“…”

When I was 19 I loaded everything I owned (which wasn't much at all) into my compact car and drove with a friend clear across the country.  Over 3,000 miles.  We stayed with relatives.  We stayed in tents.  We stayed in cheap hotels.  We saw plains.  We saw mountains.  We saw animals.  We saw days and days of rain.  We locked the keys in the car.  We hiked around Devil's Tower.  We stood at the Four Corners.  We lost money in Vegas.  We drove around Los Angeles.  We drove to San Diego.  We drove back to Los Angeles for another disappointing look, and things suddenly fell apart.  I drove back home alone.  I saw lots of interstate.  I saw Niagra Falls.  I saw my way back home.  But in the meantime, I saw a large chunk of the country.

Not a single member of my family ever said, "So how was your trip?"  Not once.  I kept waiting for the day someone would ask, but it never came.  No one ever asked me about the single greatest adventure of my young life.  "What was your favorite?"  "What route did you take?"  "See anything interesting?"  "How was California?"  "Did you really get in a traffic incident with a girl who looked like Lisa Bonet?  And she was cool about it?"  "What happened with your friend?"  "Did you learn anything?"

None of that.  The closest it ever came was once my uncle made a scene at the dinner table and stormed off, and in a desperate need to break the awkward silence my father said, "So... you were telling us about California."  A bit shocked, I said, "I was?" and he said "Yes."  Then the rest of the extended family started conversing about what my uncle just did and that was that.  That was the most we ever talked about it.

Trust me when I say it's too late to bring it up to any of those people now.  That's just how it went.  Yes, I could have randomly brought it up, but that's not the way to do it.  I guess it didn't mean that much to them.  That was pretty upsetting.  I got over it.  Until like 5 minutes ago.