Destination...Nowhere

Mom was a type 1 diabetic who lost her only pregnancy in the second trimester, in the late 50s, and she had to continue carrying the child until she naturally aborted. That was so traumatizing that she never wanted to attempt to have another child; depression set in soon after. Although happy with their life, Dad suggested becoming foster parents and adopting to get Mom to smile again. He wanted a son; the baby would have been named Warner had he survived. They started the applications for both programs at the same time. There were classes for the foster care program and background checks for both. Believe it or not, it was easier to adopt than to become a foster care home. The state required a home inspection for the foster care process, and an inspector from the state had to sign off on the structural soundness of the home where the foster children would be living.

The day they went to the adoption fair, they often told me how I chose them. I was almost three but in no hurry to walk. I wore a cute white dress but knew how to crawl without getting dirty. I had learned to “crawk” combine crawling and walking; it’s the way of walking on all 4; hands and feet. I called it camel walking when my children did it because their butt resembles a hump. All the children, infant to four statewide, were in that room. In another room were the fives to twelves and another thirteen and up. While waiting for their social worker to return to the room, I approached them, pulled up on my future Dad’s leg, and reached up and touched his goatee. Mom’s heart melted when she saw the huge smile on his face; so much for the son notion; I had chosen them. I couldn’t go with the Walkers that day, but Monday, June 3, 1968, two days before my third birthday, I was on my way to my final destination as a child. That day I started my life as Kimberly W. Walker.

By the way, my parents loved me and thought I deserved all the happiness in life…

My Dad and his best friend purchased and restored a 72 Ford Van in 75. They tinkered with the motor and customized the interior for three weekends. Our first jaunt after the restoration was the Saturday before my tenth birthday. Have you ever just jumped in your car and driven without a destination? That was our Saturday or Sunday routine for a year. We had become bored with the usual family outings, like the movies, mini golf, eating at the Mouse’s restaurant, or standing in long lines in an overpriced theme park. Since I was an only child, my parents would team up with the Jarrell family, who had three children: two rough-and-tumble boys and a daughter close to my age. The boys were typical boys who only wanted to torture us girls. I don’t think things worked as the parents had hoped because I was more tomboyish than a girly girl. I loved fishing better than cooking. I’d rather play baseball or basketball than dolls. Unfortunately, I had more in common with the boys than the daughter.

Now that the van was operational, the two families could ride together. Well, we all pile into the van, and off we go…. At the end of the driveway, Dad asked me which way. Every time we came to a stop sign, left or right was the question. As young children looking for an adventure around every turn, this was enormous fun. One Sunday, after twenty-five left turns, we ended up at an abandoned mining company’s dig site and explored. Little did we know that our parents were having fun lying to us about where we were…Luray Caverns. They told us the rocks that looked like fried eggs were a cave family’s leftover breakfast. Gullible children we were… came up with fifty follow-up questions but bought the lie hook, line, and sinker.

Our parents loved to sneak education into our weekend fun. My father was a pulpwood logger Monday through Friday, and Mr. Jarrell worked for the United States Postal Services in fleet maintenance. The mothers worked also, and the weekend was the only time they had for everything else. So, being older parents, my parents wanted to make every moment count, and it was informative. We went to the Smithsonian Museum probably twice a year because the exhibits kept growing and getting better. The Metropolitan Zoo was another place where we were dragged too often. Although they are exciting places, we would never ask to visit them as children.

This one time in 1976, we rode the American Freedom Train. The American Freedom Train celebrated the United States Bicentennial.

Another time we took only right turns and ended up in a Western town. It looked like we had driven through a time warp into the 1800s before cars, during the time of cowboys, saloons, stagecoaches, gun fights, and horse-drawn carriages. After the dust settled, people approached, wearing period clothing. While inside the van, we looked normal, but as soon as we stepped out, our clothing magically turned into the same type of period clothing. I included the females in ankle-length dresses and head scarves; the males wore dungarees, cowboy hats, and boots. We didn’t know if we were still in Virginia.

Dad looked confused for the first time; as he said, “However, we ended up here in the middle of town, and in the middle of what seemed to be a gunfight, the van was running hot and needed to cool down for two hours. Then he warned us not to talk about the place and time we were from because it might change our 1977. This made us anxious to find out where we were and the date. The newspaper was the Dallas Daily Commercial. The date was November 8, 1877.

Two hours later…

The evening addition reported…The headline read: The Deadliest Dentist Dead! John Henry Holliday died at the Hotel Glenwood from Tuberculosis.

Or did He… Did Doc Holliday travel to our 1977 when we emerged from the warp?

Think about it… Never had one of our weekend trips time warped before, so maybe he needed to get out of town quickly and thought that at the very moment, the portal was open.

As we attempted to put the last three hours of the craziness behind us and out of our minds, we jumped back in the van, taking the reverse turns until we escaped the wormhole back to route 250 and back in Virginia…Puzzled, we all agreed never to speak about what happened ever again…Things that make you go, hmmm!