I have to admit, as RockRock I always want to cruise with my IPOD, CD player in the car and a stereo in every hotel room. I NEED my music. My dad can get a little tough on me. Last week we chilled out together on Saturday and he had a plan. Of course it involved talking to me as we drove, so he said (kinda) – “dude, leave the tunes behind and let’s rap! You can live for a couple of hours without your music. Besides, it will give your ears a rest. Now grab that water bottle and let’s go. The others are waiting for us.”
Dad watched me hide my IPOD under the driver’s seat of his Land Cruiser SUV, grabbed the insulated water bottle holder and slung it across my chest by placing an arm through the strap and pulling it over my head. As we walked I wondered for the thousandth time how I could stop the chasm between my dad and me from widening. I think my dad knows that it’s normal for teenagers to pull away from their parents; he did it from his old man starting when he was my age. Unfortunately, that ended up with them not talking to each other. I think my dad is determined not to let our relationship crumble into weed-choked ruins. It’s pretty hard to rebuild something once it had deteriorated badly.
Actually, my dad’s father had just died and the fact they hadn’t spoken in years inspired this family vacation, our first in five years. I know my dad wanted to connect with the family, especially his fourteen year old son, me, RockerRock. I do spend a lot of time on line, in chat rooms and on the phone. With my dad’s work, we don’t get a chance to talk too much. My mom told me dad was hoping to stop gaps from starting between himself and his three kids, something that he could see happening all too easily with me and my 12 year old sister Christy. She was getting interested in boys and this scared him to death because he kept imagining her coming home with the town hood and sporting a new tattoo that was meant to substitute for an engagement ring until they could afford a real one. I don’t think my dada really believed this would happen.
Lastly came Joey. He was eight years old and seemed to be doing well in school. He liked to play baseball but dad was unable to make very many of his weeknight games. Mom told dad that Joey was well-adjusted, but I think dad still worried when he would hear someone say that it was the quiet ones that caused trouble because they were like pressure cookers; seething and boiling inside with no release until they exploded. Dad has to chill; Joey’s only stress is which Pokeman will win the next battle!
Dad and I were now approaching the rest of our family who were standing at a fence overlooking the scenery. Peering over the fence we all gazed into an abyss that was filled with strange rock formations that rose above a flat canyon floor. People filled the trail full of switchbacks as they descend to the bottom or ascend from the depths.
Dad said, “The canyon is named for Ebenezer Bryce who was one of the first settlers in this area.” Mom had a guidebook and said “‘He had a ranch at the end of the canyon and once remarked that it would be a terrible place to lose a cow.’” Dad looked at the winding trail and the rock formations that suddenly seemed to form the walls of a maze. Dad agreed with the old rancher.
‘The rock formations are called hoodoos. They are made of sandstone and were originally part of the Paunsaugunt Plateau but eroded away from its outer wall. Unlike most canyons Bryce Canyon was not formed by a river flowing through it, but was formed mainly from wind and weather.’” Mom lowered the book and gazed into and across the chasm.
“Look, Dad,” said Joey. “Those rocks look like people riding an escalator from the top of the canyon to the bottom.”
“Yeah, Dad,” chimed in Christy. “And they’re the color of your garden tools.” Dad once made the mistake of leaving his garden tools out for an entire winter and now they were all rusted.
“But the rocks aren’t completely rusty, Christy,” I said, referring to a stripe of white color that ran horizontally across the opposite wall of the canyon.
“Very funny, smart alecs. Maybe I will have to make that one of your chores when we get home: cleaning up my garden tools with some steel wool and spit,” dad laughed back. All of our eyes went wide for a second as if in shock and fear, but then we all laughed, when a big smile came over Dad’s face. Dad took the guidebook from mom and thumbed through until he found the list of trails through the canyon. “But first I think that we should take a hike. How about The Fairyland Loop. It’s only eight miles long.”
Eight miles! “If you kill us we won’t be able to clean up your tools,” I said.
“But I’ll be able to afford new ones,” Dad laughed back, “Actually they recommend the Queen’s Garden Trail as being the easiest. It starts from Sunrise Point, which is where we are,” he said pointing to our left.
“Well let’s go,” mom said, starting for the trailhead. “I can’t wait to see this from the point of view of a lost cow.”
I was glad I left my tunes behind. The hike was great. The land cool and my parents, although goofy at times, are the only people who actually stop and listen to what really bugs me and makes me scared. I maybe RockerRock here at Rock-This-World, but sometimes I really like being my mom and dad’s kid.
I have to admit, as RockRock I always want to cruise with my IPOD, CD player in the car and a stereo in every hotel room. I NEED my music. My dad can get a little tough on me. Last week we chilled out together on Saturday and he had a plan. Of course it involved talking to me as we drove, so he said (kinda) – “dude, leave the tunes behind and let’s rap! You can live for a couple of hours without your music. Besides, it will give your ears a rest. Now grab that water bottle and let’s go. The others are waiting for us.” 
