1997.
My wife, two stepsons and I are preparing for our first trip together.
It was to be the first major vacation of any kind for the three
of them. She has decided that everything must be accounted for,
and two weeks prior to our departure, clothes and other items
are starting to assemble in small but ever-growing piles. Shorts,
socks, shirts and new toothbrushes. Two weeks of clothes to wear
being stacked up and organized.
I
thought she was nuts. Having mastered the shower-pack-and-out-the-door-for-the-weekend-in-under-thirty-minutes
maneuver, I wasn’t planning on having anything out until the day
before we left. But, supportive and helpful I was in those days.
So, when asked for the carry-on bags and luggage, a red backpack
was placed with the supplies.
“What…
is… that?”
“My
carry-on.”
“It
isn’t really going with us, is it?”
“Yes.”
“No,
really, it isn’t, right?”
Eventually,
concerned with other things, the red backpack got past her and
was allowed to make the trip. Off to Florida.
During
our first few days moving from theme park to theme park, the backpack
offered bottled water, cameras, sunglasses, gum, and maps. It
held purchases. When I pulled out three sweatshirts one evening
as the temperatures dropped, my wife looked stunned.
“You’ve
had those with us all day?”
“Yup.”
“We’ll
buy you a new bag when we get home. That one’s dirty.”
1979.
I first learned about the mom bag in September. My parents made
a family vacation type of outing an annual summer tradition. It
usually involved camping with friends, or a trip in the northeast
section of the United States such to places around New England,
Pennsylvania or New York. Never very far from our home in Rhode
Island, although to the kids in the back of the station wagon,
it was always far enough.
This
1979 trip was big time though. Disney World. A full week. During
the school year. And as the family strolled around the Magic
Kingdom, mom was the center of attention.
“Mom,
do you have my hat?”
“Mom,
can you hold this for me?”
“Mom,
dad says you have the film.”
And
on and on and on.
Where
did mom keep all this wonderful stuff? In one of those big, canvas,
shoulder bags… a square measuring a foot or so, and capable of
comfortably holding more than a large suitcase. It became known
as “the mom bag,” and it joined us from that trip on.
1986.
Syracuse, New York. I start carrying my life around in a blue
backpack. It was used for my books. It was used it for weekend
trips. The backpack was a book bag, overnight bag, camera bag,
laundry bag, and shopping bag. Heck, since I put my walkman in
it when I strolled between campus and my apartment, the backpack
was even a stereo. During four years of college, the only change
was replacing it with a red one of the exact same style for my
senior year. (Yes… yes… a red one that would be around, though
much dirtier, roughly seven years after my senior year.)
Over
the years I’ve also had a slightly different “mom bag” of sorts
as well. It’s a drawer at my desk and a file on the computer.
It’s the place I’ve put dated material, unfinished pieces, and
works in progress. The place where things get stored because there’s
no time to work on them or they just don’t seem to be developing
right. The place where stuff goes when one or more markets have
passed on them, or when rejection letters have been returned concerning
them, or I just can’t revise them one more time.
From
that physical bag in 1979 to the figurative bag of 2003, so goes
the progression to In My Backpack – the web site. The
material may not all be gems. Some of it may interest visitors
to the site. Some of it won’t. But it’s stuff that I’ve pulled
from those drawers and files. Stuff stored away in my backpack
looking for a place and just waiting for its time. And when the
night gets chilly, or the kids get thirsty, or someone has to
carry that stuffed animal you had to buy, the backpack is ready.
The
mom bag lives on. Some have tried to remove its place as a carry-on
or replace it with alternatives over the years, but it always
gets packed. And the material I’ve written has a home.
For
now, these days, I’m the keeper of the bag. Lugging it and its
contents around. It’s not that heavy actually. And I hope that
if you need it (even if you’re just looking), you’ll find that
there’s a sweatshirt or two here that fits.