Family road trips
By Ben Robinson, aged 16
I'm just going to say this once, for the record:when you're travelling by car somewhere with your family, even when you're six years old, the chances are you know full well that you're not 'there yet,' even as you're asking over and over 'Are we there yet?' And anyway, the truth of the matter is, once you get there it's not 'there' anymore, is it? It's 'here'. So if you really think there's a chance that you're 'there' yet, you should be asking 'Are we here yet?' And I'm pretty sure there's no one who wishes they were 'there yet' more than the mums and dads fielding that question over and over every single long car trip.
I mean, seriously — what are us kids complaining about? Just think about it. Wouldn't you prefer to be lounging in the back seat, with nothing being demanded of you? So you watch endless DVDs that you've never seemed to get round to seeing before, listen to music, perhaps indulge in a few of the puzzles you've had for ages but not done, as the scenic vistas roll on by endlessly outside the window.
And acting as co-pilot in the passenger seat, map in hand, there'll be mum or dad, whose function is to dole out juice boxes, and cookies, or to adjust the radio station and temperature to whatever is requested — in short, to keep it all running smoothly and be the on-the-road concierge! Are we there yet? I hope not.
That is, of course, until someone in the car does something unthinkable — in my case generally my younger brother, Tim. Something like putting his foot on my side of the seat. What? He can't do that! So I put my foot on his side. And then it's his other foot, and then a hand, and next thing you know he's hurled his whole body over into my space and a fight has erupted. And the driver and co-pilot start reaching backand separating us as the car accelerates and swerves. They heatedly tell the younger sibling off, saying he should stay in his own seat and keep his hands to himself. This restores civility for a while. And the scenic wonders, steeped in history, continue rolling by. (line 43)
And pretty soon after that, I'm trying to read, and suddenly I feel something — a draught blowing across my arm. But the car's not going
that fast and the window's not even open. So where's it coming from? My vengeful sibling is in the next seat, discreetly but purposefully channeling his breath onto me. He's on his side, perfectly legitimately, not touching me — so he's got me on a technicality (line 53/54). Just breathing. What's the problem with that? The anger escalates. Tim gets yelled at, there's more swerving. Then slowly the madness subsides again — for now.
Over the years, Dad's developed strategies for dealing with us kids on the back seat. For example, his response to the question 'Are we there yet?' has frequently been, 'Yup. We're here. Get out of the car.'
'But Dad. We're still on the highway, going 70miles an hour.'
'Oh, well, then maybe we're not there yet.' That kept everyone quiet for a while. Mind you, you can tell when you're finally 'there' when you see the grown-ups tumble out of the car and go as far away as they can from the kids who've tormented them for all those hours. So once and for all, please note: if mum and dad are still near enough to answer your question, then the answer is: no. You're not there yet.