by Andrew Weston
The catch with the minivan we rented was that the air conditioner had no middle setting. It was either on with just a trickle or it was full throttle cold. That’s what we’d discovered in the past week and a half on our annual family vacation to France this year. Patti and I had decided to go together. She had begged me one night at home over oysters and pasta primavera to go somewhere foreign for our vacation. I immediately suggested France, knowing full well that we could both make use of our intermediate French from college. In fact it was in a French conversational class that we first met. We were paired up to discuss the presidential election and it turned out we were both Mondale supporters and decided to go out for pizza. How romantic–politics, pizza, and the French language. Well, that was a long time ago. Now with the temperature outside approaching 35 degrees Celsius, or well over 90 as we westerners were more used to calling it, Patti and I, and Kirk and Ann in the back were contemplating putting on sweaters just to survive the air conditioning stuck in traffic on our way into l’Ile de Paris.
“Lord, it could be hours before we make it to the Eiffel Tower at this pace,” said Patti lethargically staring at the window at the near-stopped traffic along Rue Lorcier.
“Mommy if we get there too late will they, will they leave it open for us?” asked four year old Ann. She was ardently combing the long pink hair on her My Little Pony in different punk styles.
“It’ll be open when we get there,” my wife said. “We won’t be in traffic that long.”
“It’s cold in here,” said Ann with a pout.
“I know. But it’s too hot outside. Daddy can’t do anything more with the air conditioning that won’t make it too hot. We just have to make do.” My wife was surprisingly good at convincing children they shouldn’t involve themselves with adult problems. Whenever I brought this up she simply said it was a gift.
“Why does it have to be so hot on our vacation?” asked Ann.
“At least you’re not sick like at Disney World last summer. We had to rent one of those baby strollers because you couldn’t walk around in the heat,” I interrupted.
“I like strollers,” said Ann looking smug. She held up her My Little Pony and handed it to Patti and the front seat. “Look I combed Hyacinth’s hair to the left.”
“That’s very pretty, dear,” said Patti. “She’s a fashion model like you. Now can you comb it to the other side?”
“Yeah,” said Ann. She took the Pony back and eyed it. “I’ll comb it every which way.”
“Good for you,” said Patti.
“Don’t comb it ugly now. Pretend she has a jump coming up,” I said.
“Horses don’t get primmed up for jumping,” said Kirk looking up from his astronaut book. Kirk wants to be an astronaut when he grows up. Either that or a filmmaker like Steven Spielberg he says. Go figure. He continued, “They get primmed up for shows. They comb their hair and feed them right so they shine and all the people at the shows vote for them.”
“You sure about that?” I asked him, suddenly bringing the car up to a rambunctious 20 miles per hour in this traffic opening.
“They don’t have to get them primmed up for jumping. They sweat anyway from all the work. But the horse shows – that’s where the money is.”
“I think we’ve got a future lawyer on our hands,” I laughed for a moment as I looked over to Patti.
“I don’t want to be a lawyer,” said Kirk rolling his eyes. “How many times do I have to tell you?”
“I’m just fooling with you, Kirk” I said. “It’s just that you know how to be right all the time like one.”
“Suits make me clammy.”
“Well, if you get famous like Steven Spielberg you only have to wear a suit on Oscar night. How’s that?”
“I can live with that,” said Kirk.
“Daddy wears a suit to work all the time and Mommy says it makes him look handsome.” Ann stuck her tongue out at her older brother.
“That’s because he’s a player. Unlike you.” said Kirk.
“Quiet, you,” said Ann
“Dork!” hollered Kirk.
“Kirk, don’t call your sister a dork,” I called to the back seat.
Ann suddenly looked up from her combing. “Momma can we get a pony so I can have a real one?”
“No we can’t get a pony. We have nowhere to put a pony.” Patti was stern.
“I want to get to the Eiffel Tower.”
“You’ll have to wait, sweety. There’s all this traffic out there,” said Patti bailing me out.
“Maybe everybody wants to go to the Eiffel Tower,” said Ann.
“Yes, maybe,” said Patti. She looked over at me. “I can’t believe this traffic.”
“The French,” I replied.
“I know it. You’d think they’d have a better road system. They practically invented the Fiat,” she said.
“They did invent the Fiat,” I said hesitantly.
“All the more reason for them to be able to fix the roads. I’m going to write a letter to the president.” She was half serious.
“You don’t speak enough French to do that,” I replied.
“Good point,” she said. “I still want to anyway. I’ve moved faster pouring molasses.”
“Turn on the radio,” I said. “The kids will like it.”
She turned on the radio to some type of European techno. It was much different than the pop we listened to in the states-it almost sounded canned. “Maybe they’ll give us a traffic report.”
“That’d be nice.”
Ann piped in from the backseat. “Momma, I want to learn French.”
“Maybe someday you can,” my wife said.
“I want to learn it all,” Ann said.
“She just wants to mouth off to people in Paris like the rest of the Parisians,” said Kirk with a coy grin.
I interrupted. “Kirk, your sister is very nice.”
“Yeah right,” he said.
“I’m nice,” insisted Ann with the demanding emphasis of a four year old.
“See?” I said looking for a remark. “Now don’t go starting trouble.”
“I’m just saying,” said Kirk. “She just wants to tell them all what to do.”
“French is a very useful language,” I said.
“You can learn it when you get older,” said Patti.
“OK.” Ann wasn’t used to losing like this. Maybe it was a lesson for her.
“Ann can you wait until you’re in school?” I asked humbly.
“Yes, I can wait,” she said gingerly. “I can try.”
We kept sitting in traffic. We had decided long ago to always act civil to the kids – be forthright and respect their opinions. So as they grow older they’ll have role models. I mean what if they didn’t get along? We can’t be expected to be perfect but at least we can offer them support. This was what we decided long ago as a couple. So far we’d been lucky. Patti changed the subject.
“So what are you guys going to do at the Eiffel Tower?”
“Dad said we can hike all the way up to the top!” said Kirk. “I have my special running shoes on!”
“Are you sure you’re ready, Kirk? It’s a long way!” said Patti.
“I’m ready. We can rest if we need to, but it’ll be fun.” Kirk was noticeably excited.
“That’s the spirit,” I said. “We need good leadership around here.”
“I’ll be the leader,” said Kirk. “I’m into cultural phenomenon.”
“Kirk can be our leader,” I said.
“If we ever get there,” said Kirk.
“Pony wants us to get there too,” said Ann happily. “She’s prancing like she has to go to the bathroom.”
“Do you have to go to the bathroom, Ann?” asked Patti.
“No, I went before we left,” answered Ann.
“If you have to go you have to cross your legs,” I called to her.
“I know,” said Ann with a huff.
We kept making our way through the cars. It really was pretty bad. I couldn’t help but hope that traffic wasn’t always this bad-at least for the French people’s sake. But the differences between this and New York made me realize we were just visitors here–not really ready to leave our legacy like any sort of conquistador, but ready to have a good time nonetheless. We had done the do French style – the restaurants, the B&B, the sightseeing, of course the Louvre. And we were ready for the Tower-one of the pinnacles of French architecture. It would be a frolicking day if we ever got there.
Fortunately for us all, during this whole trip the kids almost never ceased to avoid being bored. They were of course tired from over a week of touring and adventuring, but they had stayed excited nonetheless. And it was good to have everybody together for a vacation too–even if things didn’t always go our way; what with Patti getting smoke blown in her face by that supermodel-looking woman she had asked for directions, or Ann throwing up foie gras all over the table in the fancy restaurant. But it wasn’t all the cheeses and wines that were so good here, even if they were indeed quite nice to say the least; but it was the fact that we and the kids could get away and enjoy one another’s company together for once – as a family and not as parts.
And despite what we said about it, Paris was actually quite nice, despite the traffic. It was comforting to feel that in the rich tradition of this place we seemed to have an uncanny ability to adjust ourselves, no matter what happened. And no matter what we thought we never missed doing one thing instead of another, there was always more—someplace, somewhere there was always more. And it was a solace to think that even with the kids uncomfortable in the van and our touristy attitudes just wishing we would reach the Tower already, we were still fine – still all right with our vacation. Some things, it seems, are just made for relaxing. But for now I was just glad we had each other–and that no matter how much we were complaining, at least the simple things worked—like the van’s air conditioning and each other. And as we sat idle in the ever still unmoving traffic, something told me it would be a long car ride without it.
