Category: Family

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Adventures Childhood Family

Tired of shoe problems

As we established a couple of weeks ago, my sandals are important to me. (In case you missed it, my sandals were stolen from the beach, in one of the most egregious violations of beach etiquette mankind has ever known.)

My son? Not as tied to his footwear as I am. In fact, given the option, he’d not wear shoes anywhere.

During the summer months, he usually goes with bare feet, but keeps his trusty pair of flip flops with him for when we have to go into some place that has one of those pesky no-shoes, no service policies.

Recently, he and I were at a favorite fishing spot of ours, a bridge and pier overlooking Charleston Harbor. He brought his flip flops with him, as there is a small stretch we have to walk on asphalt, which during July in the south gets a smidge warm.

As we arrived at home from our fishing trip, he was gathering his stuff from the floorboard of the car. “Dad, I’ve only got one flip flop,” he said. “I hope it didn’t fall out of the car.” We searched the car thoroughly, and it was not there.

It was about 8:30 at night at this point, and I told him not to worry about it. We’ll head back in the morning and get it. “Nobody’s going to steal one shoe,” I said.

IMG_7693 (1)So the next morning I got up and headed out to the pier. Parker was still asleep, so I figured I would surprise him when he woke up. I arrived at the spot and found his shoe, securely wedged under the tire of a car. I tugged. I pulled. I tried a few very terse words. Nothing.

But surely this person wouldn’t be there long, I thought. I’ll run a few errands and head back in a bit. But I’d better leave a note, just to make sure. I found some scrap paper in my car, and scribbled this note: “Dear Driver, My son and I were out here last night, and his flip flop fell out of the car. It’s under your tire. We’ll be back in a bit to retrieve it. Hope you’re having a great day!”

I thought the last part was a nice touch. It then occurred to me that someone might question why I might insinuate that they would take his lone shoe. So I scribbled a post script. “P.S. Not that you would take one shoe. But just didn’t want you to think the shoe was trash and needed to be thrown away. We’ll be back! Take care.”

Kill ‘em with kindness.

Fast forward an hour. I went to the house and roused my son. I told him the shoe was probably free by now, and we could go and retrieve it. We headed to the spot. The car was still there. My son said, “It’s fine. I can get new shoes.” No. This is now about principle.

I decided I would walk the pier and see if I could find the car owner.

It was, of course, the people at the very end of the pier, which is probably a half mile walk. “Hey, do you guys have a light blue Honda Civic?” I asked.

One of the the guys turned and said, “Yeah, why?” It was a look that told me I should have phrased my intro differently.

“Nothing’s wrong!” I assured him. I explained my son’s flip flop predicament. He just stared at me. “So, I guess if you guys could give me an ETA of when you’ll be heading out, I’ll come back then and get it.”

“We’ll be leaving in 30 minutes,” he said, and turned and cast his line in the water.

“Good luck on the fishing, fellas!” I said. I’m a people person.

We were heading out of town for the night, so I went back to the house and packed the car and loaded up the dogs. All told, about an hour had passed. We went back. Car still there.

It was after 1:00 at this point so I suggested my son and I would gas up the car and come back.

Still there.

And then some lunch.

Still there.

At this point, I’m incredibly pleasant. It’s 8 billion degrees, I just want the shoe, and my original departure time has passed by about two hours.

“Should we go and ask them when they’re leaving?” my son said.

“No, it’s 8 billion degrees,” I said. And I popped the trunk.

I retrieved my tire iron. No, I did not exact justice on his windshield. Rather, I dug out under the sandal as much as I could. I had my son grab the shoe while I rocked the car back and forth and back and forth and back and forth until boom! Free flip flop.

My son hopped in the car, and I grabbed my note to the driver off the windshield. “Dad, don’t you think they’ll wonder about the shoe not being there when they get to the car?” he said.

“I hope so. Because someone who says they’re leaving in 30 minutes who hasn’t left three hours later needs some mental anguish in their life.”

But the important thing is we got the shoe. And I need to remind myself never, ever, ever to let any pair of shoes out of my sight again.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, he now lives in Charleston. You can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.

 

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Adventures Family

Thou shalt not steal (and that includes my sandals)

I can say with 100 percent confidence that it was the first time I ever uttered this phrase to my wife: “I hope I have an undiagnosed foot fungus.”

No, I don’t have any nasty feet issues, and even if I did, I wouldn’t share them with you, because feet are gross.

I said it, rather, because I hope the filthy low-down swine who stole my sandals gets a fiery wrath on the soles of his feet as karmic payback for being a beach sandal bandit.

(Yes, I know I, too, would have said fiery wrath, but in my revenge scenario, it affects me much less.)

I live only a few minutes from the beach, and I go quite often. This day, my daughter and I took our dog to let him stretch his legs.

When we got to the end of the trail leading to the beach, we did what we normally do — we took off our shoes as we got on the sand, and pitched them to the side. And why do we do this? Because that’s what you do at the beach. It’s kinda understood that when you return your SHOES ARE STILL THERE.

After about 30 minutes, as we headed off the beach, we arrived at the spot where my shoes had been left. And they were not there. Because a horrible person stole them. And how do I know they’re horrible? Because remember the old saying: “Never criticize a man until you have walked a mile in his shoes.” Well, I’ve walked hundreds of miles in those shoes, so I feel plenty confident in criticizing the scourge of a human who violated one of the basic rules of beach etiquette.

We searched and searched. Nothing. I also found myself eyeing with suspicion everyone who walked by and staring at their shoes. I’m not sure what I would have done had I seen a pair like mine.

But, Mike, you may be asking, perhaps it was a case of mistaken shoe-dentity. No, it was not, because they were parked with my daughter’s cute little turquoise numbers. Also, there was not a similar looking pair of sandals anywhere in the vicinity. Had someone made a mistake, they would have left theirs.

And here’s the worst part: My sandals are one of the few products I actually splurge on. I’m a simple man with simple tastes. For the longest time, the sandals I wore were the El Cheapo models. I’d wear them, they’d break, I’d buy new cheap ones. And then a few years ago, I was given a pair of very nice Columbia sandals as a gift. I was hooked. It felt like wearing convertible tennis shoes. I didn’t realize that your feet didn’t have to hurt after wearing sandals. So I became a devotee. When my last pair finally died after several years of service, I got me a new pair. They were probably $50-$60, which may not sound like a whole lot, but that was about how much I had spent on my previous 20 pairs of cheap shoes, so it was a big leap for me to do it.

And these sandals were perfect. A good eight months out of the year, these are the shoes I slip on the minute I come in the door from work.

But, Mike, you may also be asking, what if it was someone who needed shoes? Well then he could have asked me for my shoes. “Brother, I have no shoes. Can you help me out?” I would have gladly given him my shoes and wished him well on his life’s journey. But you know who doesn’t spend time at a beach on an island? People in need of a shoe handout.

So I will go and buy a new pair, and I will never again leave my shoes at the entrance of the beach. It’s a shame that some people really do ruin things for everyone because they are awful. I hope the thief enjoys years of comfort given to him by my shoes. And agony from the fungus I hope I have.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, he now lives in Charleston. You can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.

 

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Childhood Family

It doesn’t always take a village

I appreciate when folks are concerned about other people’s kids. As a parent, I’d like to think I do my part in helping keeping an eye out to make sure other parents’ kids aren’t in danger, especially during that split second every parent has at some point where their incredibly elusive child darts from the reach of safety.

That said, I try really hard not to parent other people’s kids. What I find acceptable or unacceptable in my house is my business, and I certainly don’t feel the need to exert my parenting style on others, in particular strangers.

And most of it is pretty cut and dried, especially with younger kids. See a get darting into traffic? OK to step up and parent and stop the kid. Don’t like the way a kid is talking to his parents? Yeah, not really your business.

But in particular as kids get older, there are those gray areas. And I find myself being on the receiving end of those gray areas a good bit.

My family and I spend a lot of time outdoors. One of our favorite places is a popular marsh spot near our house where we love to go crabbing and fishing. At low tide, there is a vast amount of mud flats that are easily accessible. Generally, anywhere from 25-50 percent of my family is up for venturing out onto the flats.

But it’s usually just my son out there. He’s 13, and certainly knows his away around the outdoors. At this particular spot, we have gotten to know the flats well, too. We know where we can walk and when, and we know how the tides behave in this spot. In short, we know what we’re doing.

There is one particular sandbar that my son likes to go fishing and cast netting on. At dead low tide, he can wade out to the sandbar and set up shop. He also knows, when the tide is coming back in, when it’s time to wade back, lest you have to try and swim the 20 feet or so, dragging all of your gear. He usually does this by marking a spot on the sandbar with a clam or oyster. When the water hits there, time to walk back to the mainland when the water is still just knee-deep. He’s a smart kid.

Whenever he’s out there on the sandbar, I leave and go knock out some errands. He’s fine.

Ha! Some bad parenting humor for you. I’m always right there, mainly because I want to see what he catches, but also because, you know, parenting.

I’ve chuckled at the times I’ve overheard concerned passersby comment on my son. “I think that boy is stuck” or “Why is that kid out there by himself?” are two responses I have heard.

I’m never confrontational. My response in the first comment: “Nah, water’s only a few inches deep to get out there. See that clam on the sandbar? When it hits that mark, he’ll come back in.”

To the second remark, I did the sensible and mature thing, which was to throw a handful of bait at them, leading to a seagull attack that would have made Tippy Hedren proud.

Ha! More bad parenting humor. Rather, I said, “He’s mine,” followed by the explanation that I gave to the prior comment.

After a few minutes of chatting about the marsh and what we find out there, most folks decide that I am not, in fact, an awful parent, and that my son is just out in nature doing what little boys do.

One time, as my son was out on one of the flats, an elderly woman walked up next to me as I leaned on the railing, watching him throw his cast net. “Is he yours?” she asked. Uh-oh, I thought. Lecture time.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said.

She turned to me and smiled. “He’s living the life, isn’t he?” Yes, ma’am, he is.

I appreciate the concerns of the other parents, but I really appreciate the woman who surveyed the situation and realized that a teenage boy out communing with nature is, in fact, living the life.

That said, if he makes a break into traffic, any of you folks are welcome to grab him.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, he now lives in Charleston. You can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.

 

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Childhood Family

The tiring life of a T. Rex’s mother

Sometimes in life, you just have to be a T. Rex.

I was getting takeout dinner the other night at a restaurant near our house. My wife and I were discussing possible dinner choices, and we both agreed that (1) neither of us wanted to cook and (2) neither of us really wanted to go out for dinner. It was an exceptionally motivated kind of night.

So I went to a place near our house to order some chicken and steak kabobs, as there is never a night when chicken and steak kabobs won’t hit the spot. As I was waiting for my order, a woman came in with her two young boys, probably 3 and 6.

The mother looked tired. I know the look. I’ve seen it many times, often when I walk in the door from work. Granted, I don’t see it as much these days, as my kids are teens. If the day has gone south with teens, it’s a veeeery different look you get when you walk in the door.

As the woman approached the counter to order, her older son loudly announced, “I’M A T. REX!!!!” And he then proceeded to tuck his arms up in little shortened T. Rex fashion and stomp after his brother. And in case you were wondering, yes, he added the roars.

As is required by federal law, the younger brother began sprinting away, screaming in terror as the T. Rex continued his pursuit.

The mother got another one of those looks. “MATTHEW!!! ROBERT!!!!” she said, in one of those whisper/yell combinations that only moms can do. (By the way, I’ve changed the name of the T. Rex and his prey to protect their identities. Their real names are David and William.)

The call from the mom had no effect on either child. But that makes sense, because everyone knows, despite a T. Rex’s excellent hearing, when focused on prey, they will not be distracted.

Now, had this been at some fancy restaurant with a bunch of folks in it, I could see where there would be cause for distress on the mother’s part. But this was a take-out kabob place, and the only other people in the restaurant were a dad and his young daughter and a woman slightly older than me, also waiting for takeout. The young daughter found it hilarious, as did the dad. The woman next to me said, with a laugh, “I remember when mine were that age.”

I asked for a manager and demanded that Jurassic Preschool be removed from the premises immediately. And a free soft drink with my order.

Ha! I kid. I, too, was laughing, as it was funny to watch Cli…Matthew chase his brother around the restaurant. I also understand the mom’s concerns. Many folks who are getting annoyed by kids in restaurants don’t realize that the most mortified person in the facility is the actual parent. Sure, there are some awful people who let their children run amok with no concern for others whatsoever. But I’d like to think those are the outliers.

The mom paid for her order and then went off in pursuit of her T. Rex and his prey. As she passed us, she gave that mom apology that I have seen too often and that I find unfortunate parents feel like they have to give. Being a parent of small kids is tough. Especially when they start to act like the wild animals that they are at heart. But at least for this moment, she had a sympathetic audience that wasn’t going to make her feel like a bad parent for her kids being, well, kids.

“No worries,” I said. “Your son is an excellent T. Rex,” I said.

“Thanks,” she said, with that tired look only the mom of a T. Rex knows.

I remember those times, as does my wife. We’re in a different stage of parenting, with different challenges facing us with our kids. But I’ll always be sympathetic to the hard working parents who are just trying to order some food with a couple of small kids. Especially if one is a T. Rex.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, he now lives in Charleston. You can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.

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Adventures Animals Childhood Family

When the Backup Wingman steps up

My son and I find a lot of critters together. It’s what we do when we have free time. We go out and find cool stuff.

Continue reading “When the Backup Wingman steps up”
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Childhood Family

Annoyed for the sake of being annoyed

There are lots of things people get annoyed at. If you took a poll in my household, you’d find that 75 percent of respondents said, “Uh, yeah, like, everything.”

So, sure. I get annoyed at things. Some of them are plenty justified, even if some of those in the previously mentioned poll don’t get why I hate seeing people chew gum

But some things that the general masses tend to get annoyed at? Well, maybe we as a whole should stop getting peeved by them. And if you think I am going to mention not returning shopping carts to the proper corral, I am not. Because that is still a crime against humanity and always will be.

Some of the things we get annoyed at other people doing, though, really don’t impact us at all. (Gum chewing is not one of those. It’s gross.) So, a few things we as a society can stop getting our collective knickers in a twist about:

  • Selfies – Long before digital cameras, my wife and I used to take selfies all the time. And it didn’t bother anybody. The fun of getting our film back to see if the pictures came out with our entire faces in the picture AND the waterfall in back? Good times. Just because cell phones have made the experience instantaneous isn’t a reason to get all huffy. It’s other people having a good time. It doesn’t really affect you.
  • Taking pictures of your food – Again, long before the digital age, we loved sharing tales of our great meals we had. I have a friend who I routinely trade meal pics with, as she is a food lover, and loves to talk about good eats. Had we known each other 20 years ago, we would have had great discussions about an awesome meal in person. Now, thanks to technology, that conversation can be immediate, regardless of distance.
  • Everyone at the table being on their phone during dinner at a restaurant – Granted, this is a slippery slope. If every family meal is just a group of people on their cell phones talking to other people, that’s a problem. But sometimes, said family is on hour 8 of the last leg of a family road trip, and they’ve stopped at a Cracker Barrel just to get some grub and, quite frankly, they’ve had all the family time they can stomach. Everyone to their cyber corners.
  • Parents not disciplining their unruly kids behavior in public – As a parent, one of the worst times in your life is when your child is acting like a deranged alien in public. My kids are teens now, so the worst I’m going to get in public these days is brooding. But with younger kids, especially, when a temper tantrum starts going full force in public, the parent has my complete sympathy. Sure, they may be a horrible parent. But chances are, they are a fine parent, just trying to get out of the grocery with the paper towels and the dog food. While some folks would like to see the full force of parental vengeance come down on the kid for everyone to see, the truth of the matter is, most parents are far more mortified than you are annoyed. Public beatings aren’t really going to cure any ills.
  • Taking pictures at historical monuments – I live in one of the most popular tourist destinations in the country. And plenty of local folks take great joy in mocking people for taking pictures of historic houses or at historic sites. Also, I’ve seen numerous internet posts of people rolling their internet eyes at folks at the Leaning Tower of Pisa, taking the old “propping up the Tower” picture. But those tourists? It’s the only time they’re there. That’s their memory. Lighten up.

Now, there are some things you can still get annoyed at. Vague Facebook posts, not thanking someone for letting you in while driving, chewing gum in my house. But so many things you have to ask yourself, are you being annoyed for the sake being annoyed? Maybe you should just let other people live their lives, and care less about what they’re doing and more about what you can be doing in life. Such as putting up your shopping cart.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, he now lives in Charleston. You can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.

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Childhood Family

Mother knows best

With Mother’s Day just around the corner, I think it’s high time I take the bold step and say what needs to be said: Moms are kinda important.

There, America. I said what needed to be said, yet none of you had the courage to.

OK, so we all know moms are of course a big deal. My mother is a wonderful human being and a fantastic mother and is happy to be motherly to this day. I don’t mean that as a bad thing. I’m 43, and my mom still worries that I’ve eaten lunch.

I’m also fortunate to be married to a wonderful woman who is also a fantastic mother. (She has made it very clear that lunch is up to me, and if I starve it’s not her fault. Hey, I’m her husband, not her kid.)

My wife and I have always split the duties of parenting, with both of us taking part in all aspects along the way. Well, not ALL aspects. I didn’t have to lug them around inside me for nine months. But don’t blame me for that. I’m not a seahorse, for crying out loud.

But I’ve always been fine with taking part in all of the other parenting parts, be it changing diapers, dinner time, homework, etc. (By the way, when my kids were little I hated when people saw me with my kids and said, “So dad’s babysitting today?” No, Dad is dadding today. Babysitters get paid and leave when the shift is over.)

But try as I might, there are some things that I will never be able to do as well as a mom. And not just the whole having them part. For example:

  • Moms are better at dressing kids. If you look at pictures of my kids when they were little, it was easy to tell who dressed them. Snappy little fashionable number that matches? Mom. Overalls? Dad.
  • Moms sense danger much better. Part of that reason, of course, is that dads find danger much better, and one of the many reasons moms are a necessity is to stop dads from turning the stairs into a giant slide for cardboard sleds.
  • Moms are better at public mishaps. Experience a massive diaper explosion in the middle of the grocery store? Moms sprout nine extra arms and manage to have everything packaged and removed to a restroom in the matter of seconds, whereas dads are more inclined to just wrap everything up in a big bundle, haul it to the car and head home to sort everything out.
  • Moms are more sympathetic. And by “more sympathetic” I mean less likely to laugh at something, even if it is really funny, such as a child getting stuck in a plastic basketball hoop or tangled up in a bra that was found in the laundry basket.
  • Moms are better at talking about some things with children, especially if those children are teenage daughters. My daughter and I once had this conversation:

                       ME: You know, if you ever need to talk about … anything …
                       HER: Um, yeah…
                       ME: I mean, after you talk to your mom. Or one of your aunts. Or grandmothers.
                       HER: Yeah.
                       ME: Good talk.

  • Moms are waaaay more in tune with their kids’ emotions. If a child has had a bad day at school, moms have this freaky sixth sense that targets in on the negative vibe and hyperfocuses in on a solution. Dads are more likely, should they notice, to say to mom, “What’s up with him?”
  • Moms are masters of subtle verbal communication. If I called my children by their full name, they would respond the same as any other time. Moms? Again, I’m 43, and if my mom says, “Michael Whitfield…” I am immediately a nine-year-old who knows he has done something wrong.

So, yeah, Moms are awesome. We all know it. To my mom, you’re the best a kid could have asked for. To my wife, you’re the best a dad could have asked for. To my my two mothers-in-law, thanks for being two great bonus moms. I’m a lucky guy, all around, as are my kids. So this Mother’s Day, make the awesome moms in your life feel extra special. They’ve earned it. Show them you just how much you love them. Maybe even let them go first on the stair slide.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, he now lives in Charleston. You can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.

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Adventures Childhood Family

Daddy Daughter Day

My kids are 13 and 15. Oftentimes on weekends, I set off on adventures with my 13-year-old son, tromping around whatever woods or swamps or marshes we can find to catch critters.

I do this because he is my favorite and thus deserves all of my attention.

Ha! Some more bad parenting humor for you. The reason he and I have set off on missions together more than my daughter and me is that my daughter is 15 and has a license and a car. By Friday afternoon, she has already booked her weekend with her friends, which invariably involves movies, shopping, Starbucks, shopping, Starbucks, Starbucks and then some Starbucks.

But recently, my wife and son were out of town, so it was just Allie and me for a couple of days. I told her that I could not wait to go to Starbucks with her and her friends and talk about One Direction or whatever it is teenage girls talk about. Or, I offered up, we could just go hang out, the two of us, and have a daddy-daughter weekend. For some reason, she opted for the latter.

We had a great time, and it was a good chance for just the two of us to hang out. I told her I was in charge of transportation and payment, and she could dictate the itinerary. Some highlights from the weekend:

  • On Saturday, she wanted to go shopping on King Street in Downtown Charleston. Fair enough, I said. When we got downtown, she realized that she had forgotten her sunglasses. I told we could buy some. We stopped in a store and she looked at a pair. She whispered to me, “Dad, these are $200. Let’s get out of here.” That’s my girl.
  • We got to see the best of people in a downtown jewelry store. As we were browsing, a customer was snacking on some gummy worms. The employee at the store told her to get out, as no food was allowed. Some words were exchanged, it was suggested the police would be called, and then some more words got exchanged, some of them of the four-letter variety. There were about a half-dozen other customers in there, and we all traded nervous “what in the world?” glances. My daughter whispered to me, “Time to go.” Wise child.
  • We went to a rooftop restaurant to enjoy the view and a cold beverage. My daughter said, “Can they make fruity drinks but without alcohol?” Sure, I said. The waitress came to take our order and my daughter said, “I’d like … um …” She looked at me. I suppose it’s good that my teen daughter doesn’t know any drink names. “Something fruity. Surprise her. Just, you know, no booze in it.”
  • That evening, we opted for a minor league hockey game. I learned early on that my daughter has a bloodlust. After about a 10-second fight, she was wide eyed. “ARE THEY GONNA FIGHT AGAIN!?!?!?!?”
  • We were sitting high up in the stands, and after the first period, I said to my daughter, “You want to keep sitting here, or do you want to go on an adventure?” “Adventure. Duh.” We left our seats and moseyed down toward the ice. The key in improving a situation like this is never to lie or cheat. But just see how far people will let you go. We approached a section near the goal. Down below were dozens of empty seats. We stopped at the usher. Had he asked for tickets, we would have been on our way. I said, “Mind if we head down there?” “No problem,” he said. Seats on the glass.
  • I did provide one incredibly embarrassing moment for my daughter when she was getting some Dippin’ Dots. As she was in line, I noticed there was a restroom right behind me. I told her I was going to use the bathroom while she ordered. I probably should have paid more attention to the fact that there were zero urinals, but I had to go. I slipped into a stall and used the restroom. As I stepped out, I saw a high heel stepping into another stall, closing the door behind. Oh, no. I scurried out and saw my daughter standing there with a look of horror on her face. “That’s the women’s room, isn’t it?” “YES!!! DAAAA-AAAD!” The Dippin’ Dots lady found it hilarious. I’m just glad I could inadvertently step into the political controversy du jour at a minor league hockey game. Yay, me.

It was a great time for the just the two of us, and I’m glad my teenage daughter actually likes spending some QT with me. Maybe next weekend, I’ll surprise and join her and her friends at Starbucks. We can talk about One Direction. Or something. She’ll love that!

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, he now lives in Charleston. You can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.

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Adventures Family

San Francisco treat

sanfranHaving just returned from a four-day trip to the west coast, I can tell you this for a fact: I have no idea what time it is.

My wife and I went west for a wedding, and took the opportunity to make it a getaway for just the two of us. The kids were safely locked in their rooms, and their water bowls were filled. Or they were with grandparents. Can’t recall.

We were going to the wedding of a college friend of ours, which meant a bunch of folks in their 40s got together to revert to being college kids. If you are an investor in Motrin and Gatorade, your portfolio is probably looking up this week.

We had a wonderful time catching up with old friends, meeting new ones, and, most importantly, being there to see the beginning of a new marriage. So, without further ado, a few highlights from the trip:

  • Our flight out was fairly uneventful, which is exactly how a flight should be. As we boarded the plane in Atlanta for San Francisco, I overheard the man behind me say he had just been hired as a pilot for a different airline. I told him I was glad to have a backup on the plane. He told me he had never flown this type of plane. I assured him he would be a far better option than me. “I guess so. Pointy side goes first…” Pilot humor, I guess.
  • It is amazing that this country was ever settled beyond the Mississippi River. Kansas, Colorado, Nevada, Utah and the eastern part of California look like wastelands from the air. Pretty sure my Conestoga wagon would have given up much sooner.
  • While in San Francisco, we went super-tourist. Fisherman’s Wharf, Golden Gate Bridge, chowder in a sourdough bread bowl, riding the streetcars, etc. I absolutely loved the City, but the top three takeaways: (1) Streetcars have the right-of-way, and if I ever drive in San Francisco, I will make sure not to get in front of one, as I saw a brakeman get out and yell at a driver to get off the tracks. Bad for the driver, entertaining for us. (2) In-N-Out Burger is everything everyone promised me it would be. Well done, west coast. Well done. (3) Seals and sea lions are loud, smelly, and generally awesome, especially when they start trying to knock each other off the docks. I could have sat and watched that mass of marine mammals at Pier 39 all day, but I had to go and find my wife, who I kinda lost. (I found her.)
  • I saw a neon green Lamborghini out there. Hanging from the mirror was a Berkeley student parking decal. When I was in college, I drove a 1984 Toyota Corolla. So pretty much the same thing.
  • The Pacific Ocean is cold. And the sun is backwards out there. The sun is supposed to rise from the ocean, not set into. What kind of weird sorcery is that?
  • California was not nearly the bizarro world I was expecting, although I did hear overhear someone say, “I made a vegan, dairy-free birthday cake, and it was fantastic.” So I guess that was kinda California.
  • On the flight home, I was reminded that people really just care about themselves. Our plane was delayed leaving San Francisco, which meant we would be landing with about 10 minutes to make our connecting flight in Atlanta. As we landed, the flight attendant took to the intercom asking folks to please let those with immediate connecting flights leave first. We were in the back of the plane and were hoping to sprint off the plane and do our best to catch our connection. On a huge, full plane, a grand total of three people had stayed in their seats. Yeah, all of you had immediate connections. Sure. One of the three still sitting was on her phone, and said, “We’ve got nowhere to be for a while, so we’re just going to sit here.” She was wearing an Alabama Crimson Tide shirt. Roll Tide, ma’am.

So we’re back home now, tired and a smidge delirious. But we’re a complete family again, and I’m glad to be home and ready to get back into the routine. It was a great trip with some great friends. Hopefully, we can do it again soon. But first, I need to figure out what time it is so I can see if it’s time to chase another Motrin with a Gatorade.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, he now lives in Charleston. You can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.

 

Categories
Childhood Family

Little brothers and big sisters

I am not sure how he kept it a secret this long.

Little brothers are notorious for ratting out their big sisters, so imagine my surprise when my son spilled the beans from something his big sister did four years ago.

We were driving in the car talking about the kids staying home by themselves. We’re only going to be gone for a week, and I let them watch “Home Alone” to be prepared so they should be fine.

Ha! A little bad parenting humor there.

We don’t have plans to leave them at home by themselves any time soon. But I was commending him on getting to the point where his mother and I can go out for a dinner without receiving 8 billion text messages in the first 20 minutes.

Parker said that the reason he didn’t like staying home was because of that time “Allie totally freaked me out a couple of years ago.”

Huh? You mean to tell me that an indiscretion, perceived or otherwise, happened and you waited YEARS to tell me? If her music is slightly loud my wife and I are informed in milliseconds.

But somehow, this kept. Possibly because he was afraid of the person who is not Allie.

Confused yet?

Apparently, several years ago, we left them alone and did something crazy like go to the grocery store together. Once we were gone, he said his sister struck a very awkward, stiff pose and began walking toward him slowly, with a weird grin on her face and her head tilted slightly sideways. According to him, they had this conversation:

PARKER: Stop, it, Allie.

ALLIE: Allie’s not here, Parker.

PARKER: STOP IT, ALLIE!!!

ALLIE: Allie’s not here, Parker.

And she continued slowly pacing toward him smiling and saying this until, I am guessing, he threw the nearest object at her.

For whatever reason, he had neglected to tell us about this incident until now. My reaction was to laugh, which I fortunately stifled. “Dude, that is just wrong,” I said.

Fortunately, he is over the freak-out now, and we can all kinda laugh about it.

Now first off, I am not condoning what she did. That said, the part of my brain that is still stuck in college-mode absolutely loved it. That’s how you mess with your little brother.

Also, I am the youngest of four kids, with three older sisters. If they are reading this, I can only guess they are lamenting that they had never thought of this tactic to mess with me as a kid. That said, they found plenty of pretty solid ones on their own without pretending to be possessed. Those include hooking me by my belt loop to a rope swing, spinning me and telling me to close my eyes and count to 10, and when I opened them I would be able to fly. (Hey, guess what happened after 10? I could not fly, and everyone had scattered.) This also includes telling me that when I clipped my nails, I had to bury all of the clippings in different holes in the yard or a witch could find them and cast a spell on me. Our childhood home’s backyard is a graveyard of hundreds of graves of nail clippings from a paranoid little me. Good times!

We were having dinner recently, and I brought up the story. “Hey, Allie. Parker ratted you out on something you did to him a while back…” I told the story and she gave a great big eye roll, which I have found is the most common facial expression for a teenage girl.

“Omigosh, Parker, I was like seven when I did that.” Eye roll. She wasn’t seven, by the way, because that would have put him at four, and we weren’t leaving them home then.

I assured my daughter that the statute of limitations had her protected from any punishment, and we could all enjoy a good laugh about it. Eye roll. And a bit of a laugh.

When siblings look back on their time as kids, you want them to be fond memories. Not the fighting, the squabbling, the generally-being-siblings parts. But it’s OK to have some good memories of the times one of them got the other one, so long as it was fairly innocuous.

This was a pretty harmless prank, as were the ones my sisters did to me. It’s all part of being a little brother. And, when I look at my kids and also think back on my childhood, it’s probably a very legitimate payback for all the things we did as little brothers.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, he now lives in Charleston. You can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.