I remember my brother and me traveling with our grandparents down the middle of a country called America. And I remember our parents taking us for excursions through sections of it called Kansas, and Oklahoma, and Texas. Here are a few more things I think of when I remember those American backroads before all the broken laws happened to it.
America was a lot like my family.
The local people spoke English like us. Sure, they had different accents. But we could understand every word. In fact, when we’d stop for something to eat, the waitress (yeah, that’s what they called servers back then) sounded like us. Our whole family was pleasantly surprised at the coincidence. And when Dad stopped at a gas station, a friendly guy would come out, pump gas into the car and ask if we needed the oil checked or windshield cleaned. Most times with a smile on his face.
I always wondered what made those guys so happy.
When we drove down the interstates (which were nice roads), Grandmother challenged us to read the road signs. It wasn’t all that difficult, though, because they were in English. But they zipped by pretty fast. So, that was the challenge. The roads were smooth. And trash was almost non-existent. And we never saw graffiti. Not even on train cars. I know. Hard to imagine. But it’s true.
America overflowed with friendly people on those backroads before all the broken laws.
So many people smiled and said hello when I walked with my Grandmother to the grocery store. The local natives punched in the totals on clunky cash registers. And some guy put all the groceries in brown paper bags. It was like they didn’t have a clue how inefficient and wasteful that was. They just smiled and talked and asked about the family. And it took much longer than a kid could stand.
I remember America seemed to settle down quite a bit each evening.
They had the oddest forms of evening entertainment, too. Sometimes the grownups sat around in lawn chairs telling stories while someone churned out something called homemade ice cream. Or they’d split open a large, red fruit. I think they called it a watermelon. And everyone ate and told stories until well after dark. There were no specialized TV shows or channels of music for kids. So, guess what they did while the grownups talked.
Chased fireflies and put them in a jar. Can you imagine? No one realized or cared how every life (even a bug) is equally valuable.
And those poor folks back then didn’t have all the great ways to make a quick buck either. Like legalized abortion, legalized pornography, powerball, lotto, ubiquitous pharmaceuticals, marijuana dispensaries, divorce lawyers, or serial killers and terrorists selling their stories to movie producers. I could go on. But it starts to sound depressing.
Anyway…
All in all America was a nice country to visit.
Even though it was a dorky family-friendly environment filled with bumpkins and simpletons I’d certainly go back for an extended visit.
If I could just find the way. Now, where did I put my Atlas?
God Bless America,
Land that I love.
Stand beside her, and guide her
Through the night with a light from above.
From the mountains, to the prairies,
To the oceans, white with foam
God bless America, My home sweet home.
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