4:38 AM – Friday April 1, 2016. The three Hobbson kids – ages 10, 7 and 4 – are wandering around the house aimlessly, yet with palpable nervous energy. It is the dawn of spring break.

[gathers family in kitchen]

Alright. Bring it in you guys.

Now, there's a tradition in family spring break road trips to not talk about the next state on the map until we've slogged our way through whatever miserable one we’re in. I'm sure getting to the sunny, lawless beaches of Florida with your friends is beyond your wildest dreams, so let's just keep it right there.

Forget about the 79-hour drive, the fact that you won’t have Wi-Fi, and the fact that your dipshit brother broke the DVD player in the van by shoving a hamburger into it. Remember what got you there the last time! Focus on the fundamentals that we’ve gone over TIME AND TIME AGAIN: not talking to me or your mom and being completely motionless and also silent and not stabbing eachother in the face with your sharpened Ring Pops or whatever.

And most important, don't get caught up thinking about "getting there” or “being hungry” or “having to pee.” If you put your effort and concentration into basically being asleep – or otherwise just not being whiny assholes bickering with eachother nonstop – I don't care what the parenting books say about quote-unquote “bribes” or “don't ever bribe your kids,” at the end of the trip you’re each going to get $100 cash to spend on shotguns or meth or whatever you want WE DON’T CARE!!


[the girl starts a slow, solemn clap]


[the boys join in]

Let's go!!

[claps get louder and quicker and more intense]


[the kids excitedly sprint out the door toward the van]


[wife and I hug and run out behind them, still hugging, confident in the journey ahead]


[everything goes to shit before we hit the Keystone ramp onto 465]



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