When I was little, vacations closely resembled that of the Griswold family of National Lampoon fame. We would load up our big, ugly station wagon (seriously, it was orange) and head down to Florida. Upon leaving our suburban Chicago home, we would sing songs, laugh and eat the sausage and onion sandwiches that Mom had packed for us (okay, this was the Serbian Griswold version).

Things would always seem to go awry as soon as we hit Tennessee, the gnarly half-way point where you want your brother to stay on his side of the tent-fort you built in the back and Dad gets the first of numerous speeding tickets. Dad would lift our spirits by buying a ridiculous amount of illegal fireworks: illegal in Illinois, that is, but not in TN, baby! (I can still picture Dad in a car full of fireworks waving around a lit cigarette without a care in the world.)

The Appalachian Mountains were also a disaster. Everyone except for Dad had extreme cases of motion sickness disorder so he would hug those curves like he was on the German Autobahn. Someone always barfed. It never failed. We’d have to pull over and it was a big scene, completely traumatizing and embarrassing for both the victim and the spectators.

But we would carry on! Through Georgia, buying sweet Vidalia onions so Mom could make more sandwiches and Dad could eat them like they were apples. He ALWAYS smelled like onions. . . onions, Aramis and beer, come to think of it. When we finally had to stop so he could get some sleep, we would have to drive to four or five different motels while he comparison shopped. It would seem like it would take hours. Dad was Expedia in a station wagon. He would barter and argue (his favorite hobby) and somehow always score a deal somewhere at, what always seemed like, 1am. We were mortified, as per usual. He never let us down in that way.

We eventually made it to Wally World, a/k/a Disney World, emotionally and physically exhausted from the journey and too tired and annoyed to want to see anything. This, in turn, caused more drama, tears and embarrassment. “But this is the American dream!”, Dad would proclaim. Then there was, “There is no Disney World in Yugoslavia! We had communism!” Although not particularly insightful, he did have a point.

Everything would always end up okay. We had fun, made memories and made it home safely: our finale always being when the neighbors came over for an amazing and dangerous fireworks display. It may not come as a surprise to you that I am not a road trip kind of gal but maybe one day, when I have a family of my own, I will give them another try. . .minus the sausage and onion sandwiches!

Last year I used a very special picture to pay tribute to my dad on Father’s Day. It was a picture of me and my Dad, Bobby V (his favorite moniker), perched at the very top of Table Mountain in Cape Town, South Africa. You see, we were there for a very unique purpose: my very first major professional acting assignment co-starring in the Steven Seagal straight-to-video epic entitled “Mercenary For Justice.” Bobby V’s purpose: to be my biggest cheerleader and support while he realized his own dream.

I will never forget the moment that I told him I had received the part as Steven’s gun-toting, kick-ass, foul-mouthed side-kick. He was over the moon. He had always wanted me to become an actress, a career that I had resisted. Daddy was always right, however, and somehow I ended up living in LA and pursuing his dream, which soon became my dream too. When Bobby V dropped me off at the airport in Miami to catch a flight to South Africa, the lady checking me in at the airport asked me my occupation. Being a fashion model for over a decade, I was about to spurt out my usual response when Bobby V, sensing what was about to come out of my mouth, interrupted me and stated emphatically “She’s an ACTRESS, Miss.” It was a moment that I will never forget.

I flew to Cape Town and it would be two weeks before my Dad could come to see me. By that time, I was full-swing into shooting the movie. Not used to the fast pace and rigorous schedule, I was excited to have a few days off to relax and check out the sites with my Dad. During that time we covered a lot of ground. Bobby V. had never been to S.A. and he was motivated to soak in as much of it as he could. Jovial, energetic and curious, he drove us to the Cape of Good Hope and around the beautiful, scenic coast. We watched wild baboons cross the freeways, shopped at local markets, met up with the cast and crew for dinner and drinks, and finally, on our last free day, took the tram up to Table Mountain. The ride was much scarier than it looked from down below and once we got up there, I was in awe. The view was breathtaking and we posed for pictures as we stood on top of the most beautiful place in the world. Dad said he most definitely wanted to buy a place in Cape Town because that it was his favorite place on earth. I believed him.

Shooting continued for a couple more weeks and Bobby V practically became part of the crew. He quickly made friends with Steven’s Bulgarian bodyguards and was never seen without his camera around his neck and sporting a big smile. He would drive me to the set every morning and pick me up every night. When we got back to our apartment overlooking Table Bay, he would open a new bottle of wine from whatever local vineyard he had visited earlier that day and pour me a glass while he cooked us dinner.

On the very last day of shooting, Dad had the entire cast and crew sign a t-shirt that he had made. It was a picture of him and Steven that was taken a few days before. Being a part of the movie had rocked his world and he wanted everyone to know just how special it was for him.

The next day it was time to pack up and head home. His flight was before mine so we arranged to have a taxi pick him up from our apartment. We had a hard time closing his suitcase as he had purchased so many souvenirs. He was worried about losing his beloved signed t-shirt so he made sure to pack that in his carry-on. As he put his bags into the taxi, we hugged and kissed and said our goodbyes. We knew we had shared something extraordinary and were sad to have to let it transition to just a memory. “Bye Dad! I love you!” I yelled and waved as he got into the taxi. He looked back at me from the back seat and waved. He was heading off to his next adventure as the taxi grew smaller and smaller in the distance.

That was the last time I would ever see Bobby V. I would speak to him from time to time as we both traveled for work, catching up with each other by phone when we could. Six months later, he suddenly passed away in a car accident outside of Belgrade, Serbia. Throughout the paradox of feeling the numbness and pain following the accident, I had bittersweet anxiety about the release of “Mercenary.” I knew it would forever be our movie, our memory, our adventure. Regardless of what the reviews might be, I knew that I would always be proud of the movie and so would he.

Saturday night as I dusted off the top of the box labeled “DAD”, I hesitated knowing what awaited me. As I lifted off the top, I was instantly overcome with the scent of his signature Ralph Lauren cologne. It was still in his toiletry bag from his ill-fated trip to Serbia. So comforting was the smell that I instinctively dove my nose straight into the bag to bask in its warmth and love. Taking my time, I rummaged through the box of his personal effects. I poked through pictures, old business cards of dreams never realized and his well stamped passport. I smiled as I caught a glimpse of the stamp from Cape Town, South Africa. There it was: our trip, our memory, our adventure. It would always be ours and ours alone, just Jackie and Bobby V.