The magic backpack

A little story for a cloudy afternoon:
When my parents travel, they travel like gypsies. Seriously - ask anyone who's ever gone anywhere with them. For example, when I moved to Charleston about a year ago, they thoughtfully drove to Rock Hill to help me move. They were going to arrive around 4 or 5 one afternoon, and I had movers coming to load my rental truck (which Dad would be driving) around 8 the next morning. I said - just bring pajamas and toothbrushes. They were literally going to be there for about 14 hours. So they roll up that afternoon as planned - I happened to see them pull up while I was standing near the window. But they didn't appear at the door right away, so I went to the window again. They were unloading their SUV. It took us three trips to unload their crap. They had brought a suitcase with their clothes, the "shoe bag" - the distinctive gray and white striped bag in which my mother carries her shoes when she travels - a crate of tools (which did come in handy...at least the drill), a cooler, a red bag which is designated for their food on trips (yes, they pretty much bring their own, whether they'll need it or not), two extra pillows, and "the backpack."

The backpack is a hiking pack which my parents take everywhere. In it, they have essentials for the adventurous traveler - a night light, a travel sound machine (whenever I share a hotel room with them, I have to pee at least three times during the night because of the f-ing raining at the rainfall noises turned up to ear-piercing levels), and sundry other items, most notably a stock of all kinds of medications, which, let me tell you are usually expired ("They're STILL GOOD!" my mother always protests). My parents' justification is that, if they get a sinus headache, diarrhea, and a giant gash requiring stitches, they're all set - no trip to Walgreen's needed. And that makes sense, sort of - I mean, I'm kind of a hyper traveller (guess why), and I usually carry a small bottle of allergy meds in my purse; but I've also been hospitalized for allergic reactions. But, you see, my obsessiveness does not spawn an entirely new backpack.

My mother and I always get into "playful" discussions about the topic of the backpack. This past weekend, she and I travelled to Perry, GA to visit my aunt and grandmother. I was going for one night - my mom was to be joined by my dad a couple of days later to extend their visit to FL to see my other grandmother. And I realize she was going to be gone longer. But she filled - the - entire - backseat - of - my - car. She had a giant suitcase (my dad's clothes, too - why should he bring his clothes a few days later in his huge truck when we could pack everyone's into my civic?), the red food bag, a cooler, the shoe bag, and the damn backpack. So, of course, I had to say something in passing about the ridiculous backpack. She responded that they didn't have to stop at Walgreen's every time they needed something - that's $4 if you get a headache or an upset stomach! $4 you could spend on a souvenir. It's just that, at least to me, it would be worth the stop - no extra baggage. Plus, of course, my souvenir would be not having diarrea, which is a-okay with me.

My parents haven't flown in a long time. I can't wait for those stories.
"Sir, this medication is no longer legal in the U.S. And you can't carry three pairs of nail clippers in your carry-on."
"But if a rabid squirrel bites me while I'm sleeping at the Holiday Inn Express, that salve will heal my wound more quickly! And I need the nail clippers, and the back-up pairs!"