Like others, this big ol’ Ford brings back memories of cross country (Squire) trips to see national monuments, visit relatives, and supposedly bond as a family, although that aspect wasn’t apparent at the time. Mostly it was an opportunity for Dad to try out all the new material he’d been working on since the last family vacation.

Of course he had the vacation to south Dakota in mind when he went down to Frontier Ford, “Home of the Straight Shootin’ Deal”, and bought the Country Squire. He traded in the ’68 Torino wagon because the family had grown, he was making a few more bucks than he had been and, by god, this was America where size mattered. Got the red one as kind of a counter-balance to the fact that his hair was thinning. The red color kept things racy the way a comb-over couldn’t.

Just backing out of the driveway on Pleasant Lane in Fort Stockton he’d tell Mom, “Get out the map and the high-lighters I’ve been collecting. I brought enough this year, you can mark my words!” Yeah, he’d been practicing. His routine would be as finely tuned as the 390 cubic inch V8 under the hood of the Country Squire. The V8 had 255 horsepower, but Dad-jokes have staying power, or so he thought, anyway.

My older brother, Steve, and I would be in the way-back having a contest as to who could be the first to ask when we were going to get there. Dad was ready. “Depends on the rotation of the earth,” he said, “and that really makes my day.” And then he laughed like he was sitting in the chair next to Johnny’s desk on the ‘Tonight Show’, Ed McMahon doubled over in laughter while Johnny kept being the straight man for the Dad.

About the time we got to Big Spring, Mom asked, “Did you remember to pack your orthopedic sandals?”

“Of course!” he replied, “I didn’t think they’d help, but I stand corrected.” Outside of Abilene he had to swerve to miss hitting a dog in the road. “Yesterday I spotted an albino Dalmatian,.” he shouted towards the back. “It was the least I could do.”

Before I could finish rolling my eyes, Steve opened up the ‘Boy’s Life’ magazine he’d had his nose in and turned it carefully my direction (and away from the front seat where it’s reflection might be caught in the Day/Night rearview mirror), revealing the ‘Playboy’ he had tucked inside.

It made Dad’s comedy routine bearable.

As I came to grips with the issues caused by the flash of flesh of Miss February 1971, I heard Mom ask Dad if he packed the pistol he said he was going to buy to have in the car for while we were camping. “You mean the one I got at T-REX’s? The small arms dealer!” Tears were streaming down his cheeks. He’d been waiting for two-hundred miles for her to set that one up.

He tried to get us all to join in for the License Plate Game in Nebraska, but I lost interest when Dad said, “I for one like Roman Numerals.” Steve was still engrossed in “Boy’s Life” and completely missed that one.

As the family headed into the Stuckey’s in Iowa, Dad stayed outside to gas up the big red road beast, but shouted over his shoulder, “Be careful with the bag when you come out! I like my candy canes mint.”

He’d put a lot of thought into this year’s trip.

Our room at the Straight Arrow Motel outside Rapid City had more fake wood on the walls than the Country Squire, and orange bedspreads that could have hidden a crime scene. Walking in, Dad dropped the bags, surveyed the room and then headed for the bathroom, since he hadn’t actually made a pit stop for two days, best we could figure. Closing the door for what we suspected could be a prolonged period and yelled, “My view on the toilet paper roll is over the top.”

I gave Steve my souvenir money for five minutes alone in the bathroom with the “Boy’s Life” before we loaded up and headed out to Shakey’s Pizza for dinner and countless sing-a-longs. After a quick dip in the pool instead of showers (waiting 30 minutes after eating, of course) we headed to bed. 

Dad hit the lights and crawled in bed next to Mom. I heard him whisper, “Am I the only one you’ve ever been with?”

She whispered back, “Of course, dear. All the others were nines and tens.” Then I only heard her laughing.

Miss the Country Squire. Miss Mom and Dad. Might give Steve a call tonight.