nance had lifted her chin up just a little to look into her mother’s eyes. They rubbed noses in an Eskimo kiss and Larry felt a tug of jealousy. Would Nance still accept this intimacy when she turned fifteen next year? That’s about when the boys had outgrown it. Larry blinked -- when had they all gotten so big?

Suddenly they were at the car, opening doors, tossing in back packs, talking over each other.
“Did you pack the raft, dad?” Brian said.

“There’s the paddles on the roof you dork!” Ken shoved his brother in the chest.

“Honey, did you remember your ear plugs?” Cheryl was leaning over her seat patting her daughter’s knee.

“Yeah mom, I did. I’m not going through that infected ear thing again, like last year. You can bet on that.”

“Lar? Is the med kit accessible?” Cheryl asked him. She always asked him that.

“Right on top in the back,” he said, just like he said every year.

Four doors slammed and Larry said, “Everybody buckled up?” and four varied groans told him they were. As he started the car and put it into reverse to back up he smiled at himself in the rear view mirror.