This is an archived article that was published on sltrib.com in 2016, and information in the article may be outdated. It is provided only for personal research purposes and may not be reprinted.

Dear My Adult Kids,

I want you to listen up. Why, you ask? Because I am going to share an important universal truth with you today.

But first I want to tell you about this weekend and how I drove your grandparents (my parents) to Las Vegas from St. George.

DO NOT SKIP OVER THIS PART BECAUSE IT'S IMPORTANT.

And also you should always listen to what I say because all of it is important. But whatever.

Anyway. The three of us decided to go to Vegas to see your Uncle Jimmy and his family, but when your grandparents (my parents) got tired, I offered to take over the driving part.

Now here's the thing: When I slid behind the steering wheel, I sensed a certain unease on their part, which I found confusing. Why should my parents be uneasy? It's not like I've never driven distances before.

For example, with the help of sons, I have made several cross-country road trips, and I have driven solo plenty of times, too, including that one trip to Oregon when (OK, fine) my car's water tank blew up and I rode into Eugene with a tow truck guy who told me how he delivered his girlfriend's baby by himself, which made me very happy that he and his tow truck weren't anywhere nearby when I delivered one of my own babies.

But that's not the point.

The point is I could tell that my father (sitting in the front passenger seat) and my mother (sitting in the backseat with a poodle) were nervous. Especially my mother. She kept reminding me to observe the speed limits even though she has a lead foot herself. Also, whenever I changed lanes, I could hear a sharp intake of breath from somewhere in the backseat, and I'm assuming it wasn't the poodle stressing.

My father, on the other hand, looked like a man who has seen way, way, way too much of life. His expression was one of epic stoicism as he clutched the hand rest and looked grimly out of the windshield.

This made me want to say, "What is up with you two? I haven't gotten a ticket for years! Especially if you don't count that time I got pulled over by the UHP and I couldn't find my registration in the glove compartment although I did find an expired coupon for some Lunchables. So what's your problem?"

And then I realized what was happening.

When I was a teenager living with your grandparents (my parents), I collected tickets the way some people collect those little teaspoons from different states. I also ran into other cars, sometimes while wearing a drill uniform, although it is true I wasn't wearing one of those when I ran into our neighbor Tom Brown's VW bug. I was just wearing regular clothes then.

Also, there was that time I made a sudden, unexpected stop with my father sitting in the front seat, which caused him to go crashing into the dashboard as a thousand empty Tab bottles went soaring past his ears because we were on our way to Carson's Market to return them for a deposit.

So there the three of us were this weekend. My mother and a poodle in the backseat. My father in the front seat with a face looking like it had been carved into Mount Rushmore. Me behind the steering wheel.

And it occurred to me then that at some level, they possibly still think of me as that idiot kid who had terrible car karma.

Who can blame them?

So what's the universal truth I referred to earlier? You guys are all grown up now. But, trust me, there will be moments when I'll treat YOU like you're still the kids I remember.

As Simba (or whoever) once said. It's the circle of life.

Sincerely,

Mom

Ann Cannon can be reached at acannon@sltrib.com or facebook.com/anncannontrib.