I remember there were decisions to be made about which direction to drive around and through Switzerland. We ended up driving to Grindelwald, a town in a beautiful valley in the middle of the Berner-Oberland. This was a highlight of my European experience. It was just so nice, and pretty, and quaint, and perfect.

In July of 1988 I spent a month in Europe with my family. All seven of us packed into a Volkswagen van and drove through Western European countries. I was nine years old at the time.

At probably five years old I wanted to play on a soccer team. Unfortunately my older brother wasn’t allowed to play until he was eight. So by some illogical mom-logic I had to wait too. Eventually I did get to play. In the Fall I would play until the snow fell. And even then we would have some games scheduled in October or November where the snow had already fallen. So we played through it.

We did the rest of the test and he told me we’d do an alternate test if the weather held up. It held up long enough for me to be sweating profusely. Michigan humidity is one thing. Being in a two-seater Cessna 152 with a guy who is looking for any reason he can to keep you from being one more unqualified pilot in the sky was another thing altogether.

Then there was Jerry. He drove a mini-van. “It’s the perfect size to fit my surfboard.” That’s what he told me. We lived three hours from Lake Michigan. And even then there were hardly any surfable waves. Jerry was a strong character though. I didn’t argue with Jerry, ever. He ran things in our team of three.

So there I was at A&W. Picture it. A clumsy kid with low self-esteem wanting to ask out a flirty punk rock chick co-worker. I talked it over with her friend, another co-worker. She encouraged it. She even set us up to meet in the supply area of the restaurant. I think the conversation went something like this.