Lisa Geichman Prosek

I’m living this year in 1965, when we piled into our family sedan–the beige Dodge Coronet–and drove the 100-plus miles from our suburban home just south of Dayton to Portsmouth. Route 73’s hilly, winding path upset my stomach as usual, but I didn’t care. I chomped on the Doublemint gum Mom dispensed and focused on reaching my grandparents’ house at the end of the trip.