Who takes their kids to Las Vegas?

My parents.

Our “vacations” were piling into the car to leave no later than 5:00 a.m. for the twelve hour drive from the top of Texas to the bottom. That’s how we explained it to one another. A long, boring, hot drive to Dad’s hometown to visit his side of the family. If we were lucky, we’d squeeze in a trip to the beach at Corpus Christi.

The summer of 1989, we ventured out on another twelve hour drive. Long, hot, and boring, but this time to Las Vegas.

Why?

I was 17 about to begin senior year. I had an attitude I kept to myself because backtalk wasn’t allowed and I didn’t push buttons. At least not those belonging to my parents. Siblings were fair game.

Mom and Dad visited Las Vegas a few times with their friends. This summer they decided to take us along on The Great American Road Trip along Route 66. Dad gave me a quick overview about the history of the Mother Road. A road is a road and twelve hours on it wasn’t my idea of fun nor a good history lesson.

I’d share the backseat with my two sisters and youngest brother. That meant sweaty bodies, body odor, burping, elbows to the ribs, Dad’s Tejano music, our bickering, and someone’s head eventually rolling onto my arm for the road trip nap. For whatever reason, we left well past 5:00 a.m. because the sun was bright that morning. I stayed awake to scope out the scenery.

Flat and treeless. Because we went west instead of south, I hoped for something other than cotton and cornfields. I thought once we passed Texas into New Mexico, I’d see a drastic change. Nope. More of the same. This is going to be a long day.

Road signs announced our route, but they didn’t mean much. How many more hours made more sense.

Two hours later, we stopped in Ft. Sumner, New Mexico. “This is where Billy the Kid is buried,” Dad announced.

“Let’s go to his grave so I can spit on it!” eight-year-old smart alek brother quipped.

“Shut up!” us girls started.

We eyed souvenirs, but Mom reminded us we have a long way to go. If we get something here, we won’t get anything in Las Vegas. We piled back into the car and headed west. Unfamiliar towns came and went.

Approaching Arizona, Dad announced a surprise. We’d stop in Flagstaff for the night and visit the Grand Canyon the next day. This was the highlight of the day. Las Vegas wasn’t my idea of a great family trip, but the Grand Canyon? Movies and TV shows were the only way we’d ever seen the Grand Canyon. The Brady Bunch road trip was a favorite.

Our ears perked up and besides the excitement of seeing–and not spitting on–Billy the Kid’s grave, we were now on the lookout for proper ghost towns. But before the Grand Canyon, there was Petrified Forest National Park…