Vacation

Every once in a while an event occurs in the life of my child that triggers a long-forgotten memory from my own childhood.  My son, who is five, recently returned from a five-day trip with his grandparents.  They had taken him to a time-share condo about three hours away where he was thrilled to sleep on an actual Murphy bed hidden in the wall.  His vacation was filled with all the delights a five-year-old could wish for - amusement parks, movies, trips to the lake, and an actual arcade.  As he gushed to me about the trip, I recalled a similar experience from my own buried memories.

When I was about the same age as my son, I flew on an airplane to Florida.  It was my very first plane ride, which may be why I remember the occasion.  We were traveling south with my grandparents to vacation in their condo on the beach.

The condo was located in a simple high-rise about half a block from the beach, which I avoided.  I was convinced the ocean floor dropped off into the abyss exactly three feet into the waves. 

The condo itself was decorated in shades of peach.  My five-year-old brain documented the interior as the set of the Golden Girls - white wicker furniture and floral cushions.  My sister and I shared a bedroom furnished with twin beds and sporting a seashell motif.

Off the shuffle board court, I spent most of my time on the floor of the tiny parapet balcony playing with Legos while Grandpa hovered above me in a lawn chair enjoying the sea breeze.  One afternoon, a piece escaped under the balcony railing and landed one floor down on the sidewalk below.  A man happened to be passing and Grandpa called down,

"Hey Mac!  Toss that thing up here, will ya?"

The man reached down, retrieved the Lego and flung it up to Grandpa who caught it in one hand.

"Thanks, fella", Grandpa said to the man.

I don't actually recall the exact terms of endearment Grandpa used but the effect was imprinted on my five-year-old vacation brain.  I thought that was so cool - Grandpa's ease with this stranger and the way he caught a Lego flung up from such an immense distance (again, one floor). 

And now here's my son constructing his own memories, which will soon become buried in a lifetime of experiences.  Whatever he recalls, I am confident his memories of his first vacation with Nana and Opa will warm his heart.