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Gregory D. Williams, MD
Mesa, Ariz
gdwmesa@cox.net

JAMA. 2004;292:903-904.

	Since this article does not have an abstract, we have provided the first 150 words of the full text and any section headings.

My father herded my three sleepy-eyed younger siblings toward the backseat of our blue Olds 98. I followed him to the car, carrying a cooler with one hand and opening the right rear door with the other. "Thank you," he said. "You're a gentleman and a scholar and a man of great learning." We both grinned. He had been feeding me that line since I'd entered high school. It had grown from clever to corny, but we still enjoyed sharing it. "I'll load the ice chest. Why don't you check with your mom and see if she's ready to go?"

It was August 1970. We were embarking on our annual summer excursion to southern California to escape the Phoenix heat for a week. I was only 16 but nearly a 10-year veteran of many overland journeys to the Pacific. On those first trips, when my dad's . . . [Full Text of this Article]