The Family Vacation

“This is no longer a vacation. It's a quest, a quest for fun. I'm gonna have fun and your gonna have fun.” Clark Griswold

Perhaps no greater affliction has been visited upon Americans than the torment of a family vacation. It’s now that time of year... let the torture begin.

Remember when the family would make its annual pilgrimage to the coast, or the mountains, or, God forbid, Disney World to relax and celebrate family intimacy and harmony. What, you’ve tried to forget that nightmare? You’re not alone.

Face it, leaving home is hard. For weeks men toiled late into the night preparing for the journey, praying some unforeseen catastrophe would occur to cancel the agony. “But honey, I can’t afford to be gone a week,” was the lament, falling on deaf ears. “Do you want a divorce? I’m not putting up with these children another minute,” she’d retort.

So, the deposit was sent, the trip scheduled. On the day of departure, I was always late. Why? I had to get in that last-minute gym time. Then, I’d forgotten to mow the grass, which was already a foot high. It’d be two feet high in a week, so it had to be done. Now nearly dark, we packed the car, jammed bags into every nook and strapped bikes to the trunk like vagrants. It’s advisable to arrive at posh resorts after dark…hopefully nobody would remember you came, like migrant hicks, in an old station wagon.

Finally we’d leave, head for a slot on the interstate. Us and a million other fools. In what seemed an eternity, but was actually two miles, loud voices pierced the car, “How much longer? We’re hungry.” After hours of this anguish, Ronald McD appeared in the darkness. “Drive thru,” they screamed. The line stretched into the next county. Hours later, we’d ingested enough transfat to grease a semi. Which, coincidentally, we happened to be stuck behind for another five hours.

Lamentations from the back seat wailed, “Are we there yet? I need to use the bathroom.” Meanwhile, the car careened with its load through the desolate interstate darkness to the vacation nirvana pictured in the slick brochure. Disappointment came later…pictures sometimes lie!

My brother and I would pool our money, sharing a small cottage in a formerly swanky island development. Small was not wise! Hoards of children ran wild all hours of the day. Naps? Forget it. Exhaustion ran rampant. As the week came to a close, we’d count up our money. Surprised at our frugality, we had some left. So for the last 2 days we lived it up, mainly on beer and burgers.

It was not like this when we were children. Ronald was still in California and cars were few. The highlight of the trip to our beach house was crossing a very tall wooden, one-lane suspension bridge designed by lunatics. It was held together by rusty baling wire and was a frightening sight. It hung 200-feet above the Chattahoochee and lurched precipitously in the wind. It provided fear and relief. As it swayed, we’d look down at the muddy water, contemplating the “what if’s” of fate. Bathrooms? Forget it. But you’d soon need one.

Vacations were cheap then. No rides, no toys, just the beach and whatever else our minds could figure out to do. We had fun and always hated to go home. Our vacation paradise was a no-AC two bedroom, one bath cinder block house that cost daddy $7,500 of hard-earned money. It slept an army of kids. Mama spent her vacation in the kitchen, for which we’re still indebted! Daddy fished and drank beer. Exhausted, we were asleep by dark.

Now back to us. The agony soon ended for our family. It was time to go home. Good thing, too, since nerves were frayed and conversation was harsh. Packed, the Gypsies left, returning to work, tall grass and summer camps. No one spoke. There was no money left for food and stopping was out of the question. “Hold it, and go back to sleep,” we’d say.

Such are the rituals of family vacations. Somehow we survive, better for having had a respite from the ordinary. Home never looked so good. Sitting around the table the next day, we promised we’d never endure such trauma again. But we knew otherwise. For such are traditions…without them from where else would the stories come?

Yes, it’s that time of year. Get ready for the influx … the Griswold’s Family Vacation entourage will soon arrive! Enjoy.


Bud Hearn
May 20, 2010