When we were younger, my dad used to take us on what he called a “chuzch.”

Now, that’s as close to a phonetic spelling as I can give that word. While I believe has its roots in Lithuanian, I can’t seem to find any actual reference to a word close to it in Google Translate, so there is always a chance this was just some family colloquialism that my dad used.

A “chuzch” was basically getting into the car and going for a drive and taking the most interesting route to get there.

My dad loved to drive, and he loved finding new places, especially ones that were off the beaten path. In his younger years, and a few times in his later ones, he drove across the country for various reasons, usually never taking the same route twice. He just enjoyed seeing the world, whether it was a patch town long forgotten by the map makers, or a different pass through the Rocky Mountains.

While one might first ascribe this to wanderlust, I can’t say that word accurately describes his attitude. My dad was also just as content to stay home, sitting on the porch or his favorite recliner. It wasn’t so much a need to travel as it was a desire to make the travel that must be done as interesting as possible.

Over 35 years of driving from Hometown to Bethlehem Steel for work led to many permutations of that trip. To this day, I can think of at least six different ways to get from my house to the Allentown/Bethlehem area.

Our daily commute home from school in Freeland had about eight variations, none of them particularly shorter than the other, although one of them did pass by a famous hot dog shop that he frequently patronized. Along the way, we’d be quizzed about the names of the various towns we drove through. To this day, my brother and I find being questioned about the whereabouts of Junedale and Tomhicken rather hilarious.

Of course, my dad always had the good old AAA map folded up in the console or the glove box, but most of the time, he had a general idea of the direction he wanted to move in, and he just kept taking roads until he got there. Did I mention that a key part of the “chuzch” was having enough time to get lost? While this isn’t something I have a lot of these days, the ability to know the direction that I want to go in and keep moving toward it has come in handy over the years, and it’s a skill that I am particularly glad to have learned.

So, what triggered this drive down memory lane for me? Someone in this house recently made the statement: “The app told me to go that way.” I will try not to rat out the culprit, to maintain their dignity, and I will also say that this particular trip did not end with someone foolishly driving into a lake, a la “The Office” episode, so no harm, no foul. But, to make matters worse, the offender then followed that statement up with: “I looked at the map, and what the app was saying didn’t make sense. But I just figured it knew something I didn’t.” At which point, my head exploded, and I could hear my dad’s voice asking me if I knew how to get to Reevesdale.

I blame myself for this debacle. I am guilty of turning on the GPS, even for short trips to places that I know how to get to well. I appreciate seeing the traffic ahead of me, and chances are I know a shortcut (thanks, Dad) if I do see an accident or a traffic jam on the horizon. I thought I had done a pretty good job of instilling the local roads — 209, 309, 54, 81, 443, 61 — into my kids’ brains, especially as they started to drive, but having been asked repeatedly if Allentown is “up or down,” I see that it didn’t sink in very far.

It doesn’t help that we’ve taught kids that they should be entertained while we’re driving and not content to look out the window, read road signs and count telephone poles. Our first family car had the DVD player and the drop-down screen in the ceiling. Then came the iPads and the strap-to-the-back-of-the-seat-in-front-of-them installations. Finally, everyone got their phones and EarPods and the back seat was never heard from again. My arm stopped hurting from having to reach blindly around the back seat trying to break up sibling wars. Life seemed good. Until we unleashed a generation that has no idea how to get anywhere unless an app directs them.

Lest you think I’ve turned into some kind of cranky old person, rest assured, I am thrilled that my kids have the GPS and their phones (to be used appropriately) in the car with them. There is a lot of peace of mind that comes with being able to track them or know that they won’t have to stand at the side of the road hoping someone stops to help them if they break down. But, as always, the technology is a double-edged sword that must be used correctly.

I wish my dad had still been here to “chuzch” around with the kids when they were learning to drive. They had been big fans of going with Grandpap in the big truck to watch the drag lines, but that was long before they were old enough to register that they were going through Grier City.

I’ve probably missed my window with the boys, as our times to be in the car together are few and far between, but I still have time with E. She recently started going to swim practice a few towns over, and we are now spending a few hours a week in the car. Within the first week, she did notice that we hadn’t come home the same way twice. Maybe there is hope for her yet!

Life With Liz is published on Saturdays in the Times News.