Dad - 4

When we were kids Dad always took us as a family on long road trips.  We'd camp along the way.  My brother Ron and I would sit in the back of the car with Mom up front beside Dad.  Ron and I would fight. It usually began I guess with me, the younger one, getting bored and poking him or he'd poke me and I'd escallate to punching and kicking. I remember being 5 or 6 years old then and Ron 9 or 10.  We'd be whacking at each other, my older brother shouting at  me to stop while he continued to punch,  Mom shouting stop  to both of us while  trying to get her arm between us from her position in the front of the car.  This would repeat every half hour or hour or so.  I'd probably whine "are we there yet" or some such cliche between the  back seat battles began again.
Western Manitoba and Saskatchewan's with their  endless flat  prairie fields would be pass by unperturbed. It would be summer time, July or August, with blue skies forever. Fluffly white clouds would look down from forever skies too.   We'd be lucky to see another car or truck for hours.  Gas stations were not as frequent as they are today. There was alot more space.
After an hour or so of us kids and shreiking  and Mom's UN peace keeping efforts Dad would sing.  Dad never sang.    He hardly even pretended to sing in church.. I think too this was the only song he knew all the words too. By the end of a road trip I'd learned all the words.   Dad was pretty straight up but in retrospect I think this could have satire.  Mom and he had a whole other level of communication us kids were never party too.  When he'd start singing this, us kids would get really quiet and as often as not Mom would laugh or start singing along.

"Home, Home on the Range
Where the Deer and the Antelope roam
Where seldom is heard a discouraging word
And the skies are not cloudy all day......."

At the truck stops, we'd have lunch or dinner.  Ron never failed to have a burger and I never failed to have Fish and Chips. It was one of those family things.  All the guys would have truck stop pie. Dad loved his pie, especially, blue berry.  Then we'd all get back in the car and as likely as not I'd sleep for hours till it was time to find a camp ground and settle down for the night.