Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of the Open Road

A few months back I got this crazy idea that my favorite Mini Cooper magazine, MC2, might have a place for me. So, using the crazed pen name, Hollywood Zombie--with the thought of reaching a new demographic for the Mini Cooper business, I sent in my shit and, while they enjoyed reading it, they said they didn't know where to put me, and that their demographic was too old to relate. Duh.

In retrospect, there's not many places in the world for a guy like me, but that's okay. I accept that.

So, in light of this realization, I insist in at least publishing my own stuff for all the people who want to inflict suffering on themselves in a hundred years or so. With that in mind, here are 3 installments of my failed attempt at magazine publication.

"Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of the Open Road"
by Hollywood Zombie
(installment 3 of 3)

When I was a kid, vacations usually meant piling into my Dad’s blue Impala station wagon and enduring some of the most insane experiences of my life. They were adventures to places either nightmarishly suburban, where my Aunt Betty would end up sitting drunk and naked on her living room floor, or so frighteningly remote that a lifeline helicopter might have trouble getting you out if you were really injured.

However, all of our family vacations had one thing in common; they usually ended with my Dad screaming obscenities, smacking me or my little sister for arguing, Mom not talking to Dad, and my little brother peeing on the entire backseat of the car (and us) while trying to hit a coke bottle, because, for some unknown reason, Dad didn’t like to stop. To this day I still never pass up a chance to use the restroom. Ah, the memories.

Even the one trip where my parents took my little brother, sister and me to the Magic Kingdom had its problems when the magic ended after only a few short hours when my Dad said, “I’ve had enough of this crap!” and we left. So, I must confess, my early experiences with the open road are usually met with fear and trepidation. Fortunately, vacations eventually got better after I turned eighteen and I took to the open road of my own choosing—far far away.

Strangely, the place I ran away to wasn’t really all that different from where I had been in my childhood. The family vacations my wife and I took our own children on were usually suburban or wilderness adventures in large station wagons or minivans, and they usually lasted way too long. Thankfully, our vacations were nothing like “the good old days,” but I must confess, the open road still wasn’t the part of the vacation I enjoyed. And, now that the kids have grown and left, and my wife and I eventually downsized to The Slayer (our Chili Red Mini Cooper S), you know what I figured out? It’s not the road it’s the adventure on the road that human beings seek. The open road represents the great adventure of life (okay, so you already knew that, but it was news to me. I’ve been extremely busy for the past 28 years raising kids).

Sure, the amazing machine we now drive handles curves like a dream, it accelerates in a way I’ve never experienced before, and I really do find myself smiling as the road passes under the wheels of our car, but then enjoyment is more than the experience of driving The Slayer. The adventure is the journey of life. It’s the thrill of seeing what’s around the next hill. It’s looking up through the sun roof and seeing the clouds pass overhead—it’s being alive!

The open road is life. And while the road will end some day, the adventures on the road, even the ones we try to forget, are what it’s all about. And those who understand that the road was designed to travel forward, taking time to enjoy the little things, those are the ones who enjoy life most of all. The open road is a celebration—a celebration of the lives we have. Of course, it’s not just Mini Cooper owners, anyone who loves travelling on the open road will tell you the same thing.

And while all of our pasts have been filled with both the joys and disappointments of life (if you’ve lived a normal life), like the fuel in our tanks, we need our pasts to appreciate the open road ahead. We don’t ever escape from our pasts, we must accept them. But the joy of the road always brings with it the hope of a new joy. The road is a friend to those who accept where they’ve been; it’s a friend to those who are willing to take a chance on where they’re going—and that’s the joy in the adventure of life.

After I left home, joined the military, got married, and my wife and I had a bunch of kids, we all went on crazy family vacations. And, while most were really great, some of them were not. In retrospect, I’ve had a chance to ponder the great adventure of life; the road I’ve travelled and the road which lies ahead, and I really have to say that I love it all! I’m thankful.

And while our family vacations were better than the ones I experienced when I was a kid, our own children sometimes did annoy me, but I seldom ever screamed obscenities, and my wife rarely ever stopped talking to me. I also never forced my son to pee in a bottle because I refused to stop the car (he did that all on his own). And, lastly, I must admit that I never took Lynn and the kids to visit a relative who got drunk, stripped naked and sat on the living room rug (you know, I really miss Aunt Betty).

Hollywood Zombie also answers to the name Wade Buffington. He earned a BA in English Creative Writing from the University of West Florida. He is retired from the US Air Force and currently works as a civilian supervisor and 3D Illustrator/Animator for the US Navy, and, in his spare time, writes screenplays and fancies himself an independent film director. Wade and his lovely wife, Lynn, live in beautiful Pensacola, Florida. They have four self-sufficient adult children who live all over the world, and five awesome grandchildren, that they don’t see near enough. Hollywood can be reached at: wbuffington@cox.net