'Cuz it's on the way

April 04, 2005 | Category:

My father is/was infamous for the plane tickets he would buy for us.

Back in the days when redeeming Frequent Flier points demanded an advanced degree in Chaos Theory, he would always manage to get us from PointA to PointB but there would sure be stops along the way.

I could just imagine him on the phone with one of the airline reps back in high school when he would get me a ticket so I could be shipped off to Florida to spend Spring Break with his folks.

"How many points do I need to spend for a direct flight? 25Billion? Mmmhmm. Ok, what have you got for less points? One stop in Philly? And that's only 10Billion points? Right, can you do a little better? Ok, a stop in NYCity, then on to Detroit, then she sleeps in the lounge in Butte, and finally arrives in Florida at 6AM the next day? And that's HOW many points? 9.5Billion? I'll TAKE IT!"

He once gave my brother a ticket from Seattle to Chicago that stopped not once but TWICE - the second time in Dallas. (You got to figure with kids this dumb, we probably deserved what we got, trip-wise.)

(Did I mention that, unfortunately, my brother fell asleep along the way? He woke up at the trip terminus in Minneapolis dazed and confused with a flight attendant asking him if he knew what day it was. But that's a whole 'nother story.)

Up until I was in my late 20's, all my flights were either purchased by the Church or my Dad, and I suck at geography anyway. So imagine my surprise to discover one day that Atlanta is NOT on the way to everywhere.

I think I actually called and woke my father up with the information. The way he'd been routing me all those years, I figured there was no way he already knew this.

You'd have thought that this would be genetic and that I could get away with a whole lot of fudge on our trips with my son. Heck, no. Turns out he is smarter than your average Bear.

This morning, after preschool, we were discussing our trip tomorrow. We're going to drive to Indianapolis and spend the night with friends and then I'm going to leave him there while I drive to my meetings in B.F.E., heading back to him the very next day.

"I can stay here, with my niñera," he informed me.

"No, this is a better idea."

He looked at me doubtfully and demanded I show him on the map where Indianapolis is and where I would be. So he climbed in my lap and we mapquested the whole trip (see how I made up a whole new verb there?).

Turns out that I was right, but I maturely refrained from doing a touchdown dance.

He sighed and agreed that the friend's house IS, indeed, A) on the way and B) much closer to my meetings than our house is. He further decided (praise the Lord) that he would be happier sleeping there because it would minimize our time and distance apart.

Negotiations with my preschooler completed, he ran outside to try and convince his niñera that she should come along for the ride. Don't place bets one way or the other, folks.

I know one thing for absolute SURE: my son ain't NEVER spending the night sleeping on his luggage in Butte.

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