Sentimental journey

I just got back from the beach, and it made me realize that I have reached a few new stages in my life.

One of those is the “should no longer be seen in public without a shirt” stage. I’ve put on a few pounds since my last trip to the beach. Small children were standing under my stomach for shade. I think I heard somebody say, “You don’t often see humpbacks in the Gulf of Mexico.” Not very nice.

I also realized that I’m getting to be a sentimental old cuss. The older I get, the more nostalgia gets to me. I used to only cry when I watched “Old Yeller,” or when something hit me in the groin. Nowadays, I’ll get teary-eyed at the drop of a hat.

Case in point: As we were packing up the leave Orange Beach Wednesday morning, it got to me. And not because I was leaving an environment of crashing surf, sandy beaches and pleasant breezes to head back to one filled with traffic, unpaid doctors’ bills and nasty letters from credit card companies.

What made me emotional was realizing that it may have been one of our last family vacations together, at least of this kind. We’ve done the same thing for many years – when the kids are out of school for their fall break in September, we go down to the beach and spend a few days to a week.

It is always such a great time, in part because I get to spend time with the kids without all of the distractions that bombard us daily. We go for walks on the beach at night looking for crabs, and we ride the waves in the Gulf, and we go to the tacky arcade-amusement park where we try to win cheap prizes and always have a competitive game of putt-putt (I was dethroned this year for the first time ever, but that didn’t make me sad. I’ll get even). We eat every meal together, and for a few days, the kids even act as if they like each other.

But they are growing up, damn them. This time next year, my daughter will be in college somewhere. My son will be a junior in high school and probably won’t want to miss football practice. And as they get older, their interests in other things and other people will grow, and playing putt-putt and looking for crabs with Dad will just seem stupid. I know that, and I accept that, but it doesn’t mean I have to look forward to it.

I hope that the memories of the family vacations will be as special to the kids as they are for their mom and dad. I hope that someday when they take their families to the beach, or to the mountains, or wherever they go, they’ll smile and remember how much fun they used to have, and they’ll realize how much it meant to old Dad.

I’d better end this now, before somebody walks in on me, and I have to try to convince them that I’ve been watching “Old Yeller” on YouTube.