When I was a child my parents would drive winding routes throughout the countryside of Ohio or other midwestern states in search of covered bridges to drive under.

Unknown to me at the time, my parents kissed each other every time. Apparently back in their day, teenagers used covered bridges as romantic meeting places. My parents' kissing was their corny way to comemorate this forgotten piece of history.

As a family we might be heading somewhere within 50 or so miles, but my parents would add another 20 miles to our trip in order to find that bridge.

This is an admirable thing if for no other reason than I know for a fact that my brother, sister, and I were some of the bickering-est kids alive.