Home is Where the Heart Is

Traffic is starting to pick up a little bit as we head south on I-81. We're getting near Syracuse and as we pass by the airport exit I can see the look of three tired faces riding in the car with me. It had been a short, but exciting week as I and my wife Michelle, and our two kids Myah, age 13 and Sam, age 10, had spent the last 8 days in our hometown of Lowville, N.Y.

Make that 4 tired faces as I catch a glimpse of myself in the rearview. Jesus, I have bags under my eyes. We had a heckuva party the night before. A strange night out without the children, and without really needing to act too awfully mature. It had felt good, and everything had gone pretty smoothly, as far as I had been able to tell. Of course, I have an innate ability to block out someone else's obvious suffering, particularly when I am having a good time. I think maybe it might be a self protection response. I mean, why should I suddenly have a bad time just because one of my friends is having a bad time? Rather than try to fake sorrow, at such instances, I believe my mind allows me to "overlook" their pain, or disgust. It's good, and I recommend it to all.

Uh-oh, looks like the left lane is closed up ahead. It's right near the exit for the Carrier Dome. I often look up at that dome and think of the wasted opportunities I let slip through my fingers. I had an ROTC scholarship for tuition and books, and could have gone to basically any college that had an ROTC program, and was lenient enough for someone with a B+ average to get into. I chose Syracuse University because it had a great basketball team. If you're laughing you should stop because I am serious. I loved SU basketball more than life itself sometimes. So, that's where I went to school. Being away from home for the first time, and not really ready for the freedoms college has to offer, I partied way too hard and often. I got bad grades and had to drop my scholarship and finish college in the state school system. Of course, I paid for it all, and had no student loans afterwards, and ended up with a bachelor's degree in 4 1/2 years. So, I guess I figured it out, somehow.

I would recommend that kids work for a year or two (if they can) before going to college. It has to help you adjust better than just running off to school. Either that or give them more freedom and responsibility when they are younger in hopes of their developing, on a social level, quicker than most. I don't know. It's a thought.

I decide to move into the far right hand lane, because the far left hand lane is closed and the middle lane is bogging down. I like this kind of "city" traffic. It's not really a slowdown at all. Of course, that thought leaves my brain immediately as I now realize I am in a "exit only" lane. Jesus Christ. They have closed one lane, and now another is going off the off ramp, and I'm in the damn thing. I slow down hoping someone will mess up and give me some space to get in. Nope, they're riding bumper to bumper. Hmmmm, that in itself is suspicious. I see the exit fast approaching, and now realize, to my horror, that I have to rely on the good graces of a kind soul riding in the lane next to me to let me slide on in there.

I turn on my left hand signal light and coast forward. Come on, I'm looking in the mirror, just let me in. Looks like this guy in the silver car may be able to let me slide in... nope. He accelerates, and now I'm at the edge of the dividing paint between the road and the off ramp. I can't believe that jackass is not letting me in. I give him the "I can't believe this!" look and realize he probably can't see me well through the tinted windows. I quickly roll my window down so he can see the disbelief on my face. I look over at him and see, leaning across his wife or girlfriends, or future ex girlfriend's, or emotionally traumatized wife's lap, this very angry man flipping me off and yelling "Fuck You!" to my face.

All I can do is laugh. I slow down to a stop, and the next car lets me in. There was a time when I used to be like that guy. I was like him to a tee. What an ASSHOLE. Let me reiterate to all of you out there who think I should not have been in that lane to begin with, and you know who you are. You are technically correct. But, this man was an asshole. I was in the wrong and I suppose that guy may have had some right to be a dickhead. I, on the other hand, think not. I made a mistake. I'm not from Syracuse and drive through there one time per year. I don't know how their screwed up lane closures affect traffic. Why couldn't he just be cool and let me slide in? I mean, really. I'm sure he and his woman had a much worse day than I did. He had a chance to feel really good about things and instead chose the opposite direction. Life's too short buddy. He's young though, he has time to figure it out.

Now we're heading out of Syracuse and the guy who just flipped me off is up ahead. Finally he pulls into the far right lane and we take our turn passing him. Strange situation, that was. As we head south I can't help but think of the 17-19 hours of driving we still have ahead of us. I'm not looking forward to any of it, but I'm anxious to get home.

It was a good trip though. Thinking back on the drive north, just 8 days before, makes me realize just how much we did in the past week. We had left Jacksonville at 4 in the afternoon. The plan had been to drive straight through, all 18 hours of it, unless I started to feel really drowsy. Everything went perfectly well until we hit Washington D.C. It was here that my GPS decided to tell me to continue straight, on what looked like an interstate. directly through the heart of the DC. Unfortunately, the interstate just disappeared after we had gone through a tunnel. Suddenly, I was on a downtown DC street at 3 AM. No worries, all was fine and good. I figured it added about 40 to 60 minutes to our journey. Who knows though, maybe we avoided and accident, or a flat tire, or gunshots, or a rogue gang of motorcyclists riding Suzuki's. It could happen, who knows? My wife is always preaching that "things happen for a reason". I'm not sure I completely agree with her, but you can never be sure. It might be just a lot of coincidences.

We pulled off from Tug Hill, and route 177, at about 10 AM last Friday morning. The windmills still amaze me. They are incredibly large, and make Lowville look as eco-friendly as some west coast, liberally biased, organic shroom farm. I like it. I had heard, however, during the past week that the windmills sometimes do not turn. This is not just because the wind may be too slow, but also because it may cost too much to transport the energy downstate, to NYC. I know this cannot be true. I guess I have to investigate the situation. Or maybe not. I mean, what could I do if that was the case? Just complain about it, I suppose.

We visited family, and played golf, and went to the old Town Hall movie theatre to watch "the Proposal". The movie was so-so, but the popcorn at this theatre is the best. I think it's the butter, or maybe it the oil, or maybe it's the kernels. Most likely, I guess, it's probably the nostalgia associated with eating something I only had as a kid. A trip to the movies is something I try to do each time I'm in my hometown.

Originally I had been planning the entire trip around what is called the "Lowville Booster Club" annual golf tournament. My cousin had invited me, months before, to play with him in this tournament. He also had promised me we would win. Well, he was wrong. I played poorly and we didn't win. We had a lot of fun, and we drank heavily throughout the day. I got to see a lot of friends and family, and play a golf course I haven't been on in a number of years. Everything in upstate NY is very green right now, and I'm not referring to this country's ambition of getting off oil based energy. I'm referring to the constant rain they have received this spring and summer.

My cousin and I played with a cousin-in-law and a good friend. These two also came to South Carolina last fall on a golf trip. That trip was incredibly fun, but the cops did show up. That is a story for another time. No one was arrested and they both said they had a good time. Let me clarify something, I did nothing to prompt any police to arrive. It was a couple of other guys on our group of 12. Jackasses.

I decide to stop at the Pa Welcome Center just inside the Pa border on I-81 south. The kids are complaining about needing to go to the bathroom. I'm secretly wishing we had started later in the day so the little one's would go to sleep earlier in the trip. As it stands, we have entered Pa after driving 180 miles through NY state, and it feels like we're making headway. The rest area is nice, and I get a chance to sit back and smell the flowers as the kids hit the toilets. The kids got a big kick out of a sign which read "Smile, You're in Pennsylvania". Apparently this sign appears rather foolish to a 13 and 11 year old. Little did I realize that the sign should have read "Frown, because you may never get out of our state".

The roads in PA are in dire straits. So, they have decided it's time to repair Route 81. This has to be necessary, but I'm not sure it is necessary to make I-81 South a single lane for upwards of twenty miles at a time! Come on! Are you kidding me? It is probably safer to have long stretches shut down at once, and I'm sure it's less expensive, but what about convenience? We decide to get smart and turn to our trusty Tom Tom to figure out a route for us to bypass this construction. There are many signs suggesting we take alternate routes, and the most direct appears to be I-476 south.

It heads southeast towards philly, but at one point down the road it looks like we can connect with another road and get back on 81 south of the construction. Off we go. What's the first thing I notice? It's a freaking toll road!!!!!! These bastards tell me to take a different route, but then make me pay to use it. First toll 65 cents. Not a lot, no big deal. We drive on for another 10 miles or so and we hit another 65 cent toll. It's the kind where you just chuck the change into the bin and the arm goes up. I have a friend in Jax who swears you can throw a couple of nickels in these things and the arm still goes up. I'm not that angry, not yet, so I pay the full 65 cents both times. Now, we drive for another 15 miles or so and now we go through a toll booth in which we get a ticket. The exit the Tom Tom is telling us to take is quite a ways down the road and the cost is going to be about twenty bucks. Now, I'm pissed.

I think I hate Pennsylvania. I can see the politicians sitting around the meeting table, feverishly trying to figure out how to raise money for the state. Suddenly, one of them has a lightbulb go off and proclaims "We simply close down huge chunks of our free expressways and divert impatient drivers to our toll roads!!". Brilliant, you jackasses.

Needless to say, it takes a long while to get through Pennsylvania. I hate to say it, but I never liked that state anyways. This whole exercise simply strengthened my resolve. It's not a pretty state, not along I-81 anyhow. If you ever drive through there in the winter be sure to make note of the dirty snow. Yes, I have strange images stuck in my mind from my childhood. Dirty snow is only slightly better than yellow snow.

This gave me a lot of time to contemplate further the past week. The entire previous week had been snowballing towards yesterday afternoon. I had about six or so friends coming to play golf at my family's small, public golf course. It used to be owned and operated by my grandmother, but she is now at the ripe old age of 84, and the reigns have been passed onto my cousin, J.R.

The plan was to play golf during the day with friends and family, and then get cleaned up for the big party we were having at the Lowville Elks Club. The golf was great. Nobody played particularly well, but many of us hadn't seen each other in years. Plus, my son has reached the age where he can at least hit the golf ball far enough to be able to play with adults. Everything was perfect, and then, it happened.

Before I tell this next part let me say one thing. I should have gone up to my grandma's house as soon as I heard that the television remote was missing. I really didn't think it was a big deal, and at the time I wasn't sure how my looking was going to make any difference at all. I mean, it's a remote, and they get lost ALL OF THE TIME. They usually turn up, generally at about a 99% rate, under or in the a couch or chair. Is this not true? My aunt, my cousin, and both of my children had searched for the remote, apparently unable to locate it. What happened next is simply par for the course.

We were on the 17th hole, and the rain had held off. It had been overcast and the temperature was about 75 the entire day. The golf was ok, but the friendships were as strong today as they ever were 25 years ago. I was in a very mellow, and peaceful mood. I was feeling completely happy, when I noticed a golf cart coming down the fairway towards the 17th green. It looked like my aunt, with her mother, my grandma, coming to say hi. The only thing is that I know they're not just coming to just say hi, and if I had thought quickly enough I could have driven my cart away from the gathering of my friends. I could be wrong, of course, and maybe they're just coming out to see how we're all doing.

The cart pulls up, and as it passes my sister's golf cart, I can distinctly hear my grandma yell "I'm a sonofabitch today!!!". Uh-oh.

My aunt and gram pull up to my cart and my grandma is speaking incoherently to me. My aunt takes over and starts yelling at me that the remote is still missing. My initial feeling is that I have done something wrong, and I need to go find this remote, and fast. But then, as my aunt is continuing on, in front of my friends (and paying customers might I add), I start to think about the fact that I am 42 years old, and she can't really speak to me like I'm 15.

After she finally stops I say to her "Tracy, what do you want me to do"?

She starts in about how gram is 84 and that I don't care about her, so I cut her off and YELL "WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO? Just tell me and I'll do it, right now, just TELL ME!!"

Of course she has no answer. I mean, they've all looked for the fucking remote, and if someone can tell me how I'm going to make a difference in this search I'd like to hear about it. So, they just drive off.

My friends, being the nice people they are, say things t make me feel better. One of them, I think it was Buzzy, says I should give my gram a golf club and put her chair close to the tv so she can change channels with the end of the club. That makes me laugh, which is good.

I have to admit though, and I told my friends this afterwards, this is the exact reason why I rarely invited my friends to play golf at my family's golf course. This type of scenario was literally a daily experience in my childhood. At one point, while being berated by my aunt, after she had started her sentence with "Your kids...", I stopped her and told her the only thing she wants me to do is yell at my children for losing the god damn remote. well, I wasn't going to do it just to please her. I mean, it's a remote control. It's lost, and if it's lost forever, which I'm sure it's not, then we can buy a new one for about 8 dollars. Fuck me.

After golf, and after my friends had left to go get ready for the party, I went up to my gram's house to look for the remote. This is where it all gets sort of surreal. I walk into my grandma's living room,and they're all there standing around, like someone had just died. My grandma has me lift a chair to look under it. of course there is no way the remote went under this chair because there is no room for it to fit. I lift it anyways, and them move over to the couch.

My son, Sam, had slept on the couch the night before. He had been watching tv and it makes sense that the remote was down inside the couch somewhere. Of course, I'm sure they've already looked, but now the fifth person needs to look here as well. So, I lift up the left hand cushion on this two section couch, nothing. I lift up the other cushion, and can see there is an area, about the width of, well, of a television remote, that leads down into the bowels of the couch.

At first I don't see anything. But then, there it is. Sitting right there, right where you would expect a lost remote to be located. I grab it and turn to my aunt, and say in a very cold and calm voice "I can't believe you couldn't find this".

I hand gram the remote and walk the hell out of there. Completely unbelievable.

I must say, and I am sorry to admit it, but this episode completely dominates my memory of the past week. Michelle, my wife, and I went to the Elks club for the gathering. We had a wonderful time seeing old friends and hopefully making new ones, but it was sort of hollow.

I've discussed this with my wife on multiple occasions since we have returned to Florida. We have both concluded, after an honest review of my life, that I would have been exactly like my family had I not moved away. It's sad that I say that as though it is a horrible thing to be like one's family, but in this instance I think it may be.

I also visited the Turning Stone Casino, in Verona, NY while I was up north. I'm going to write about the experience later. I'm so happy I live in Florida, and one week back home was plenty.

I feel sick after writing about my family. We were so dysfunctional, and yet we never realized it while growing up. I thought it was all normal. My family, on that side, is just like that guy who wouldn't let me into his lane while driving through Syracuse. What is the point? Isn't it easier to be nice to people? Too much pent up hate and aggression. I can't help it that you are miserable with how your life has become like a cancer that you have to wake up to each morning. Just please, stop taking it out on me. Thanks.