"You’re going the wrong way, Frank," said Grandma for the third time, and for the third time, Grandpa shook his head.

We’d been on the road all morning, Grandma, Grandpa, and myself. Every summer we camp at the lake for a few days. Mom and Dad usually come along, but this year they wanted some time to be alone, so they left me alone with their parents. The old Triple-A lumbered on.

"Frank, we go here every year. Frank, you should know the route by now. You’re going the wrong way, Frank." Grandma removed her thick-rimmed spectacles and sighed. We had been going the "wrong way" for half an hour now.

"Is your hearing aid on, Frank? Frank?" Grandma poked his right arm with one of the big needles she had been using to knit what I suspected was my annual Christmas sweater. "Frank, we passed the lake turn-off a long time ago. Frank, we must turn around. Frank!" Grandma continued to prod at his arm until, once she realized she was not getting his attention, she used it to flip the Tilly Hat right off his head. Startled, Grandpa jerked the steering wheel and the motor home swerved. The Hawiian hula dancer on the dash sprang into action.

"Jumpin’ Jesus, woman! You’re gonna be the end o’ me," said Grandpa. He spat a toothpick out of his mouth, still managing to keep the cigarette dangling from his wrinkled lips.

"You’re going the wrong way, Frank. Look at the map," Grandma said, as she spread the map in front of the dash. It seemed impossible that either of them could any longer see out the windshield.

"Nonsense," said Grandpa, as he pushed the map out of his way. " I’ve been a drivin’ to the same lake for fifteen years, woman. I know the way."

"Listen Frank," started Grandma, but Grandpa cranked up the volume on the radio, which up until now was playing bearably quiet honky-tonk. "Fine, Frank," she said, "but don’t blame me when we end up in a bog!" She turned back to her knitting and sighed forcefully.

After a few minutes, the honky-tonk was beginning to get to me.

"Grandpa, can you please turn the radio down?" I asked from behind the driver’s seat. "It’s sort of loud."

"Oh sure, David," said Grandpa with a toothless smile as he reached for the knob. At the same time, knitting needle in hand, Grandma also reached for it. Their hands clashed.

"Get out of the way, Frank," said Grandma. She gave his hand a whack with the needle.

"He asked me to turn it down, didn’t he?" Grandpa said, cigarette falling from his lips this time. "Gosh darn, woman. Now I’ve lost my cigarette. Move your hand." They both continued to grasp for the knob, and amid the smacks of Grandpa’s hand and the pokes of Grandma’s knitting needle, the music was somehow turned down.

After a few seconds, however, Grandpa complained.

"Now I can’t hear nothin’," he said with a grunt and turned the volume up a notch.

"Frank, David doesn’t like it loud. He hates your music, Frank, and so do I. Now turn it down." She lowered it back down.

"Holy Moses, woman! Can’t you leave well enough alone?" The clash for the knob began once more. I rolled my eyes and sighed. Every year the same thing. Out of curiosity, I grabbed the map from between the two front seats. Grandma and Grandpa, busy with each other, didn’t seem to notice. I remembered a highway sign from a few miles back and searched for it on the map.

"Grandma," I said bravely, "we’re going the right way. That turn-off was for a different lake." They put their battle on hold, which apparently was no longer about anything closely related to the radio, and looked back at me. Again, it seemed impossible that either of them were watching the road.

"See, woman! I know where I’m goin’. I’ve been drivin’ to the same lake for fifteen years," said Grandpa. Grandma snatched the map out of my hands, replaced her spectacles, and examined the map. After a few brief seconds, the look of intolerable defeat covered her ancient face.

"Well," she said, "it wouldn’t hurt to check the map every now and then, Frank. I’m sure you took us the long way." Grandpa shook his head. "Don’t you shake your head at me, Frank. You’re just so smart, aren’t you? Frank, you need to learn to admit that you’re wrong sometimes. Are you listening to me, Frank?" The honky-tonk went back up.