DO NOT OPEN THE FRIDGE!

It was the summer I went into 7th grade that changed my life. I hate admitting this to people, but I peaked in middle school. In middle school I was the "it" girl. I had a boyfriend every other day and I had tons of friends. However, with my family, I was simply the "klutz" girl.


My Dad, Beth, Louis, Mike, Rachel and I shared a Winnebago for a month and went across the country the summer of 2000. It was the opportunity of a life time and I remember feeling angry that I had to be involved. I didn't want to go on the trip, I wanted to be with my friends that summer, they were all together working at the "J" (the Jewish Community Center). I was also angry cause at the time because I believed no one in my family liked me. I hadn't yet grasped the concept that people can be angry with you but still love you. I simply thought anger was the end of the road.


Looking back, I'm more than grateful for having the chance to go across the country--and not just because it left me with more than 1 embarrassing "Brooke-story."


Anyway, the Winnebago was pretty big. You walk in it and to the left was a master bedroom, the bathroom, and kitchen. To the right, the "family" room, and a bed above the driver seat. At times, we were in that Winnebago for 5 days in a row, driving through the dessert and underpopulated areas.

I was always hungry. Always. And hot. And I always complained about being both hungry and hot! Needless to say, I was a joy to have on the trip.


My dad only stopped the RV to sleep. Otherwise, we had a bathroom and a kitchen. I was going through my usual complaints when my dad finally said, "Brooke, get a damn drink from the fridge, sit down, and shut up! You're such a kvetch (Yiddish for a person who complains a lot)!"


And so I did.... Well, I had intended to do just that but, as I opened the fridge to get a drink, the Winnebago came to an abrupt stop. Before I could fully understand what was going on, I was treading fluids for my life. I know my family was talking to me but I couldn't make out the words. My dad pulled to the side of the road, opened the door to the living area of the Winnebago, and was greeted by gallons and gallons of miscellaneous fluids.


I'll spare the boring details. In a nut shell, I was kicked out of the Winnebago for 30 minutes while my dad and Beth attempted to clean the flood. I tried to help but they had locked me out of the RV.


When I was finally let back into the RV, no one would talk to me. It was a fun next 6 hours to San Fransisco.