Second in a series celebrating the men who have shown me the meaning of dignity and courage, as well as giving me a love for books, skiing, and RVing (and an appreciation for wrench collecting).
Excerpted from my essay The RVing Gene (Rocking Chair Rebels, RoVers, 2001):
Is it possible that RVing could be passed through generations like blue eyes or big feet? The RV gene was lying in wait for me, deep inside my marrow, inherited from my grandfather Paul Fanning, who was born a nomad.
He packed up my grandmother and his four sons for the long move from Illinois to Arizona in the 1940s. The family station wagon towed a travel trailer with sleeping space for two. The boys slept under the stars….
Someday my grandnieces and nephews will see me, a white-haired lady, pull in front of their homes and hop out from behind the wheel of a motorhome. They will probably giggle at their crazy aunt and her big RV or, if they are teenagers, turn their backs in embarrassment.
But one will give me a big smile and beg to go for a ride, proving that the RV gene is alive and well.
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