Summer Road Trips: Las Vegas, 1989

We made it to Las Vegas, but not before stopping for lunch at a Burger King where I wrote a bad review on a napkin hoping someone would read it. Hoover Dam didn’t make a huge impression on me. It was a long wall of concrete. My head ached. The relentless sun seared us on the way to the gift shop. I begged Mom for a Gatorade and downed it without sharing. Later, I figured out I might have had heat exhaustion even though we were in the car most of the time. The desert will shrivel all moisture out of you without notice.

“Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas” announced our destination. We were ready for a real shower in our hotel room. The lights were on even in the daytime as we drove down the strip to the Flamingo Hilton hotel, in all of it’s pink glory.

We unpack the car and follow Mom and Dad to the hotel lobby. The cool air provides relief and we’re giddy with excitement. Hotel stays were a rare treat for us and this one looked fancy, to us, anyway.

I’m expecting a quick stop at the desk, get the keys and room number, take the elevator, find the room, and sprawl out on one of the beds.

We have to wait in line. A long line. A line so long Dad asks Mom to take us to the waiting area in the lobby where other travelers wait with piles of suitcases and duffel bags. There is no place to sit.

I can’t laugh. I can’t cry. I can’t scream. I count suitcases. I listen to the slot machines in the distance still wondering why we’d take a family vacation to Sin City. Aren’t we supposed to stay away from sin? Here were, underage and right in the middle of it. If I die will I go straight to hell? I didn’t plan this trip, so hopefully not.

If we have another no vacancy situation…

Dad returns with the room key and we head to our room. Mom is the first to get in the shower. I decide to take a nap, still groggy from sleeping in the car. The curtains are pulled back so we can observe the view of a real city. I’m so tired I can’t even sleep.

It took us the rest of the day to settle in, eat a proper meal, go sight seeing and return for the night. Angie and I were on nude duty. We were tasked with covering Anthony’s eyes any time someone on the street flashed business cards with nude girls on the front. Of course, he dodged us every time so Mom intercepted him, yanking him close, pointing to some building or landmark as a distraction.

Uncle Danny and my youngest sister joined us the next day. She missed the adventure because they flew instead of road-tripping with us. Lucky.

We went shopping and traveled to ancient Greece at Caesar’s Palace. We watched a show, Legends in Concert, where Elvis, Sammy Davis, Jr., Frank Sinatra, the Blues Brothers, and Dolly Parton impersonators performed. Occasionally, we’d make sure casino security guards paid attention when we veered off the path and stepped onto the casino floor carpet. They were quick. We ate pizza at Circus Circus while we watched the trapeze show.

I didn’t know this would be my last family vacation before heading off to college. We drove each other crazy and almost renamed ourselves the Griswolds, but no one could top Clark, although we got close.

Mom flew back home with Uncle Danny, to get to work on time. I upgraded to the front seat, thank goodness, but I also had to fill in for Mom and make sure everyone was okay. There were less pit stops and there was no overnight stay. Dad was determined to get that twelve hour drive done in under twelve hours.

I saw the sign to Petrified Forest National Park as it grew smaller in the rearview mirror. My one little piece of summer, tucked away somewhere in my suitcase.

Summer Road Trips: Las Vegas, 1989

People at a scenic overlook at Grand Canyon National Park — With Dad at Grand Canyon National Park, 1989

The Grand Canyon

We slept in the car. Mom didn’t. She’s the type who needs a morning and evening shower. There wan’t anything else to do but fall asleep leaning against the car door, Anthony stretched out across the back seat bookended between his two sisters.

In the morning, we pulled out of the parking lot and into a service station. We’d drive to the Grand Canyon and do another national park drive through. Someone at the service station informed Dad about the showers.

Hungry, stinky, and bleary-eyed, it was hard to be excited.

And then we saw the views.

On the way to find the campground showers, we made a few stops at scenic overlooks.

You’d think the most memorable part of the trip was the magnificent view, but it was the showers. Dad split some quarters with Mom. He took off with Anthony in one direction and we took off with her in another. Not only were there few shower stalls, Mom put Angie and me in one stall and she took another.

“You’ll need to be quick and you’ll have to share. While one of you scrubs down, one of you stands under the water. When it runs out, it runs out.”

You have got to be kidding me.

We stood back to back because two teen sisters in the same space, in a shower, is mortifying.

“You’re hogging the water, MOVE so I can rinse my hair!”

It didn’t work. Midway through, the water stops.

“Go get more quarters,” I snapped.

Squeaky clean, Angie gets dressed and leaves me, drip drying, my eyes closed to block soap from running into my eyes.

“She ran out!” she announces when she returns. “You need to hurry so we can leave.”

Typical.

I get dressed, my hair half rinsed with soapy film.

We didn’t ride donkeys down to the bottom of the canyon like the kids on The Brady Bunch. No helicopter ride. No real camping, just a quick drive through with a pit stop for a shower. The canyon’s grandeur did take our breath away, but we weren’t there long enough to take it in the way such places deserve.

On this never ending road trip, our next stop is at Hoover Dam. I don’t want to see a damn dam.

Summer Road Trips: Las Vegas, 1989

Who takes their kids to Las Vegas?

My parents.

Our “vacations” consisted of 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 one of my two sisters, Angie and seven year old brother Anthony. Aida got to stay with Nana and fly in with Uncle Danny later, to give us a little extra room in the back seat. Lucky.

Still, that meant sweaty bodies, body odor, burping, elbows to the ribs, Dad’s Tejano music, our bickering, and Anthony’s head, but mostly his entire body eventually rolling all over us girls 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!” seven-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…

Are You There Judy? It’s Me, Ally…

Sunday, March 22, 2026

Hi again. This is the 4th or 5th time I write to you (on my blog). I’ve had people suggest I send these letters (links) to you. Worth a try even though you may be buried in fan mail. I’d absolutely love it if you’d write back.

Thank you for writing books I needed to read when I was a kid. I’ve never forgotten them and I learned about the world in them. Looking back, I also learned about family dynamics. My parents worked long hours out of necessity. I had first born child responsibilities as a tween and teen, you know, be the little adult you’re in charge until we get one type of situation. My grandparents and extended family lived minutes away, so it wasn’t an unhealthy or awful situation, just one of those where we had some responibilities a little earlier than most kids do. Your books helped me be a teen with other teens and I enjoyed living vicariously through your characters.

My daughter and I recently re-watched Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret while she finished some homework. We both enjoyed watching it on the big screen and it was fun having it on again. She’s now older than Margaret’s character so she had a great time psychoanalyzing the family dynamics. She even offered Margaret advice through commentary about her friends and life change.

I’d love to visit your book shop some day. I’ve heard that sometimes you’re working in the shop. you are at the top of my author meet-up bucket list. I’ve been lucky to meet great authors in person, so I know it’s a possibility. If I saw you out in public I’m sure I’d go right back to my twelve year old self in excitement. If I met you in person, I think I’d cry.

Do you still get massive amounts of fan mail? I wanted to write to you years ago, but I wasn’t sure if you’d read my letter. I find myself wondering the same question now. Maybe you’ll get this. Maybe it will remain unsent. Regardless, I appreciate how your books found me.

Sincerely, a long time fan,

Ally

P.S. Is there anything you wish you would have written?

Calendar

Mine. Yours. Ours. I’ve been using an official planner to keep myself organized. There was a time when my lesson planner was enough, but those days are gone. One kiddo is adulting and the other is smack dab in her teens. Hubby’s work schedule changes frequently so I have to keep track of that, too. I took a break from having said little boxes tell me what to do, but that week is over, so back to the boxes I go.

I could use the ones in my phone that will give me notifications, but said notifications get ignored. I’m a paper planner type of person with a side of phone calendar. Dates are transferred to the official keeper of time.

Keeping work at work, I focused on personal & family dates for the rest of this quarter and the next one. That takes us into summer break, and hopefully, a summer vacation. My niece turning fourteen two weeks ago launched us into birthday season. For March, it’s two friends, an aunt, a niece, and two nephews. There’s also a wedding I missed, an anniversary, and everything Lent related from our church calendar.

In April, it’s two nieces, a nephew and his mom, my sister-in-law (both on the same day), an uncle, my dad, two cousins-I might have lost count. Add Mother’s day in May, a niece’s birthday, a quinceañera, all of the extra celebrations, end of the school year shut down the library frenzy, and my parents’ anniversary.

Oh, and there’s testing. So much testing!

To plan ahead for S.’s appointments, I take a look at her testing calendar. AP exams. Uh-oh. AP exams. When are they scheduled? I poke around on the school’s testing website and find them. I pencil them in their proper calendar cells.

Then I get sucker punched to the gut. Wait. I did pay the registration for AP testing. Or was that last school year‘s World History test? Uh-oh. I check my inbox and search. It’s gotta be here, I rarely delete important information.

Sure enough, I have the testing confirmation and receipt. Calm down, heart, don’t jump out of my body. I jot down the two dates in May.

Returning to my inbox, I see the subject line: Important Info for S’s Senior Year.

It’s from the school’s photo company. Senior portrait session appointments are available for booking next fall. I start filling out the form and stop in the field to add her phone number for notifications. I don’t know her number and I’m not in the mood to check. It’s the last chunk of March. I’m working with the end of this school year’s dates.

I’m not ready to go there yet.

Almost

Back to the ghost mall today. She calls to make sure what she needs is in stock as promised two days ago. A bout of insomnia last night means a late wake up for me and that means getting ready for the day long past noon.

“Are you ready?”

“Almost!”

I pick up snacky lunch dishes while she gets ready.

“Are you ready now?”

“Almost!” Antsy, I’m ready to go and return home for doing all of the things that need doing. If we don’t go now, we’ll get stuck in traffic on the way back.

“Let’s go!” I holler impatiently.

“I’m almost ready!”

“You said that two almosts ago!”

#lifewithateen

Why can’t she just answer the question with a simple yes or no?

Ghost Mall

A canceled appointment led S. and me to the mall for something she wanted (and definitely didn’t need). The only place to get it is from a store at the mall. It’s almost 11:00 and the parking lot is deserted. Did we miss something? I turn a corner and find a small group of cars parked near the front doors of an anchor store. Prime real estate back in its hey-day.

We go through Macy’s bedding department. All of the beds are dull beige with lifeless and colorless bedding. They don’t look inviting. Gone are the days of wanting to curl up in a cushy and fluffy department store bed. I bypass Christmas themed super clearance dinnerware I don’t need. Someone else can get the deal. Geoffrey the Toys R Us giraffe from the kids’ toy section grins at no one, pink Barbie boxes line shelves willing kids to take a look, but there are no kids. We pass escalators that are either broken or turned off. To save energy? Who knows. We head to the front of the store that opens to the mall.

I haven’t been here in years. I missed the mark and parked on the opposite end of where we need to go. What was once an old Borders book store is open, full of giant stuffed Pokémon and other licensed stuffed toys in the windows, but more shops are caged closed with the lights off than those brightly flashing their wares. Jewelry stores. Candles. Shoes. A boutique announcing everything must go to no one but us.

Nearby escalators we planned to take are also not operational. What’s up with the escalators? We continue on, looking for people. I relay my “when I was your age” story about how spring break brought everyone who didn’t go anywhere to the mall. Even that was a treat for those who didn’t travel. We pass the food court. Every seat is available. Chick-fil-a lines snaking around tables are gone. A pretzel place is there, but most other well-known food court spaces disappeared. Pizza. Baked potatoes. Footlong corndogs. Panda Express. All gone. A shut down movie theater around the corner doesn’t send its buttery popcorn scent luring people to catch a flick.

Finding working escalators, we descend to the first floor. Gray covers robe vendorless mall carts stationed along the center walkways. No one asks us to test lotion, no cheap silver jewelry beckons us to take a look and politely decline. A mom with two littles smiles as they sit on the Easter bunny’s lap-likely the same costume used for the past thirty years-no line here either.

“That bunny is creepy.”

Formal dresses sparkle, desperately hoping for a prom queen or quinceañera to take them out of their misery and out on the town. S. doesn’t give them a second look, but if I were choosing, it would be the long emerald green one.

We arrive at the shop S. needed to find. Is this place open? It’s hard to tell. Half the lights are off, but the space is open, so we go inside.

“We’re out of stock right now,” the lone sales clerk informs us, “but our shipments come in at noon on Thursday.” We’re the only three people in the store and she she stands behind the counter as if she’s afraid to come out, peering at us, confirming we’re real people shoppers.

Wanting to take a quick look, we walk around to another anchor store. The lights are on, sign still flashing brightly, but the glass doors are closed. All inventory has been stripped, fixtures bare, but signs still advertise manly cologne.

“Let’s get out of here. This place is sad and depressing. It has really low energy, Mom, I don’t like it.”

An empty coin operated carousel offering FUN plays an odd calliope circus tune as an animatronic Build-a-Bear waves, flanked by stuffed bears, pink Peeps, bunnies, and rabbits advertising spring.

Easter bunny sits alone, the mom and her littles long gone.

***

Today, I stepped into our version of the Jasper Mall documentary.

Change of Plans

I might be upset to change my plans this weekend, but I didn’t have any. A tough week reinforced my decision to putter around and do something. Or not. An even rougher night almost yielded a 3:30 a.m. draft, but I was able to course-correct and get back into snooze mode.

My morning walk didn’t happen either and I don’t plan to take one later. It’s a cool springy type of rainy day, allowing me to leave the back door open until the cool breeze becomes a little too much and S. exclaims that it’s just too cold! I enjoy inviting in the sound of soft rainfall, especially since there isn’t warm humid air to accompany it. That won’t be the case in a few weeks. I’ll take all I can now.

S. made her own brunch. I had coffee and cinnamon toast. Hubby is working. Cooking likely won’t happen today. We’re at the grab and go stage of life since being together for a meal is tricky.

#lifewithateen

A massage is scheduled this afternoon. Maybe I can slow down enough to catch my breath. I’m almost at the stage of life where I can care about not caring. Groceries, laundry, and piles of a busy week that needs tidying are patient enough to wait for another day.

S. walks down the stairs announcing, “I’ve decided to go ahead and get ready to start the day.”

You and me both, Chica!

Small Parts

She struts on stage with small quick steps, wearing a snug black long sleeve shirt, high-waisted turquoise and navy polka dot capris that zip up the back, black kitten heels, and bobby socks. Another girl accompanies her, stage giggles and conversations over a menu summon empty red drink glasses from a waiter. They take their drinks and move from a table to a diner counter, backs to the audience, continuing their conversation.

The plot continues across the stage until the end. Cast members, hand in hand, take center stage. Bow. Applause.

We stop for ice cream on the way home.

A late night for a Thursday. Time to decompress. The dog sniffed us all, reassured of our presence. She’s gone her way. Myth Busters keeps my husband company. I’m tapping away at my laptop. Her backpack sits in her chair at the kitchen table.

Strewn across the table, a yellow envelope holds notes of encouraging words from her directors. Yes, I read them. Two white long-stemmed roses rest next to a long plastic nose.

Cyrano ’26 is written on one side of the nose, Sophie on the other.

I take the roses, sniff their scent, and fill a white bud vase with water.

Family Sleuthing Skills

Escape rooms. I did one as a team building activity one year with our campus leadership team. We had a great time, but it’s the only one I’ve done.

I purchased one for the hubster’s birthday. Rather than giving material gifts, we’ve started gifting outings. This would be a first for everyone else. I made the reservation and consulted my 22 year old about which one to choose. The level of difficulty ranged from 7-10 with different themes.

“Choose a 7, we want to be able to get out and make Dad think he got us out of there.”

Based on availability, I went with Lost Cities, an iteration of Raiders of the Lost Ark. We’re mostly intelligent and should be able to bust out, but together, we’re kinda dumb. Way too much bickering. No one ever listens to me anyway, so in this setting, I kept my mouth shut. None of us tried working together. I kept reminding everyone the point of this thing is working together and helping one another.

E kept hitting the button for hints. S was trying to figure things out, which was great, but inside the temple with a face staring at us, non-glowing eyes inactive because we couldn’t figure out the code, the kids transformed into 7 year old S and 13 year old E. They butted heads with sibling rivalry right in the middle, cramming them together. Bam! Bam! Bam!

I thought they’d outgrown it, but it still manages to sneak in.

I wanted to take everything in and work the clues to unlock the codes. The time crunch adds urgency. Divide and conquer doesn’t work well in this setting. We weren’t cleaning the kitchen after dinner, we needed to solve some puzzles.

With seconds to spare, we entered the last code and the door opened.

“We escaped!” exclaimed hubster.

“Dad, they practically gave us all the answers,” E reminded him.

“Yeah, I muttered, no thanks to you asking for clues every two minutes. Didn’t even give us a chance to think.”

It was a good time despite the bickering. We didn’t break the code of conduct and our language stayed clean. S and E went back to their teen and young adult selves, and sibling rivalry stayed behind to wait for the next contestants. We took our photo and parting goods–a printed wristband printed with We Escaped Lost Cities!–and continued with our weekend.

We’re not ready for a level 10.

	Sharon Roy on Summer Road Trips: Las Vegas,…
	Trish on Summer Road Trips: Las Vegas,…
	Alice on Summer Road Trips: Las Vegas,…
	Debbie Lynn on Summer Road Trips: Las Vegas,…
	Alice on Summer Road Trips: Las Vegas,…