My secret

My parents have a problem. I've lived with it for so long, I feel I must share it, if only to begin the recovery process. You see {sniffle, covering eyes in shame} they are full-time RVers.

It all started the summer before I turned seven. They rented a "Mini Winnie" for a family trip to the Smoky Mountains. They say that most people who try the small ones will eventually move on to the bigger ones. I'm here to tell you it's true. A few years later, they bought a large coach, and while I don't remember its exact specifications, I'm sure my father could tell you everything from its length to its horsepower. Such is the nature of the sickness.

They tried for a year or so, with the help of a local pusher or "dealer," to rent out their coach when they weren't using it. They figured this would help support their habit. Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, it didn't, and they were forced to sell it. But once you've owned, you can never go back.

After I had moved out of the house and there was no one to stop them, they bought another one. They began traveling on weekends and meeting other people like them. It was only a matter of time. They sold their house and traded in their coach for an even bigger one, a forty-footer. They had become full-timers.

Ever since then, they've become immersed in the RV culture. They attend secret meetings known as "rallies" where dealers show up and try to sell the weaker members of the group an even larger coach. My parents haven't succumbed yet, but it's only a matter of time. They've also bought property in Florida where they can park their coach in the winter. And I have to admit that I am an enabler. I allowed them to build a pad next to my house with electric and water hookups.

So now you know my secret. My parents are hooked. I'd call an intervention, but all their friends are full-timers too.