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We get into the strangest subjects on road trips. I swear I don’t know why. But when you’re stuck in the car for hours on end, things come up that never get talked about during life’s normal days. So, when some friends and I spent five hours headed for the coast, we got talking about the childhood memories we wish we could erase. One of them recalled an intolerant church he was forced to attend. Another talked of grade school bullies. I admitted, my pain didn’t begin to match theirs, but I still don’t like Saturday nights because of a childhood routine. Some might call it “getting ready for Sunday”. For me, it was the Saturday Night Dippity-Do Torture Trial. Some Things Never Change Once a month, my family drove across two states, so my Dad could see his folks in Oklahoma, and do all the small chores and repairs beyond the skills of my uncles. That was a fine and laudable practice, but one that recurred too often for the rest of us. My Dad’s folks and brothers were kind, but they expected us to entertain ourselves, and there wasn’t much to do in that small town. Buy a…