Terri and Peter's RV Adventures

–By Peter Bluford

You may have read some of Terri’s comments on the social vibe of RV Parks.  It is remarkable and a joy to behold.  

When I was growing up, my Dad was a very social animal in almost  any setting–work, scouts, tennis, PTA, family, skiing, and extended family.  He was typically very upbeat and accosted anyone within hearing (or, especially, physical) distance for news on family, work, school, sports, politics, whatever.  Sometimes I was embarrassed by my Dad’s hyper-social behavior (“Hey Fred!  Have you met my son Peter???”), probably because I saw it as “uncool” and “overdone” (yes, I interned with Emily Post during high school) or…just plain embarrassing.    

As I grew into my teens and my twenties, I began to connect with people who were one generation older, while pulling back from my parents. I saw my Dad’s behavior in a different light.  My friends, in many cases, seemed to love my Dad for his exuberance and truly enjoyed his company.  As I learned about his background, I gained another insight into Dad’s behavior–he was asthmatic (huh?); he developed asthma at an early age.  In those days (1920s-1930s) asthma could be a devastating disease and led some parents to overreact.  That was my Dad’s situation.  Later, after he was “let out of the house” he needed to catch up (socially) and, I think, spent the rest of his life catching up.  But one thing never changed:  whether it was someone I knew from my teenage years, or a friend from Dad’s circle, or even people I had never met before, they’d say, “Oh you’re Dave Bluford’s son???  He is one of the nicest/greatest/best guys I have ever known.”  No hyperbole here…that was my Dad.  Nice guy.  Energetic.  Connecting.  Hugs, handshakes and long talks all around.  

Now, Terri and I are on the road for weeks or months at a time.  

The RV camps are, by and large, communities; constantly in flux, and everyone wants to say “hi” no matter if they’re just arriving, leaving or staying.  “What is your dog’s name?  How old?  How is she with other dogs?”  Some of these interactions often evolve into friendships.  Channeling Dad!  Well, Dad is right here with me.  “Yeah, this is Lily, she’s a two-year old laborador.  And this is Cali; she is our 15-year old grande dame, keeping an eye out and showing Lily the ropes.”  It’s you, Dad, and these dogs that allow me to walk around this RV camp and “make friends” like I’ve been doing it all my life.  

Thank you, Dad, for teaching me how to connect with people.  You’re pretty cool–without even trying.  May your memory be a blessing.