We were somewhere along Interstate 75 in Georgia, south of Atlanta, zooming past the billboards announcing pecans for sale, fervent pro-life sentiments and an astonishing number of "adult XXX" establishments when we noticed something was wrong.
The minivan's air conditioning wasn't churning out very cold air.
By the time we crossed the stateline into Florida, just a few hours from Disney World, there was no denying it: The air conditioning was kaput.
The temperature was 78 and climbing. And we were slowed to a crawl in traffic.
We had set out from Monroe the morning before, March 18, arriving at our motel in northern Georgia late that night. I told the kids to wear a T-shirt with a light jacket for the next day's travel: While it was still about 50 when we left our motel that morning, the forecast was for the high 70s by the time we hit the Promised Land later that afternoon.
My husband John ignored my savvy advice. He dressed in layers but his were more appropriate for ice fishing in Wisconsin in January than driving through Florida in March. I will say no more on that subject.
There was some grumbling about the temperature in the van. Actually, a lot of grumbling.
I tried to use it as a teachable moment, informing my three daughters that when their father and I were young, we didn't have air conditioning in cars. We just rode around with the windows rolled down (no power windows either, kids) when it was hot out. And yes, it was loud - so loud you couldn't hear the AM radio - if, and that was a big if, you were lucky enough that your dad let you turn the radio on.
It was here John had to interject, correcting me to say by the time he was 12, his father purchased a new car with air conditioning, which made me recall that my own father had purchased a car with air conditioning when I was about the same age. If John wasn't sweating so much from being terribly overdressed, I would have been very upset with him for poking holes in my alternative facts. (But up until age 12, I assure you, we were quite hot riding around in those cars.)
I tried to put the lack of air conditioning into perspective. This would be so much worse, I said, if we were traveling in July rather than March. The thermometer on the dashboard read 80. "See," I said, pointing at the digital display. "That would be 90, 92, maybe higher in August."
My family is not a bunch of glass-half-full-type of people. They chose to look at the glass as half-full of stagnant, near-boiling water.
But this was not my first road trip with this hot-blooded brood. We travel with a cooler of iced water and an assortment of snacks - Mommy's little helpers. When the grumbling starts, the goodies come out. It's amazing how a couple of Oreos can calm everyone's nerves.
I told the kids more about the good old days of traveling. For starters, how we really didn't very much. John's dad was a dairy farmer so extended road trips were out. In my family, travel was limited to visiting grandparents, and we were also lucky to be able to enjoy summer weekends at my uncle's lake house in Kenosha County.
Back in the day, you were afraid to ask your dad to stop for a bathroom break - only the youngest children dare. Then, our parents would pull over to the side of a country road and open the front and back door for "privacy" for little kids who could no longer hold it.
And we certainly didn't have a nice minivan to travel in, with individual bucket seats so everyone had their own space. I remember riding in the back of my dad's Barracuda, with the suitcase and the family dog on the way to Grandma's. (Safety wasn't really a thing in the 1970s.)
Now the kids have electronics and phones to keep them busy. They can watch movies and play games. They have neck pillows for comfortable napping. We would have thought it was travel fitting Judy and Elroy Jetson.
Except when the air conditioning goes out. Then it's windows down and hollering at the kids to keep their hands inside the car.
Just like the good old days.
- Mary Jane Grenzow is editor of the Monroe Times.
She can be reached at
editor@themonroetimes.com.
Her column appears on Saturdays.
The minivan's air conditioning wasn't churning out very cold air.
By the time we crossed the stateline into Florida, just a few hours from Disney World, there was no denying it: The air conditioning was kaput.
The temperature was 78 and climbing. And we were slowed to a crawl in traffic.
We had set out from Monroe the morning before, March 18, arriving at our motel in northern Georgia late that night. I told the kids to wear a T-shirt with a light jacket for the next day's travel: While it was still about 50 when we left our motel that morning, the forecast was for the high 70s by the time we hit the Promised Land later that afternoon.
My husband John ignored my savvy advice. He dressed in layers but his were more appropriate for ice fishing in Wisconsin in January than driving through Florida in March. I will say no more on that subject.
There was some grumbling about the temperature in the van. Actually, a lot of grumbling.
I tried to use it as a teachable moment, informing my three daughters that when their father and I were young, we didn't have air conditioning in cars. We just rode around with the windows rolled down (no power windows either, kids) when it was hot out. And yes, it was loud - so loud you couldn't hear the AM radio - if, and that was a big if, you were lucky enough that your dad let you turn the radio on.
It was here John had to interject, correcting me to say by the time he was 12, his father purchased a new car with air conditioning, which made me recall that my own father had purchased a car with air conditioning when I was about the same age. If John wasn't sweating so much from being terribly overdressed, I would have been very upset with him for poking holes in my alternative facts. (But up until age 12, I assure you, we were quite hot riding around in those cars.)
I tried to put the lack of air conditioning into perspective. This would be so much worse, I said, if we were traveling in July rather than March. The thermometer on the dashboard read 80. "See," I said, pointing at the digital display. "That would be 90, 92, maybe higher in August."
My family is not a bunch of glass-half-full-type of people. They chose to look at the glass as half-full of stagnant, near-boiling water.
But this was not my first road trip with this hot-blooded brood. We travel with a cooler of iced water and an assortment of snacks - Mommy's little helpers. When the grumbling starts, the goodies come out. It's amazing how a couple of Oreos can calm everyone's nerves.
I told the kids more about the good old days of traveling. For starters, how we really didn't very much. John's dad was a dairy farmer so extended road trips were out. In my family, travel was limited to visiting grandparents, and we were also lucky to be able to enjoy summer weekends at my uncle's lake house in Kenosha County.
Back in the day, you were afraid to ask your dad to stop for a bathroom break - only the youngest children dare. Then, our parents would pull over to the side of a country road and open the front and back door for "privacy" for little kids who could no longer hold it.
And we certainly didn't have a nice minivan to travel in, with individual bucket seats so everyone had their own space. I remember riding in the back of my dad's Barracuda, with the suitcase and the family dog on the way to Grandma's. (Safety wasn't really a thing in the 1970s.)
Now the kids have electronics and phones to keep them busy. They can watch movies and play games. They have neck pillows for comfortable napping. We would have thought it was travel fitting Judy and Elroy Jetson.
Except when the air conditioning goes out. Then it's windows down and hollering at the kids to keep their hands inside the car.
Just like the good old days.
- Mary Jane Grenzow is editor of the Monroe Times.
She can be reached at
editor@themonroetimes.com.
Her column appears on Saturdays.
