Vacation, All I Ever Wanted
I've probably mentioned here that my life is split into alternating weeks. In the divorce, we agreed on 50/50 custody and set the simplest schedule we could: one week with Mom, one week with Dad. Repeat. Friends told me at the time that a week away from my son was too long, that I would miss him terribly, especially since I was a full-time stay-at-home dad for eight years and spent almost every moment with him. I thought it would be infinitely better for him to always know where he was going to be and when, rather than a confusing 3/2 split, and every other weekend. And switching back and forth multiple times in a week seemed excessive. So in many ways, I ended up with split life that has the best of both worlds: a week focusing on my son and fatherhood, and a week focusing on myself and my adult relationships.
And because my life now is nothing like it was when I was married and is full of adventure, exploration, travel, and the great outdoors, even if it's summer and hot as hell out there, Flora and I took a couple of short trips this month. The two trips brought into sharp contrast that duality in my lifestyle. First, we spent five days and six nights alone together in Little Rock. Then, less than a week after we came home, we took her kids and my kid for a weekend on South Padre Island.
THE DRIVE:
OK, everybody smile for the camera!
Kidless, we took the long drive to Arkansas as part of the adventure. We talked, we listened to music and to podcasts, we held hands, and we stopped whenever we wanted for spontaneous historical markers, for a photo op on the Texas/Arkansas border, and for a gator farm, because why the hell not? Time flew. It didn't feel like more than 8 hours from departure to arrival, including stops. It seemed like part of the trip, not the interlude before the trip.
We wandered from the interstate here and there, driving through several small towns. We spontaneously went into a coffee shop near the historical markers for James Stephen Hogg (#8961) and Wood County Courthouse (#13752) to discover Speakeasy Coffeehouse, a charming little place with eclectic decor, comfy couches, and books on coffee tables. Flora discovered the joy of Shel Silverstein's poems there, and I got a shirt that made us both laugh, since she loves to call me Old Man. The shirt was a fundraiser for the restoration of historic downtown Quitman, Texas, proclaiming that "Old Is the New Sexy," but when I wore it in Little Rock the next day, all the little old ladies we met wanted one, too.
Without kids, the drive was part of the fun, with spontaneity and discovery built in. Even the sudden downpour in Texarkana when we were trying to get a cute and cliché photo kissing on the border was fun. Personally, I like this one better. The other one's all blurry because I was trying to hurry, I'm terrible at selfies, and the impending storm made Photographer's Island more like a deserted island so there was no one to ask to take it for us.
With kids on the way to South Padre, a drive of comparable length but in a different direction, we stopped as little as possible to decrease the strain on them from being in the car for so many hours, and the strain on us from them being... strained? We had snacks, movies, and tablets. We stopped for lunch at Dairy Queen, because it was right there when we were stopping for gas anyway, and because the kids were unlikely to disagree. And since parenting is full of guilt no matter what you do, none of our choices seemed right or healthy, but we made them anyway.
THE STAY:
In Little Rock, we stayed in an AirBnB that was perfectly located within walking distance of nearly everywhere we wanted to go. It was a condo in the MacArthur Park Historic District, beautifully decorated and maintained by the owner, who seemed to be a classical music conductor? With an obsession for Illuminated bibles? And ancient Egypt? We came and went. We ate where and when we wanted. We made loose plans and followed them, or not, at our pleasure. We strolled. We visited museums. We ate where we wanted and held hands and talked and looked into each other's eyes.
I hope so.
Ambition. Personality. Opportunity. Preparation.
The most emotional part for me was Little Rock Central High School. It's still a working high school, with a visitor's center just down the street to highlight its role as a national historic site. It was ground zero for desegregation in 1957. It wasn't a new lesson, but it was overwhelming, immersing myself in the passion of the people who fought so hard and believed so vehemently in the utterly wrong thing, that separate is important and equal isn't, really. We started with a short film that not only explored that moment in history but also showcased the work of other modern youth movements, from kids in Baltimore protesting to block the construction of a juvenile prison to kids in New Mexico creating a counter-narrative to a piece 60 Minutes did on poverty on reservations. It was deeply moving on its own, but following it up with an in-depth multimedia exhibit on the kids who had the bravery to be the desegregation test cases and stand up to all of that hatred, the politics and history that preceded and followed that year, and so much more, it left me raw. Flora was uplifted by the story. She reminded me what Mr. Rogers said: "Look for the helpers." It was a beautiful campus. Flora peered in all the windows. I looked down over that ledge above the words "Little Rock Central High School" right as a man was taking the same picture I did. I smiled to myself imagining him mumbling under his breath, "Goddamned white man, always fucking up everything." And then we moved on.
We hiked two state parks while we there, in addition to soaking up the history, the art, the city, and the fireworks. I think that was part of what made me emotional, too: yay America fireworks followed by a deep dive into who we really are and what we've really done as Americans. I was surprised to discover that the museums and state parks we visited were all free. I'm not sure how Arkansas funds them, and I have no idea really what other budgetary priorities Arkansas displays, but that was pretty cool. We stood at the top of Pinnacle Mountain. We paddled leisurely around the edges of Lake Catherine, and hiked the Falls Branch trail. Somehow, no matter how many hours we spend together talking and holding hands, we always have more to say.
On South Padre Island with the kids, we went to the beach two days in a row. We went for ice cream twice. We ate pizza, and burgers. We played a board game and watched cartoons. By the end of the second day, the kids were done with the beach because there was only so much to do, and we'd already done it all: swim and play in the waves, build three different sandcastles, bury the old man in the sand, look for buried treasure. What else can one reasonably be expected to do in beautiful weather on soft sand?
I don't say all this to complain about vacation with kids, or to knock our kids, or to say that parenting sucks. It doesn't. It has 10 million moments and experiences that make it thrilling, and fulfilling, and the best thing I've done in my life. We all know this. We all say it all the time. And I know that if I had given him the chance, myson may have surprised me by enjoying the art museum, or the Presidential Library, or the hike up Pinnacle Mountain, and not moping about being there and complaining about how tired his legs were from walking so damned much, and how hot it was on the lake. I'm just saying, vacation with kids is a lot less of a vacation. It's like working from home and calling it a day off. Kids are work. They are a worry, and a responsibility, and a concern. I fed my son junk food and felt guilty about it. I was irritated with him for wanting more. I didn't do enough to make sure he didn't get a sunburn. I got annoyed with him on several occasions, and he with me. I was just as ready as he was to go home on Sunday. And we had a wonderful time.
It's the contrast that strikes me, not the relative value of the two separate experiences. Both are a joy and an adventure, things that I was missing sorely in my previous life. But really, all things considered, I'm a lucky, lucky man. I get to be with my son more fully now because I have a chance to miss him. And I get to be a man separate from him, to remember who I am aside from a father. And what could be better than that?
And admit it: you're jealous. What would you give for a week off from your kids? That's OK, you don't have to say it out loud. We know, you and me. I see you over there.
