As we made our way back to the hotel from the bat flight at Carlsbad Caverns, Earl made a request: “Can we listen to ‘Three-Legged Man’?”

See, driving to Dallas, I introduced my child to Ray Stevens. No, I have no clue what took me so long. Sheesh, I have failed as a parent. What is a childhood without ‘Mississippi Squirrel Revival’?

She seemed ambivalent at the time. Apparently, she wasn’t. Seems she kinda dig it. A part of me wasn’t surprised at all—Ray Stevens’s humor is pretty much in line with Earl’s. On the other hand, I can typically get a pretty quick read on how she feels about things.

Or, I thought I could.

This trip is teaching me so much.

I never knew that my child loves museums as much as she does. In the middle of a long stretch of road the other day, she pronounced that she could go to museums over and over. I see it now; she attempts to drag me in to every one that we pass.

I was tickled to learn that, in this tech-driven age, she’s more comfortable writing her thoughts on paper than on the computer. That one was especially surprising because handwriting has always been a bit of a challenge for her. Maybe she’s like her mother, though. Maybe the rhythm and the forced time to think as you slowly write out the words is a comfort to her, too.

She says she wants to be gently awakened by softly rubbing her head and whispering “Good morning,” but in truth she likes to laugh as soon as she wakes up. That one she’s not ready to outright admit, but trial and error are proving it pretty strongly.

She’s a keen analyzer. We were at the Sixth Floor Museum, exploring the JFK Assassination, when she came up to me and proclaimed she’d figured it out. Oswald had run to another window in the book depository – “This one. Here!” – and fired another shot – “Look at the angle! It’s right!”

Most of all, she’s really battling with finding herself in this world. She’s caught on the idea of being like someone else rather than piecing out what unique things she has to contribute. I suspected as much, but I didn’t realize how deep the struggle went. I suppose a lot is her age, 9 going on 10 going on 37. We’re actively working on this one, though. This is a biggie. It’s the core of this trip.

That struggle in her is helping me with my own demons. In an effort to loosen her up, to make her feel like being herself is allowed, even welcomed, I’m putting myself out there in a way I never have. There’s nothing but honesty in the car. I’m letting her see my delights and my frustrations. I’m dropping my own mask, freeing myself from whatever constraints I’ve spent years constructing.

I’m convinced that wouldn’t have happened at home, where there is always some reason to go back to my comfort zone around every corner. On the road, on this trip, there are no such reasons. The people we see are people we will never see again. I don’t have to perform for them, don’t have to cow-tow to some perceived expectations. If I can just keep it up for the next 30-odd days, I might get comfortable enough in my own skin for it to stick. It might become habit enough, and Earl may see the changes in me enough, that it encourages her to do the same.

In truth, that’s my prayer.

We’re just starting Day 5 and, already, I’m so glad I took the leap, got El Jefe on board, and did this. It hasn’t been nearly as scary as I was afraid it would be.

First thing’s first: Earl will return. She’s been in a bit of overload, but today we talked about how important writing down your memories are, and she realizes how quick her memories even from yesterday are fading. So fingers crossed. She did absolutely love all of the comments, and she will respond! And blog again!

Today was…it was long. We drove from just outside of Fort Worth, TX, to Carlsbad, NM. Here’s the thing, though: The speed limit for the bulk of the way was 75. Seventy-five. Leadfoot here spent half the day in a haze of squee and speed.

Yes, Mom and Dad, I’m still driving safely. Cross my heart.

This is the first day I’ve been at all tired, likely because last night was just so late of a night for several reasons. But I made it, and I made it without too much struggle. Partly because my kid rocks and more than happily went into “ask Mom nine million questions in a row” in an effort to get me through The Tired. We sang some more, we recorded more GoPro video, we looked for license plates and listened to the first couple of chapters of “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy” as read by Stephen Fry.

We stretched our legs in Abilene and indulged in a bit of whimsy. First up was World’s Biggest Buffalo Skull at Frontier Texas, which we found totally by accident. I was lured in by these huge, awesome guys, and Earl spotted the skull as we parked.

I tried to get her to lay down in the skull, but that was an adamant no go.

From there, we hopped down the street to a really cool park featuring bronze statues of Dr. Seuss characters. Earl attempted to interview them all while I filmed. It was a quick stop, but just the kind of quirky, silly thing we both needed. (We also apparently need to read Yurtle the Turtle because neither of us could remember anything about it. Oops.)

The Cat in the Hat was there, too, and we have video with him, but still photos hadn’t occurred. I blame a total lack of chocolate.

We left Abilene and turned off of our trusty interstates onto the highways of the west. Wide open spaces and windmills. Hundreds of windmills. Huge windmills.

Long, nearly deserted straight roads with 75mph speed limits lend themselves to lots of time to admire. And, boy, did I admire. The puffy white clouds were beautiful, the farms lush, my child content, and the fuel mileage superb. It doesn’t get much better than this.

I’d done something a bit reckless the night before: I’d reserved our room through Hotwire. I have no clue how much time I spent looking at hotels in Carlsbad, NM, but the time was sufficient so that when Hotwire gave me the original booking price of the room ($249/night) and the amenities, I knew it had to be one of about 3 hotels I’d been psychically trying to convince to lower their prices enough for me to book in. Hotwire’s deal had the room at just over $100, which was way more manageable than $249, yet it still took me half an hour to go through with it.

Lo and behold, our Hotwire hotel was my first pick.

After eons of flat and fast, we wheeled into Carlsbad and checked into the hotel. At which point Earl pronounced (for the first time of the day) that she could live in New Mexico forever. Yeah, our $100 Hotwire room is that good.

I managed to pry her out of the room to head toward Carlsbad Caverns for the nightly bat flights. See, at Carlsbad, hundreds of thousands of bats spiral out of one of the caves at sunset and head 30 or 40 miles away in search of bugs and water.

I don’t know why they fly all that distance when they really could just go at all the bugs in the amphitheater. Holy itchiness, batman!

No electronics are allowed at the flight, so there are no photos or video. Just picture 750,000 bats spiraling like large, awkward butterflies out of a huge natural opening in the earth, creating a veritable tornado of hungry bats before dart-loping over the hills in search of water in the desert.

I had seen the bats fly over 15 years ago and couldn’t wait to show Earl. I’d hoped she’d be impressed. I’d prayed she’d be impressed.

We stayed until it was too dark to see them anymore. The crowd was quiet as could be, and literally hundreds of the bats flew 20 feet over our heads. One flew close enough that I instinctually ducked and Earl gasped, “Woah!”

Twenty or so minutes in, she was getting a little restless. “Can we go?” she whispered straight down my ear canal.

I shook my head. “Not yet. Let’s sit here and see what God’s done just a little bit longer.”

She took my hand, leaned her head on my shoulder, and said, “Okay, Mama.”

I sit here now, Earl snoring softly beside me in the bed, and realize that that moment? That was just about as perfect as they come.

The last four days have been riddled with those moments, and they keep getting sweeter.

Yep, I think we’re on the right path.

I swear we didn’t plan it this way. Two days ago, we visited the Rockabilly Hall of Fame, which talked pretty extensively about Elvis’s death and the Day the Music Died. Yesterday, it was 4 hours at Graceland which has the actual dead Elvis. Today? We spent 4 hours absorbed in the assassination of JFK.

Greetings from the Grassy Knoll.

Earl was way too excited about today’s planned Big D Fun Tour and visit to the Sixth Floor Museum when we talked about it over breakfast this morning.

The excitement fueled about 2 hours of Mommy-Daughter Sing-A-Longs in the car on the way to Dallas. Garth, of course. With a dash of “Does Your Chewing Gum Lose It’s Flavor?” thrown in for, well, flavor. There may or may not be video which may or may not ever see the light of day.

We arrived in Dallas just in time to perhaps make the 1:30 trolley tour (we had reservations at 3, but were told they could take us early if our schedule allowed), but I went to the wrong place and we ended up going to the museum first. It was going to be perfect. All the literature said to allow 90 minutes to explore the whole museum. Excellent!

Except I looked at my watch when we were about halfway through and it was 2:50, which meant we had to high tail it out of the Texas-Book-Depository-Turned-JFK-Museum without getting into the nitty gritty of the investigation and conspiracies.

We met the trolley across the street and hopped on board. Our tour guide, Mike, was jovial and helpful, directing us to the coolest seats and quizzing Earl about her interest in history. Then it was on to the main event – a drive through Dallas and that fateful day in 1963.

We began by following the path of Kennedy’s motorcade down Main St, turning onto Houston, then that turn onto Elm and into Dealey Plaza. With great aplomb, Mike recounted the chaos of the second following the shots, then, as the trolley sped off under the Triple Overpass, he switched tracks from JFK’s path to Oswald’s.

We retraced the route of Oswald’s short bus ride, then the cab ride that took him back to the boarding house where he’d been staying.

From there, it was the best-guess path to the spot where Officer J.D. Tippit was killed.

We then went past the Texas Movie Theatre where Oswald was arrested, and the story shifted once more, to Jack Ruby.

I’ve read a lot about the Kennedy assassination. I’ve watched a lot of hours of TV about it. But being there, on the streets, following those paths, seeing all the landmarks I’ve seen in photos and screen my whole life brought it into a stark reality. And Mike told every bit of it with the contagious enthusiasm of the best history teacher you’ve ever had.

After the trolley, Earl and I decided to head back to the museum to finish our exploration there. I decided it was good enough that I’d even pay admission again since our original tickets were clearly marked “No Reentry.” At the counter, I mentioned that we’d had to leave mid-museum for a tour. The woman thought for a moment, asked if I had our tickets and receipt from earlier. I did, and showed her. “Sugar, y’all just go on ahead and pick up where you had to leave off. No need paying for the whole thing again.”

Sweet!

An hour and a trip through the gift shop later, we were back in the car, Earl in her new lipstache sun specs.

 

Thwarted by Dallas rush hour traffic (“Why do they call it rush hour when there is no rushing?” she kept shouting at the stopped cars around us), we detoured to a Whataburger for our first taste there.

Despite the look, it was a hit. She wants to go back again tomorrow.

But no, my child, tomorrow we haul it across West Texas toward our next time zone.

And our first (hopefully) death-less day.