As a child, my dad’s family (consisting of four brothers) drove in the summer to Pawley’s Island, South Carolina. There’s something about the ocean–crashing waves, fresh air, an attitude of relaxation–that stayed with my dad and made him want to share that experience with his own children. Over the years, our trips have evolved from flying for a few days to now driving to stay for a couple of weeks. Half the fun always seems to come from being cooped up together in a car for a couple of days:
Mama Griff, “Tim, you’re like Sammie. You’re asleep more than you’re awake.”
Papa Griff, “Maybe she wasn’t adopted after all.”
Mama Griff, “I always thought reading maps was kind of fun.”
Papa Griff, “You guys probably think I’m a chronic complainer.”
This particular journey, like every road trip, had its high points and its low points: Sammie threw up on Mom in the car, I successfully drove through the Smokey Mountains in rain. Most importantly, we made it here.