I'm glad to hear that we're not alone.

My dad got three weeks vacation from Martin Marietta. We would take it in July, every year. Every year, we would go camping to a remote campground, for three weeks - and, by gosh, we'd better like it. (I hate camping, to this day. I suffered through YM's callings while my son was going through scouting. I go on the annual Daddy-daughter camp out with my daughter, because she loves it. Even on an over-nighter, I have flashbacks to three weeks with no showers in Lost Park, Colorado.)

When I got my first job as an adult, and learned about their vacation policy, I asked, "What month do I have to take my vacation?" When I found out I could, like, spread it out during the year, it was like I had just learned that they discovered the automobile.

Now, if we have a three-day weekend, my kids expect to go somewhere. I respond with, "Why, when I was a boy, we didn't have any fancy-schmancy vay-cay-shuns!"