Spring Break: Senior Style!

PARTYYYYYYY! (Or not.)

As an educator, my wife has been on spring break this week. And while students everywhere have been departing for warmer climates, tropical pool-side bars, and more debauchery than Hugh Hefner ever imagined, where have we been?

Giving our bathroom a makeover. During my wife's spring break, I've been busier than in some time. Oh sure, I can gripe and kvetch about my back and my swiftly spreading arthritis, but it hasn't stopped my wife from assigning me numerous tasks of Herculean magnitude. (Now I would be remiss if I didn't confess that my wife does 90% of the work. She's a master of tools and expert at flipping. The only flipping I'm comfortable with is the bird. But to her this is "fun.")

This isn't the kind of excitement I remember, lo those many years ago during our action-packed and nutty spring breaks. Back in the day, my pals and I would travel to Texas or Florida and from what I can remember of those trips (which admittedly isn't much, mainly due to the non-stop flow of beer), it was a markedly different experience than now.

As I write this, I'm staring at the ginormous box that contains our new toilet, a one-piece monster that weighs 150 pounds. I barely got it off the stoop (and that was by rolling it) and up one step. I'm dreading the moment when we have to carry the beast and lift and position it perfectly.

Whereas my pals and I used to go spring-breaking, now I'm excelling at back-breaking. We used to guzzle beers and snarf chili dogs. Now, it's aspirin with a Pepto-Bismol chaser. At least we're still swimming. But instead of the ocean, I'm swimming in sweat. We used to jump into pools fully clothed. Today my wife accidentally triggered the water shut-off and soaked me, fully clothed of course. And as opposed to chasing girls, I'm chasing a few hours of untroubled sleep (curse you, prostate!).

One of these years, I'm hoping my wife and I "enjoy" an actual, leisurely spring break. But with the caveat that we're still in bed by 8:00 p.m.  You know...taking a walk on the wild side!

If you too are looking to stroll down the wild side, look no further than my book, Corporate Wolf. Sure, it's a darkly comical, satirical, bloody, mystery horror suspenser about werewolves in the corporate world, but part of the tale is "semi-autobiographical," ripped from my interim years. Check it out here!

Putting the BREAK in Spring Break

Worst Spring Break ever!

And I'm not even talking about my failed college attempts at trying to have fun over spring break either. No, this unfortunate adventure occurred well into my adult years. I got some explainin' to do...

First, a little background: for as long as I can remember, my dad was in a wheelchair, a victim of Multiple Sclerosis. Yet it never kept him down. For many years, my parents were "snow-birds," fleeing to the warmth of Florida during the cold, Kansas winter months.

So I grabbed my wife and daughter on their various spring breaks (respectively from work and school) and had the lame-brained idea of visiting my parents at Daytona Beach! Fun in the sun! Except...

The minute we arrived, I knew we were in trouble. The streets were jam-packed with partying kids ("Get outta the way, you damn punk kids!") and bikers ("Excuse me, sir, please allow me to get out of your way."). 

The first night at our hotel, kids were screaming up and down the hallway all night long. A very hammered girl, drink in hand, knocked on our door. 

In a slurred voice, she says, "Hey, can I talk to Ricky?"

"Sorry, you have the wrong room," I replied.

"No, this is the room number Ricky gave me." She looks over my shoulder, puts a foot forward. Sips from her cocktail.

"No, I'm sorry, but you're wrong. I'm here with my wife and daughter."

"C'mon." She rolls her eyes. "Quit jacking around. Let me talk to Ricky."

Desperate now, hoping my wife will get out of the shower, I grab my young daughter, thrust her forward as a visual cue since the drunk girl won't listen to reason. "See!" I point toward my daughter.

Finally, she believed me.

That was our first night. As it turns out, our last night in Florida as well.

The next day, we gear up and go to some small-time, local, cheesy water park. The star attraction? A dolphin who paints pictures (kinda) with his flipper.

On the way out, my mom falls down on the sidewalk. Off we go to the emergency room! She'd broken her leg. As we pushed both of my incapacitated parents out of the hospital in wheelchairs (quite a parade), I knew it was a sudden end to Spring Break, 2004!

What to do next? Clearly, we couldn't leave my parents alone in Florida like that. Plans were formulated. My wife and daughter managed to get my mom on a plane and take her home. I, on the other hand, had to drive my dad from Florida to Kansas. Horrors!

In a way it was a good thing. I sorta reconnected with him (even though he told the same stories. A lot.). I also realized the courage the man had, how he kept going in the face of adversity, every day confronting new challenges to his wheelchair-bound life. But what a giant. He never let his situation drag him down. And even though he's been gone for several years, I still applaud the way he embraced life.

Finally, exhausted, we arrived home where the pampering continued for a while.

But, wait, there's a happy ending to the misery! The cheesy water park--in way of apology for their crappy sidewalks--sent my mom an autographed "painting" from Blippo, their star dolphin!

Speaking of horrors originating from Kansas, give a look-see to my first short horror collection, Twisted Tales from Tornado Alley, just up around the Twilight Zone and next door to October Country.