My parents like to say that when I went to college, that I drove out of the driveway in August 1983 and they didn't hear from me for 2 weeks. I think that's an exaggeration: I must have called from the road or when I got there.
But it's true that once I was there, I was like Cortez in Mexico, no turning back. They did come to visit for Parent's Weekend. But there were no visits home.
By Thanksgiving we had a week off and I was ready to get back to Austin. I had arranged to ride with a group of friends - the prospect of the group must have been appealing. So 5 of us were in a '72 Buick and headed south. 8 hours later, with me in the middle of the back seat, we were in Nashville, TN for the night.
Now I had tickets to see the Police in concert on Saturday night in Austin. That night I got a call (I was staying with my friend Richard) that the car was broken and would likely not be fixed until noon.
Wait until noon to leave? Miss the concert? Ride 14 more hours in the middle?
I called American Airlines that night and booked a reasonable priced flight for Saturday. Nashville to DFW to Austin. Richard took me to the airport. Home that afternoon. Well worth it!
I was obviously ready to get home and made it happen. One friend Jeff later recalled "We weren't going to get home fast enough for Greg, so he flew". So true.
It was the longest I'd been away at that time. It made it all the special to be home. I guess we would have gone to my grandmother's house for Thanksgiving Day. We did that mostly, if we didn't go to my Uncle Vernon's and Aunt Sharon's in those years. I recall those dinners as particularly large and lots of family there since we were all in Austin.
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