I can distinctly remember sitting on my dad’s lap behind the steering wheel during the first leg of the trip. He smoked a cigar as we barreled down the freeway, east through the desert towards Arizona. Though he would occasionally let me “drive” in that manner, most of the time me and my two brothers spent the five traveling days in a cleared out space under the dining room table in the back of the moving van. The table was walled off by bags, suitcases, and other pieces of furniture. A small opening led to the captain’s chairs in front.
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