Categories
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.

 

Categories
Home improvement

It’s a trap!

I’m not handy. And I know nothing about cars. So it’s pretty much a guaranteed GREAT start to a vacation when I have a plumbing leak and a flat tire right before we are about to head out on a trip.

The tire was not my fault, but rather the fault of a nail. The leak? All my fault.

My wife and I had seen fruit flies near our sink. We had this problem years ago, and we took to the internet to solve it. After numerous attempted solutions (many of which involved vinegar), we found one that suggested you remove and clean the P-trap under the sink.

This seemed to be a relatively simple procedure, even if I still couldn’t understand why it was called a “P-trap” and not a “U-pipe-thingee.” I’m sure there is a reason, but I’m too lazy to find it out.

The last time this happened, this was indeed the problem, and we found the nastiest concoction of gross embedded in the P-trap. I opted to set fire to it and go buy a whole new one. Or I cleaned it out. Can’t totally remember. Either way, the problem was solved.

So as we were getting ready to head out, my wife mentioned the fruit flies. “Probably the P-trap,” I said, pretending like I knew what in the world I was talking about.

I opened up the cabinet beneath the sink and removed the standard things that are under a sink: dishwasher detergent, steam cleaner chemicals, a can of Comet and that pack of light bulbs I had spent the last month looking for, occasionally grilling my kids on where exactly they had put it. (Apparently, they were innocent of light bulb theft, and I just can’t remember where I put things.)

With a few spins of the washers, I removed the P-trap. Fun fact — when you remove a P-trap, water that has been just hanging around under your sink comes gushing out! Yay!

Once the water decided it was done (and I screamed, “JENN, I NEED A TOWEL!!!!”) I pulled the P-trap out. It was as clean as the day it was installed.

So what did genius home repair Mike do? How about give it a quick rinse just for good measure.

“JENN, I NEED ANOTHER TOWEL!!!”

So once I cleaned up my new mess, I went to put the P-trap back. I put it in place and tightened the washers. I cut the sink on to make sure everything was in working order. And cue the water spewing. Fortunately, my wife had thought ahead and bought me some backup towels.

I took the P-trap off again and tried to attach it once more. I turned on the water. More leaking.

At this point, I had no choice but to direct blame to the person who was most responsible for this: “Why did you let me attempt home repair right before we go on vacation?” My wife did not respond. Based on her look, I can guess what her response might have been. And it was not going to be, “You’re right. My bad.”

I decided to leave well enough alone for now and fix it post-vacation, most likely with assistance from a neighbor who is in the plumbing business and probably knows about 8 billion more things about plumbing than I do.

When we went out to the car and saw the flat tire, my wife said, “Why don’t we take a different car.” I’m not saying that was an admission of her guilt in letting me attempt home repair. But she did agree that car repair was probably something that could wait a few days.

We left the broken pipe and the flat tire and had an enjoyable vacation, one in which I didn’t bother thinking about either problem even once. We’re back now, and I have gotten the tire fixed. I still need to fix the P-trap, but that will come in due time. If I need to find something to occupy my time with before I get around to it, I can always go replace light bulbs that are out.

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

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.

Categories
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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Uncategorized

Bank you very much

I spent a recent Sunday the way I do many Sundays throughout a year – tromping through the woods in South Carolina, catching critters, watching birds, and using my bank card over and over at a sketchy Chicago gas station.

So the last part wasn’t part of my normal routine. But I was pleased that my bank contacted me to let me know that they were fairly sure I was not, in fact, withdrawing money from 800 miles away. Repeatedly. At a gas station in a neighborhood where I learned, upon viewing it on Google Street View, that most every business has bars over the windows.

I was first notified via text message, asking me to verify three previous purchases. I recognized one of the purchases, a $6.94 gourmet breakfast from McDonald’s earlier in the morning. The other two? Not so much.

My bank and I aren’t regular text buddies, and I wanted to make sure that it was not some scam text that somehow knew how much I had spent on breakfast. Unlikely, sure. But I figured a phone call to the bank would be my best option.

I reached an operator and explained that I had received a text regarding suspicious transactions. She verified who I was through a series of questions. One of the questions was in regard to recent deposits. I said, “If you are going to ask me about pretty much anything other than breakfast at McDonald’s this morning, I’m probably not going to know the answer, since my wife is the grown-up and handles all the banky stuff. Can we do mother’s maiden name or something?”

Eventually I was able to convince her I was me and not in Chicago. She canceled the card and put in motion the process for me getting a new one. I told her that I was about two hours from home and would need to be able to get access to money at some point today, as my kids would probably like to have dinner. (A gourmet breakfast lasts just so long.)

She informed me that when I was back home, I could call back and they would authorize a one-time use of the card so that I could get money from a bank machine.

Hey, kids – fun fact she failed to tell me – that lovely service stops at 5 p.m. on Sunday, so if you are heading out to grab a bite at 6, you’re outta luck! And outta cash! Hooray!

The next morning, I went to the bank to check on the account and make sure everything was squared away. Upon reviewing the account, I learned I had also made a purchase in New York. I was quite the jetsetter that Sunday.

My new card is on the way, and I currently have a temporary card that says “Valued Customer.” Take a look at your current bank card. Does it say “Valued Customer.” Didn’t think so. I’m special.

I’m not sure how my card number got lifted. I’ve heard a range of theories from various people, ranging from the plausible to the paranoid. I’m not going to stress too much on how it happened. It happened. The bank caught it. I lost no money. It cost me some time and a short pinch of panic. No sense in spending copious amounts of energy fretting over how it happened.

It is reassuring to know that the safety net is there by my bank. They said it would be a good idea to put travel alerts on our account on the occasions we do travel to avoid unwarranted freezes of our funds. I’ll remember that this summer when we set off on our family vacation. Sketchy Gas Stations of the Midwest will be one for the family scrapbook.

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

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.

Categories
Childhood

The imperfect season

You know how sports movies go. The underdog triumphs, against all odds.

So you can imagine my reaction when my son’s lacrosse team, winless in the regular season, took a 1-0 lead in the first round of the postseason.

They could actually do this. Get their first win. In. The. Playoffs. Cue the triumphant music!

And then the other team scored 12 straight goals. Let’s turn the music off.

So not every season has a Hollywood ending.

It was a tough season. They fought hard and lost a couple of close ones. They fought hard and lost by more than a touchdown a few times, which if you know that scoring in lacrosse goes by single goals and not touchdowns, you know that’s not a good thing.

The worst part of the season, though, was not the losing. Although that wasn’t fun. My son is 13 and well beyond the “just have fun no matter what” age. Winning is fun. Losing is not.

What I hated to see was several of the boys on the team quit because they were losing. (In middle school hallways, just a hunch they didn’t say, “I quit because my team is not good.” Pretty sure they said something in placed of “is not good.”

By the playoff game, they were down to one substitute. The other team, by my estimate, had roughly 400 kids to sub out, and several of them were larger than I am.

I get that it was a tough season to stomach. Wasn’t a whole lot of fun to watch most nights. All of us parents in the bleachers would trade these, “Yikes…” looks back and forth as we started off a game suddenly down 3-0 with only two minutes gone.

But I am proud of those boys who stuck with it and played through the very last minute of a grueling season. And I feel sorry for those boys who quit on the team. Because they also quit on themselves.

Hate to break it to teenagers, but this is the easy part of life. Sure, there are a lot of things about being a teenager that seem absolutely awful, from the awkwardness of growing up to acne to the current popular music.

When you quit when things are tough, you’ll never know how sweet victory tastes. I’ve played on a lot of sports teams in my life, some really good, some really bad. Had I not experienced the 0-for-the-season teams, I would not have enjoyed the championship seasons nearly as much.

But also now is when you learn how to lose, and it’s bigger than sports. Because you will lose in life. Lots. And if you develop the attitude that when you’re losing, you’ll just take your ball and go home? Boy does life have some unpleasant surprises for you.

Building character through a losing season starts you on a path to be able to endure the tougher losses that come in life. And I’m not talking about rec league lacrosse. I’m talking about real losses and real failures. Think you can just quit every time life’s a little rough and just move on? Think again. Some losses are permanent. You will have wanted a little taste of disappointment and powering through it. You don’t run a marathon without doing lots of training beforehand.

In the closing minute of the season, the team down 12-1, the boys kept fighting. They charged the goal hard, and one of the kids got free, whipped his stick and zipped one past the goalie. 12-2. The team cheered and hugged. The lone sub joined them on the field. Team. Fighting. Together.

They lost 13-2. At the end, they lined up for what is always my favorite part of youth sports — the good game, good game, good game handshake.

This is probably the last sports team my son will play on. He’s at the age now where the kids are moving on to very competitive levels, and while he enjoys sports, I don’t think he wants to devote the time it takes to be on that next level. He’d be rather be out in the woods catching critters, and that’s OK.

But he stuck with it. He persevered. He battled through the worst season, record-wise, he could. And he and the remaining kids fought until the end. I know people like to complain about “participation trophies.” But sometimes, when you’re O-fer, perhaps we should consider “perseverance trophies.” Those last 11 kids could have quit, too. But they proved to themselves that you fight to the finish, even when the journey is kicking your tail. And whether or not they know it, these young men took way more away from this season than any championship could have given them. Cue the music.

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

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.

Categories
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.

Categories
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.