VAY_KAY_SHUN means different things to different people
July 17th, 2010The word vacation is a relative term.
Coming from a big family, vacations were not a common occurrence. I think we went on five vacations as an *entire* family during the course of my life growing up (up until I was 18 years of age). This did not count camping with friends or ‘daycations’ to Hershey Park, Williamsburg, etc. And, IF we went on vacation, it was only because someone offered us free housing, or a relative’s wedding, or my lovely Aunt Margie paid for airline tickets to visit us in San Diego, etc. This is what I remember from the first family vacation my family took (at least that I remember):
We loaded up our station wagon – the yellow Country Squire with the fake wood paneling on the sides and the funky seats that folded up in the very back – with our luggage and a cooler with sandwiches (no drinks! that meant extra stops to the bathroom). My brother, Terry, and I usually sat in the back with the luggage. Thankfully, we didn’t take our dog with us, though I do have many memories of sharing the back seat with dog butt in my face for hours on the way to Pittsburgh for Christmas to visit the Grandparents. Everyone was allowed to have one piece of luggage to take with them for the week; I used a ‘toy’ suitcase that belonged to one of my dolls until I was eight. There was NO stopping at fast food places or Howard Johnson’s for that was a waste of money. If you stopped at all it was to pee or get gas or let the dog get some water. I remember thinking if the dog got loose while we were at a stop by the turnpike that we’d never see her again, my older siblings usually held on tight to the leash so the dog wouldn’t take off out of fear.
On this particular journey our destination was Ocean City, MD, to be the guests of Vince and Marie Phaelen, lovely friends of my parents who owned a condo on the beach and did NOT have children. On our car journey that took 8 hours to complete (even if you buried the needle the family truckster *never* went above 60 MPH), there were multiple screaming matches, hair pulling, blaming one another for farts, begging for music that wasn’t Tommy Dorsey or Ella Fitzgerald, and many pleas for something other than pb&j or ham&cheese from the cooler. After making four threats, and being too far for him to slap with his huge hand while he was driving, at one point my Dad pulled the car over to belt one of my sisters who would not stop arguing with him. My Dad usually drove the car half asleep while smoking a pipe, peeling an orange, listening to KDKA, telling my mother to “dry up” and disciplining us all at the same time. Don’t be jealous of my upbringing.
At last, we arrived! I remember thinking that I would spend the entire time in the ocean and that I could sleep on the beach since it is so beautiful in pictures. My initial thoughts were the ocean is not blue – it is dirty, why are there so many old people here, the condo is so far from the ocean (a whole two blocks!), sand is hard to walk on, and crabs were very scary when I stepped on them. I got so sunburned my first day that I developed sun poisoning that night and threw up all over the sheets, which kept me inside for the next two days. Luckily the condo units had a pool just for them, and I could swim there when the sun went down. On the fourth evening my parents went out with our hosts for an adult night out and we were told we could see a movie with my eldest sister as babysitter. We saw JAWS on the big screen. Needless to say, no one went in the ocean for the rest of our trip. I was five. I wasn’t just afraid of the ocean, but the condo pool (for JAWS could swim through the pipes, I was sure), the toilet, even the blue carpet in the condo. What a good movie choice that was! I’m sure my parents were thrilled with our film choice but they never provided specific instructions, ever. The rest of the vacation was pretty much ruined, though I do remember wanting to buy tons of crap on the boardwalk but had absolutely no money to do so. At least that was a blessing. Oh yeah, and a number of my family members are allergic to sea food, who recently learned this the hard way, which made for an extremely limited menu selections.
On our way home (and since there was no air conditioning in the car), my Dad thought it best to drive back at night, which would have been a great decision if our car didn’t break down constantly. We did end up breaking down, all piling into a hotel for the evening, and swimming in the hotel pool because it was far from the ocean (and JAWS). It was so damn hot and humid during the car ride with so many people inside – the windows couldn’t be down because the wind hitting you really hurts when you are severely sun burned – that the hotel pool was appealing. This was a *cheap* hotel; a hotel is cheap if the pool is in front, not all of the neon lights work, most of the patrons don’t have license plates, and it doesn’t have a restaurant attached. Despite this, I think we were actually glad to be ’stuck’, not be home yet to fulfill child labor of laundry, cleaning, yard work and canning tomatoes. This was my first hotel stay – being in a hotel was exciting!
I remember my Dad let us get in the pool even though it was really late at night – like 11pm – because of the heat and the naps most of us had had in the car. While at this classy establishment, a guy with few teeth (who looked like he crawled out from under a rock) and what I thought were his two daughters came to the pool as well. The girls were wearing their underwear, not swimsuits, had really bad skin, and were lighting sparklers and snapping sidewalk snakes. The guy’s swim trunks were his boxers, looked to be about 35, had a huge pot-belly, a wad of chew in his mouth, and had a plastic jug in his hand with what I thought was cleaning fluid. I didn’t think he was scary really, because he was short and I truly believed no one could beat up my Dad, but then I heard him speak and he sounded like he was straining just to make a sound. After hearing him speak, I thought he was sick and was worried that if he got in the pool then I would get sick, too. As soon as he yelled at his daughter, “quit lightnin’ sparklers and tossin’ them in the f*@kin’ pool – yer wastin’ ‘em.”, My dad said to him to “watch your language in front of my children. And yours as well, for that matter.” Then the freaky-disease man turned to my Dad and said, “They aint my kids, old man, that’s my wife. Dunt tell me wot to say and wot not to, I’ll talk to mines anyways I want. [dramatic pause] I’m on VAY-KAY-SHUN”.
I remember thinking, uh-oh, you don’t talk back to my Dad. I thought for sure this was going to get ugly at lightning speed, but I was wrong and I’m glad. My Dad just looked at him with his best cold stare and I could see the wheels turning in his head. I guess he gave my Dad the heebie-jeebies as well, because my Dad did not waste his energy on him nor did he disappoint with a response. My Dad said, “Ohhh, I see… Well, you should keep to the shallow end of the pool, to match your genes, or lack thereof. [turning to us] Kids get out of the pool. Get to bed. Now.” I don’t think he wanted to guys ‘genes’ to get anywhere near us either.
Suddenly I didn’t think we were so ghetto after all and that ‘vacation’ really has different meanings to different people. I have to admit I still like the way he said the word vacation, though. As if it was three words: VAY. KAY. SHUN. If I have a chance to get my inner hillbilly on, I’m totally going on one of these.