Thicker than Water

We survived yet another family vacation last week. Each summer, for the past four years, we have embarked on a journey to the sunshine state for some fun and relaxation. And prior to packing up the suitcases, I thought this was a wonderful idea. Getting a break from the daily grind can truly refresh a person’s energy. And reenergizing our spirit was just what the doctor ordered.

For the record, this was not a throw-the-wife-and-kids-in

-the-car kind of excursion. The last few years we have unknowingly been part of my mother’s personal social experiment. By coordinating our trip with members of our extended family, she reasoned that more people would exponentially increase the amount of fun. Sadly, this does not always work. Especially when the “more people” share a chromosome or two. Anyone who has a family will understand what I mean. But mom was very persuasive in getting this new tradition off the ground. As a matter of fact, this summer marks the fourth such “vacation reunion” in a row. Who knew it had so much staying power? Bickering with relatives is no longer limited to the Christmas holidays in my family. It now provides us with year round entertainment.

Personally, I believe my mother was secretly planning a new reality TV show when she first made the suggestion. I really hate to accuse dear old mom of something so self-serving. But it was just so strange to see her with the video camera peering around the lifeguard stand, or crouching behind empty beach chairs to get a sneaky shot. And to think we actually gave it to her as an early birthday present. Talk about putting a loaded gun in the criminal’s hand. Oh well. Lesson learned. The strangest of her surprisingly intricate techniques involved a snorkel, some duct tape, and a camouflage wet suit (the ocean variety of course). She even had the silhouette of a shark included for good measure. Touché.

To add to the drama we were headed back to the same beach as last year. In this way, we’d be more comfortable with our environment and far more likely to throw the proverbial sand in each other’s face. Or worse. I remember once during the first year’s inauguration ceremony (mom’s idea), my Uncle Paul dumped Kevin’s full Budweiser all over the beach. It even got on the fireworks. Turns out it was only an accident (he spilled his own too) but it made for some great footage watching my cousins struggling to take the knife out of Kevin’s hand. Thank goodness it was only beer that was spilled that afternoon.

Needless to say, getting together so many strong personalities in one place is a surefire recipe for disaster. And I’m sure that’s exactly what my mother had in mind. But this year she didn’t stop there. As an added twist to the weeklong drama fest, she made sure we visited New Smyrna Beach for the second consecutive year. I thought this a bit odd and eventually decided to Google it, just in case. What I discovered hit me like a ton of bricks. Those images burned so deep into my eyes I thought I’d never forget them.

“Babe,” I said to Shannon, “you might want to check this out.” My wife walked over and found me staring open mouthed at the computer screen.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Did you know that New Smyrna Beach just so happens to be the shark attack capital of the entire world?”

“No, I had no idea. I wonder why your mom never mentioned it.”

“I know why. Suspense. It makes for good television.”

“Must you over exaggerate everything?” my wife said rolling her eyes.

“Yep. Bad DNA I guess. But that only validates my point,” I replied.

“I’m not listening to any more of this nonsense.” And with that she walked out of the room.

Whatever the truth of the situation may be, when it comes to having a limb chomped off by the most fearsome predator in the ocean I will admit to being a little chicken. Or even a lot chicken. But maybe Shannon was right. Maybe I really was overreacting. Besides, we somehow managed to survive last year’s trip without incident. Talk about an amazing stroke of luck. In fact, we didn’t even see a single surfer get mauled the entire vacation. So I figured there was now at least an equal chance of getting attacked by a shark as being struck by a bolt of lightning. I decided it best not to press our luck.

Don’t get me wrong. I love to gamble. Far too many nights have found me playing poker with buddies late into the night. So I don’t mind take chances. But not when the ante is the loss of a foot or getting a nub for an arm. Not interested. I’ll stick to the blackjack table thank you very much.

In the end, my mother’s plan failed miserably. Everyone had a wonderful time at the beach. And nobody seemed too bothered by the ever-present danger of being swallowed up by the sea merchants of death. Even I got over my fear eventually and enjoyed my time down at the beach. I wouldn’t go near the water, mind you. But I had a fantastic time not going swimming, not kayaking, and not surfing. It was a hoot. So try as she might, the drama this year was nowhere to be found. We got along together beautifully. You might say it was like we were one big happy family. I guess we showed her.