True Story

I loaded up my van tonight at about 6:45 with five seventh grade boys. We headed out to pick up one eighth grader who had forgotten to tell his mom that he needed a ride. He was punished by the other boys by being forced to sit center back, also known as the squeezy seat. We were headed to a teen center type place that had opened recently to celebrate JD's 13th birthday.

The van was filled with the sounds of all the boys trying to gossip over each other. I heard about the boy from their school who is in trouble with the law, a girl whose birthday was celebrated by the entire cafeteria, how one of the boys had wormed his way into the Senior's year book pictures, and a shouting match about who was better- seventh or eighth graders. "Seniors," won.

Even though it's early March, it was raining quite hard and was fairly warm out and with all that talking and breathing going on, my windows were quickly fogged up. I cranked up the defrost in an effort to see where I was going. Where WAS I going? "By the way Mom, you know the 3Mile Project isn't actually on 3 Mile?"

"No, I didn't actually know that. Well we'll find it I guess. Your dad found it a few weeks ago." I slowed down to take the exit my husband had told me to take and peered out the still fogged windows. "Boys, you're just going to have to stop breathing; I can't see." No reply, not even a chuckle. I felt the skin on my face blister and start to peel from the heat of the defroster, so I rolled down the windows.

I turned onto 3 Mile Rd and saw a long line of cars waiting to turn left at the first street. "Is that it JD? It must be with all the cars."

"No, it was further on. Plus, there's semis in that line, why would they be there?"

"Because the place is a rehabbed warehouse and there are probably other warehouses on the street," I think, but don't say. What I do say is, "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure." There was general agreement from the other boy who had gone before.

We drove on a bit until we came to a light. "It's either down here or this is the street it wasn't on and we had to turn around."

"How far do I go before I quit," I ask.

"Far. Oh wait, not far. Where's the Cheese Kurlz factory? Oh there's the bridge we saw before when we realized this was the wrong road and turned around."

I turn around.

"It must be this next one," my darling son said. I was soon going to hate those words. We drove down every street along that mile stretch of road, finally coming out on another road several miles back towards my house. I had started calling my husband back at the first wrong turn, but I got no answer. Later he told me that I only called three times, but I would have sworn I call every three minutes. Finally I called my sister. With the power of Google, she could help me from Minnesota.

The boys had looked on their registration forms and found the name of the road, but we just couldn't seem to find it. I was driving hunched forward over the steering wheel trying to see, eyes dried and face flaming from the heat, and ears pierced from the noise. "Look at the road signs boys, Aunt Christi says it's past Bristol." Bristol, by the way was that first wrong road we had gone down, the road we wanted was before that one, or now that we'd gone so far, past it.

"There it is! I told you it would be the next street!" Well, with a prediction like that, a kid has to be right eventually. "Turn left."

I turn left and go maybe two tenths of a mile. "Look around geniuses! What do you see!? I believe we should have turned right back there, not left." I head back to 3 Mile to cross to the other side.

We pulled up to the intersection and I looked across the street. What do you know, we were right back where I had seen all the cars and thought we should probably turn way back 15 minutes before. What are the odds that my son will change his know-it-all ways?