In my youth, way back in the previous millennium, our version of a vacation was driving for miles and miles to the home of relatives and staying a few days. That meant one bathroom for anywhere from eight to 15 people, sleeping on pallets, and endless cousin time. It took a lot longer to get someplace, having to pass through countless little towns and even more stoplights. That meant everybody’s hair was flying all over the place, and no wonder my daddy kept his cut short and I wore a hat all the time. We listened to the AM radio to what my daddy called “hillbilly music,” which was basically country tunes from the 1950s and 60s.