Yesterday morning I joined the friendly fraternity of fathers packing the family car as we prepared to drive home from the beach. There was Frank from Georgia, grey hair, early sixties, packing his nephews’ and nieces’ things on top of the mini van. Another guy reminded me of Wallace Shawn as Vizzini in The Princess Bride, he seemed sort of creepy. Then there was this other guy who I passed on several trips on the elevator. As we exchanged pleasantries during a trip down, he mentioned his family had been there for five weeks.
This bit of info left me slightly stupefied. How does one vacation for five weeks? While I understand the logistics of it (i.e. you pay your rent and spend a lot of time getting your R&R), I couldn’t summon the mental fortitude to actually do such a thing.
Beth couldn’t imagine it either. We both come from a long line of “one week per vacation” families. We prefer to get our kicks in the sun for seven or so days, and then we’re ready to return to our regular beds and normal lives. Anything longer seems as though it’s a violation of our basic constitutions. In order to do otherwise, I think you’d need to be raised that way. Hearing this story of one epic vacation made us that much ready to get home.
So here’s to being back. We enjoyed making memories at the beach last week, but now we’re equally glad to be back among the friends and family we love.