It has been 16 years since I visited my mother's family home in Southeast, Okla.

My mom has been asking me for the last eight years to join them at the yearly family reunion. I always had some kind of excuse -- not enough money, Brad had to work, I had to work.

This year, though, I decided I was going, one way or another. They were planning on leaving early, Thursday morning. I had about three-and-a-half hours to finish up what I needed to get done at the Gazette. Meaning I took off about four hours after they did.

The 750-mile trip seemed to zoom by, from McCook to Salina, four hours; from Salina to Wichita, an hour and a half; from Wichita to Oklahoma City, two hours; from Oklahoma City to the Indian Nation Turnpike, two and a half hours; from the Indian Nation Turnpike to Uncle Dave's house -- through a major thunderstorm and in the dark, an eternity.

I did finally arrive in the vicinity of my Aunt and Uncle's home. But the red balloons he had tied in the trees didn't show up well in the black night. I drove back and forth along the tree-lined road for five miles looking for the balloons. On my way back from my first venture, I heard a strange sound -- it wasn't the tree frogs I'd been hearing for the last half our. This sound was mechanical, and the lights it emitted weren't the flashes of lightning I'd been seeing all night.

I pulled to the side of the road and a McPherson County Oklahoma Sheriff's officer approached the car.

"Is everything all right, ma'am," he asked me in his soft southern drawl. "I noticed you were swerving along the road quite a bit."

"I'm looking for balloons," I told him.

"Balloons, Ma'am" he repeated me, puzzled, obviously wondering if I had escaped the nearest mental hospital.

I explained my situation to him. He suggested I pull over, call my uncle and find out where I needed to turn. Thankfully, there was no field sobriety test involved. After 12 hours on the road, I'm sure I would have flunked.

I took his advice, called my uncle and was guided safely to the comfort of his home.

He guided me through the back door, through the kitchen and tapped my mom on the shoulder. I wished I'd had a camera as she turned and saw me standing there.

"What in the world are you doing here?" she asked in dismay.

"Well, if you want me to, I can leave," I told her.

"You're not going anywhere," she said. "I finally got you down here, and you will stay and enjoy yourself." It was an order given in a mother's voice.

So I did.

While I was off enjoying family and the old stories they had to tell, my youngest son Jeremy was off getting his military physical and entrance test for the National Guard.

He passed both. I didn't know whether to cry or congratulate him. I did both.

He won't be leaving for boot camp till next June, until then I think I can whip him into pretty good shape. I have a lot of yard work that will tone him up as well as any bench press you can imagine.