a better route home

Last night I was reminded of a sweet memory from my childhood in the small college town of Rexburg, Idaho. It was 1962, I was 9 years old. I had spent the day with my best friend, Laurel Zollinger. Their large family had a nice home and I always felt welcome there. They had a lovely playhouse in their back yard but it wasn’t as popular as the fabulous mud hole at one end of the long driveway where I learned to “bake.” We made such wonderful delicacies from that rich Idaho soil and never-ending supply of the finest ingredients: cinnamon sugar (sand), nuts (gravel),dried fruits (leaves)… Our creations were laid out on a seemingly endless length of 2x4 to bake in the sun.

This particular day we baked until after dark, when the “oven” cooled down, and although it was a straight shot for me to walk only two blocks to my home, Laurel asked her dad if he would drive us there. I was a little embarrassed to bother him, but Laurel insisted, and I thought I saw a little twinkle in her eye. Her Dad agreed and we got in his car. He claimed to not know the way, so she happily agreed to give him directions and thus began a nice little wild-goose chase through our neighborhood. “Turn right here, then turn left at the next street, then go strait for two blocks and turn right again…”

A good ten minutes later I was getting nervous that he would have enough of this nonsense and just drop me off at the next stop sign to find my own way home. But he was quite agreeable to play along, even when her directions led us right to the A&W drive-in! “Well, lookie here,” he said, feigning surprise, “I must have gone right when you said left! Well, as long as we’re here, let’s get us a root beer!” And so we did. My nervousness subsided as he happily handed us our mugs. We all enjoyed our treats and then, surprise, he knew right where I lived…

I was terribly impressed with Laurel’s cleverness, but touched more by the father, who was willing to take the time to make a sweet memory for a child. He knew the better route home after all.