NO ONE JOURNEYS ALONE

             We took two car trip vacations when I was growing up. One was to Luray Caverns in Virginia and the other was to Niagara Falls. Both are only vague memories in a way, but I think a good time was had by all—all being my mom, dad, and me.

            Unlike many families today, as far as I can recall, very little planning went into the arrangements. I never saw my parents sitting at the kitchen table, looking at maps, or making phone calls to reserve a place to stay.  I never heard them discuss any specific details regarding what we would do and see. On the day of departure to parts unknown, everything else about it was unknown, too, not just to me, the small occupant of the backseat surrounded by comic books, but to the "safari" leaders as well.

            On the first night on our way to Niagara Falls, we stayed in one of those small white hillside cabins that use to dot the land in the Poconos in those days.  It was like a Disney True Life Adventure to me, complete with my first encounter with real, live chipmunks. I remember playing on the hillside among the pines and rocks and vegetation unlike anything we had around Medford, NJ where we lived. And there was a gift shop filled with all the usual cheap knickknacks like ashtrays, salt and pepper shakers, figurines, pens, and other miscellaneous short term keepsakes. But they also had some toys and games—that’s what I was interested in.

            I spotted a little plastic roulette wheel, and I asked my parents if I could have it. Mind you, I didn’t know anything about roulette, it just looked like a fun thing to play with.  They bought it for me even though, as the years have passed, I have come to realize how buying something like that would have been a bit of a pinch for them because those were the days long before credit cards—everything was a cash deal. And we were, for the likes of us, on a majorly expensive trip.

            I remember looking at Niagara Falls and the rapids that spilled over into the falls and the gift shop where I bought a little wooden hatchet with a feather dangling from it, painted in a way to suggest Native American authenticity. More than likely, it lasted only long enough for me to show to my friends when I got back home. I actually don’t remember whatever happened to it. But my parents no doubt knew that that would be the case, and still they bought it for me anyway in spite of the fact that we needed money to get back home.  

            The reason I’m telling you all this is to say that since I have been working on my memoir these last couple of months, things have come back to me that I had long since forgotten. And within that, I have come to realize that it has been the kindness and generosity of people like my parents and others in my life that has enabled me to appreciate and have joy for much of my life’s journey.  

            There may have been some tough times for all of us; times when we maybe felt like life was nothing but pain and heartache. There were times when maybe we lacked any sense of well-being or self-worth. There have been times for most of us when we just needed help to get to where we wanted to go, and, lo and behold, there was someone who said just the right words or did just the right thing at the right moment.

            As Fred Rogers used to say about major tragedies and tough times, “Look for the helpers.” I might add, remember the helpers who have long since gone or thank the ones who are still very much with you. We have all had them in our lives.