Camping had become a vacation of choice when I was a child of 7 or 8. Our family’s first camping excursion is a blur, having faded in my memory and beyond reach.
It’s the second or third attempt that stands out—because it didn’t happen.
In the summer of ’67, plans were set to rent a Scamper travel trailer—an upgrade from the previous trips’ pop-up campers—and we were excited at the prospect! Setup at the campground would be so much easier. So would meals. And sleeping arrangements were far more comfortable for our family of six.
Well, all this would’ve been.
A week or so before our camping vacation, dad and mom bought a brand-new Buick LeSabre sedan. Quite a classy car for our modest family: a deep burgundy interior and matching exterior, except for a white rooftop. Air Conditioning! AM/FM radio! Even cruise control! A sweet ride for a decent-sized family.
Plenty of room in those cars from the 60s, too. Didn’t have to worry about a car seat for the youngest siblings, so the kids could easily spread out.
It’s hard to imagine these days, but typically, one of the four kids sat up front with mom and dad while the other three fought over turf in the back seat. Naturally, with every restroom stop, a battle ensued over who would get the front seat. Of course, we all got a turn, but still. Had to fight over the privilege.
As far as the back seat goes, there was so much room that an 11-, 9-, and 6-year-old could fit without touching! But three boys needed something to fight over, so the battle lines were drawn over divisions in the seat cushion.
“Mom! He won’t keep his hand on his side!” — a common bellyache that surely gave my mom a headache. I know it gave dad one. “Don’t make me stop this car!” still echoes in the deep recesses of my brain.
If the drive got too tiring, we also had room to stretch out for a nap! One of us would lie down on the seat; another got the back ledge—that shelf behind the back seat by the window; the third relegated to the floor. I’ll never forget trying to take a nap while lying over the hump. If you’ve never done it, give it a try sometime!
Anyway, I digress.
The folks got this brand-new car with its powerful V8 engine to tow the Scamper.
Early on the morning of our departure, dad took the Buick to get a temporary hitch installed and bring the trailer home for packing up.
We watched as he maneuvered the car and camper into the drive, and after several attempts to get it straight, we were ready to load up.
Didn’t take long. We were all excited to leave Wellington, Ohio, behind for a couple of weeks and get on the road for the camping adventure of 1967!
Camper loaded. Car loaded. Off we went down the driveway onto E. Herrick Avenue.
Then it happened.
As the car went over the small ridge in the driveway and pulled out onto the road, we heard a terrible, loud THUNK! Once the trailer made it onto the road, dad pulled off to find the source of the THUNK.
The look of disappointment on his face was unmistakable as he gazed at the back of the car. One by one we all got out to see what was going on.
It wasn’t good.
Apparently, the weight of the trailer wasn’t too much for the car’s engine, but the bumper couldn’t handle it with the temporary hitch. The ball of the hitch cleared the road surface by only a few inches, and the bumper seemed to be barely hanging on—like a loose tooth trying to let go, but there it dangles.
Dad’s disappointment quickly became ours.
The camping trip was off. Everything was unloaded. Somehow the trailer went home to the rental place in Oberlin. The car went back to the dealer for repairs. And we all moped around a bit.
Then came Plan B.
Once the car got fixed, we went to Marion, picked up my maternal grandmother, and pointed the LeSabre to Arkansas. Grandma Elsie wanted to check out a new retirement village being developed between the towns of Hardy and Ash Flat, just south of the Missouri line.
Hmmm….a road-trip vacation with grandma instead of camping? How exciting.
Surely, mom sensed the disappointment and eased it with the name of our destination: Cherokee Village. Cherokee??? As in Indians? Would we see some? Maybe stay in a teepee?
Let me tell you, the LeSabre was a big car of the 60s, but it’s still a long way from Marion, Ohio, to Cherokee Village, Arkansas with mom, dad, and grandma in the front seat and four kids in the back seat! A loooong way.
In spite of all the disappointments, though, Plan B stands out as a memorable trip. Not always delightful, but memorable.
I’ll never forget riding in the back of the real estate agent’s big black Cadillac going to look at lots. Arkansas was hot in July, and, for a Caddy, the A/C was lousy.
From Cherokee Village, we went to Eureka Springs. Although that was 55 years ago, I can still see scenes from the quaint town. We visited a house built from local rocks: Quigley’s Castle. Some had to be geodes. The owners had a rock garden of colorful split and polished geodes that fascinated me. So much so, I just had to take some pictures. Dad tried to squelch my enthusiasm a bit, though, reminding me I had black and white film in my camera—the colors wouldn’t show. Snapped some pics anyway.
Walking along the streets of town, I found a cool gadget on the sidewalk outside a small shop. Dad explained it was a light meter for a movie camera. We took it inside, gave it to the proprietor, and he promised to mail it to me if the owner didn’t come looking for it—even though I had absolutely no use for it.
Incredibly, a couple of weeks later, the broken light meter arrived in the mail. I toyed with the thing for a long time and had it several years before tossing it.
Near Eureka Springs stands the Christ of the Ozarks statue, a seven story, 540-ton figure located on the grounds where The Passion Play is performed. Got a black and white shot of that, too.
I find this all rather strange.
Our family went on vacation every year. We went camping before and after the ’67 disappointment. Traveled to Florida by way of my grandmother’s place in Kentucky. And while I have a few memories of some of those trips, this crazy Plan B trip—born out of disappointment—stands out. I wonder why that is.
Could it be because it was born out of disappointment?
I certainly wouldn’t suggest it always happens, or even usually, but every so often we discover that one of life’s disappointments turns into something memorable, perhaps even better than our originally hoped for whatever. Usually, if we’re open to hearing it, disappointments are teachers, offering a new perspective, a realigned priority, a needed correction, a simple or maybe profound lesson.
Have you noticed how many characters in the Bible faced disappointments?
- Abraham and Sarah couldn’t have children. Neither could the son they eventually had, Isaac, and his wife. Nor could Zechariah and Elizabeth.
- Joseph’s brothers tossed him in a pit to die, then brought him up—not to release him, but sell him to slave traders. He suffered the disappointment of betrayal by his Egyptian master’s wife that landed him in prison. He was disappointed by the butler who forgot about him and left him languish a couple more years in prison.
- Moses was repeatedly disappointed by those he led out of Egypt, through the wilderness, toward the land of promise.
- David was disappointed by the king who wanted to kill him in a jealous rage…by his son who raped his daughter…by one son who killed another…by the same son who usurped the throne.
- Hosea was disappointed by a wife’s betrayal.
- Jeremiah and Isaiah disappointed in a people who wouldn’t listen to the word of the Lord.
- Peter disappointed in himself, betraying his Lord.
- The band of disciples huddled in disappointment because their rabbi, Jesus, had been crucified. A couple of them expressed disappointment that their supposed dead messiah wouldn’t be king after all.
- Paul wrote of stunned disappointment that the Galatians had so easily and gullibly accepted a false gospel…and that Alexander the Coppersmith did him wrong…and that Phygellus and Hermogenes turned away from him, as did Demas…and that Hymenaeus and Alexander shipwrecked spiritually.
Disappointment.
No one likes it, but if we’re open to it, the Lord may very well design the disappointment to teach us something we need to hear, direct us where we need to go, make a change we need to make.
And who knows, maybe we’ll look back decades later and be grateful for the unexpected memories!
