When my Dad came back stateside from Taiwan, my Mom flew to McDill with my baby sister and my Dad bravely undertook to show my brothers and sisters and me (the six of us, ranging in age from 7-14) the US. We landed in Oregon and he bought a station wagon. It was 1968.
We traveled down the Pacific Coast Highway. We stopped at places along the way and picked our own corn and fruit, and ate ourselves sick, literally. It only took one day of driving in a car with six spewing kids to reinforce to Dad the importance of washing produce before eating it. We discovered Kentucky Fried Chicken.
We learned our family history. We visited relatives along the way, including a great aunt in San Francisco and my great uncle in Burbank, a movie star, and my Dad's brother Pick, who worked for JPL on a contract for NASA. We saw television in color and in english- great shows like Rat Patrol, Mission Impossible and Star Trek.
We saw giant redwoods and went to Disneyland and yes, Tiajuana, and then started west to Florida, stopping at the Grand Canyon and sleeping under the stars in the desert.
We had left a land of starving people, open sewers and bomb shelters. We knew we were in paradise. At the height of the Viet Nam war, we were the proudest, most patriotic family you've ever seen. I'd like to give the same experience to my kids, but without them enduring life in a third world country, they just don't get it.
Cook, it is beautiful here. It's just those three summer months.