I spent most of yesterday morning moping about how I would soon be imprisoned in a car for six hours.

          My sister Suzanne and I thought we’d left adequate wiggle room when we told our father if we went, we’d bring him to Pennsylvania for my nephew Evan’s and his wife Elizabeth’s housewarming party. Apparently wiggle room is not a concept with which Dad is familiar. His desire to attend was boundless and fixed, which was upsetting because as the weekend approached, Suzanne and I felt our enthusiasm about spending our Saturday in a car dwindle.

          Yesterday dawned, sunny and mild. Suzy and I exchanged a barrage of cell phone communiqués to determine logistics and to kvetch to each other. John, our brother, called to tell us we could spend the night at his house (kind, but not an option for us) or even put Dad on a train. That sounded like a good out, so I called Dad, who said, “Honey, you girls said you’d take me, so why would I want to be stuck on a train?” The situation was feeling like a Chinese finger trap—the more frantically we cast about in an effort to extricate ourselves, the more keenly we perceived we were hopelessly stuck. Ultimately, Suzanne and I decided to make the best of it. We picked up Dad, and armed with two framed prints, a houseplant, a batch of cookies, and some wine, we set off in Suzanne’s Prius.

          It wasn’t until we got to the New York border that the resistance that felt like a knot in my stomach began to uncoil itself. The car was comfortable. My father was dozing in the back seat. My sister and I, whose conversations of late have been reduced to relaying essential information, were really talking. We may have been forced into this day against our will, but after accepting the inevitability of it and taking a good look around, I realized I was okay with it. More than okay, in fact.

          Evan and Elizabeth’s house was a reflection of them—beautiful and warm and unpretentious. Friends and neighbors were everywhere, admiring the new paint job and the yard. There was a keg. We ate potato salad, burgers, both real and veggie, hot dogs, and corn on the cob. And after a few hours, we got back in the Prius for the three hour ride home.

          As we were getting into the car, my father gave Evan a hug. I saw the tears in his eyes when he said how good it was to see his grandson so happy. Than, a couple of minutes later, as we drove down the street, Dad said, “I want to thank you girls. You really made my…” then he paused for several seconds, finally settling on “day,” but the word felt infinitely bigger.