Occasionally, I need to take my son to Arlington, Virginia to have his flute or piccolo repaired. These people are the best in the business; however, I dread this trip. Days before the trip, I break out into a cold sweat and have nightmares. The day I have to drive him, my body tenses, my testicles retract into my body and I begin to weep.
Yesterday’s trip was worse than any other. First, there were several accidents and slowdowns. Second, there were exit closings and construction and third, my son had to pee like a racehorse in the middle of major traffic jam. I recall saying to him, please take sips from your water bottle, don’t drink the whole thing. Alas, more parental pearls of wisdom that fell on deaf ears.
Commuting around the D.C. area is a punishment fit for the most heinous of crimes. I’ve lived in several major cities. New York, although I didn’t drive, it would take me over an hour to go from my home in Brooklyn to my job in another part of Brooklyn. I took three trains to do it. In Philadelphia, the Schuylkill Expressway is Satan’s dragway. In London, I tried to drive on the right hand side of the road several times with near fatal results. Damn foreigners!
After hours of driving (this is, or should be, a 90 minute trip at best), we finally made it. My son peed. We had lunch and it was time to leave. After girding my loins, we were off, homeward bound. Days later we finally pulled into the driveway and hungry, thirsty, dirty our clothes torn and shredded. Next time, I send the instruments UPS.
Route 495 on a typical weekday
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