DAD: Meet’n the Locals
Businessmen, including Dad, never truly vacation. Oh sure, we had our routine vacation, which usually meant a week on Anna Marie Island in the Gulf of Mexico. Regardless, 900 miles away, Dad’s mind never actually left the farm. He’d be on the phone with salesmen, employees, and landlords each day. He’d send us kids off to the pool and say that he’d be there shortly. After awhile, as promised, Dad would show up at the pool and have fun with his kids.
We made memories on those trips; we’d play, eat out, and sleep in. Well, Dad never really slept in. Mornings were his time—and he certainly deserved them. Dad would put on some embarrassingly ugly tropical shirt, parade his glowing legs, don whatever crazy hat he thought made him “cool,” and find the breakfast joint where the locals hung out.
Each morning we had the privilege of hearing the island gossip re-told – who saw what sharks, who caught fish the day before, and where the clams were being found. Dad told the news as if his closest friends were seeing the sharks, catching the fish, and digging the clams. Of course, he did so in part because he got a kick out of the family teasing him. But truth be told, Dad found delight in running with locals. Dad, like you and me, had a desire for a sense of belonging.
