It was the best and worst of times
Let me preface this column by saying I do love traveling and exploring places I’ve never been; I simply loathe the going part. That sentiment never rang truer than during my recent trip to Florida on a charter bus full of high school band students.
Besides being confined in a small space for 14 hours with teenage males and their personalities, I suffered a dislocated thumb within the first two hours of the trek. Luckily, my brother Joe was my travel partner and was able to pop my thumb back into place.
I spent the first 12 hours of the journey thrashing about in my uncomfortable seat like a worm in hot ashes. Joe, my seatmate, was not pleased. He was ready to send me home on the next passing northbound freightliner. “No rest for the wicked” my mother used to say. Joe couldn’t have agreed more.
After changing clothes and brushing my teeth in a seedy gas station parking lot somewhere near Georgia, the bus arrived at Disney’s Hollywood Studios around 9 the following morning.
The next four days were a blur of exhaustion and Disney magic. I witnessed my son, Cooper and the SHO-ME Band proudly represent Poplar Bluff High School in the Magic Kingdom parade, acquired swollen knees, rode out a tornado while fine dining at Disney Springs, suffered Florida grade sunburn/windburn, got foot blisters, ate way too much gas station food and lived out my childhood dream of seeing Disney World.
The bus ride home proved much more conducive to my comfort level. Joe had managed to talk two of the kids into sharing a seat so he and I each could have a seat to ourselves. There may or may not have been monetary contributions involved in the seat swap, but I digress.
I remember very little from the trip back as I managed to actually fall asleep for the majority of the ride. At one point, I awakened in the wee small hours, with my legs propped in the bus window and my head hanging down in the aisle, dangerously close to the toes of a teenager. I’m way too old and out of shape to contort my body in such ways! One of the boys remarked how my mouth wasn’t open “too far” while I was sleeping but I drooled a little! No room for decorum when you’re piled up in a bus like a litter of newborn puppies. However, the bruised imprint of an armrest on my right forearm did prove I rested.
We made it home the next morning relatively unscathed and exhausted; overflowing with unforgettable memories. It truly was a magical juxtaposition of the best and worst of times.
Amber Hornbeck is a staff writer for the Daily American Republic. She can be reached at ahornbeck.dar@gmail.com.
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