I took a Friday off to travel with my parents to visit my father’s side of the family. On a rare occasion, we left exactly on time. Of course we left with the usual bickering between my parents, which is more of a sign of a longtime couple who’ve been married for 61 years. I sat in the back with my laptop and cell phone, not feeling the least bit weird of being an adult child relegated to the same position as much younger counterparts.
Our travels went blessedly uneventful until we reached our destination: Langley Air Force Base. Since Dad is retired from the military, we were able to stay in guest quarters on base for one-third of the cost of a commercial hotel. Instead of driving directly to the inn, Mom was absolutely convinced that she had to check in at the gas station across the street from the inn.
I knew that made no logical sense. I figured, “What the hell, I’d taken the day off. Entertain me!” I wasn’t disappointed as Mom asked the first random guy with a long ponytail about checking in at the gas station for accommodations at the inn. I normally use Mom as my example of a person in her 80s who still functions independently, but this was the moment I thought perhaps eight decades on this rock and increasingly taking on more responsibility as Dad’s caregiver may have finally triggered her breaking point.
Ponytail Guy confessed to being a civilian mechanic contractor for only a short time and stated he wasn’t too sure how things worked on base. I thought that was a sweet way of telling Mom she was crazy.
At this point, Mom called the inn, confirmed she’d misunderstood the original directive and drove across the street to check in at the inn. Once checked in, Mom drove us to a second location of the inn, which was about three minutes away, but with a much nicer view.
Of course there had to be another hitch once we arrived at our suite…or rather the door to our suite. The key card didn’t work. This time, it wasn’t Mom being goofy. She called the front desk at the other location and the receptionist sent a maintenance guy to let us into the room with other keys.
I knew I wasn’t going to eat at Golden Corral.
We were so hungry after such a long drive. Even so, when Mom suggested eating at her old favorite, which we frequent many a Sunday, I protested and looked up nearby restaurants. Thank goodness it was open at that time of day. I risked ordering a brisket sandwich. It was far better than the brisket I’d eaten in NC, but still not as good as in TX.
Afterwards, we made a quick trip over to one of my aunt’s house, which served as a central meeting place for all of Dad’s extended family.
Mom and Dad with his two sisters.
One enviable thing about retired people was their flexible schedule. No one cared too much that our arrival ended up being several hours after we thought we’d be there. This was a case of late being better than never. Dad hadn’t seen them in a while, but I hadn’t been to that house since my paternal grandmother had passed.
My uncles, who’d bravely married into the family.
The ultimate plan was for all the retirees to go to the local casino while I hung out with a first cousin who lived nearby. Even though I’d seen him a few months ago in Austin, I’m not a gambler and I’d recently started collaborating with him on a digital animation series, which was loosely based on his life.
As a matter of fact, thanks to this project, I learned that I actually can write screenplays. I think I was too stressed with other things in my life when I took my one and only screenwriting course. Secondly, I started researching TV bibles in order to write one for this series. Why has it taken this long to discover this storytelling pitching tool? Again, better late than never.
Morning view from my room.
Those retirees gambled into the night much longer than I would have originally thought they would have. Casinos must have perfected the fountain of youth atmosphere while people are gambling. Nonetheless, I slept well and woke up early enough to do morning stretches and writing before meeting my sister and her family and a cousin for breakfast…well, lunch by the time everything was said and done.
Our long awaited table.
All I can say is that I’m so happy I ate a banana prior to going to the restaurant. Not eating wouldn’t have “saved” my appetite. My sister and her family joined us in Hampton from their VA beach vacation. Our cousin merely had to escape his bed because he lived in Hampton. As a matter of fact, he didn’t even have to endure the nearly hour’s wait for a large table.
Post lunch group picture.
Again, I appreciated the fluidity of everyone’s schedule. My parents, sister, brother-in-law and I continued to the same aunt’s house after lunch. Part of the appeal was that my paternal grandmother had lived there in the last years of her life. The warmth of the memories made it feel like the “home house,” as we say.
Dad’s only living brother.
At 84, Dad is not only the oldest living brother, but the only one who’s reached that age. His older sibling passed at a younger age. Compared to Dad, that uncle seemed as if he was taken away from us too soon. All the fresh laughter from his antics are no longer with us. Even Dad’s younger twin brothers passed due more to life in the fast lane than age.
The four living siblings out of seven.
In a way, this trip was a mini family reunion. Hurricane Ian had delayed our visit by a week, but in the big scheme of things, that delay was worth our safety.
First attempt to get just the aunts.
I grew up thinking that Dad’s side of the family wasn’t too close, compared to Mom’s. After what I know now about the struggle being real, even after umpteen years of Emancipation, Civil Rights and every other movement in this country to bring us to the full expression of first class citizenship in our own country, I now think that so much energy was instead invested in survival.
Finally, a picture of just my aunts.
Now that this generation has retired, they can stop and smell the roses and enjoy a better life. They’ve definitely earned it. The closest permutation of me retiring will be working from home like I’m doing right now.
Of course Mom had to get in the mix.
I may not be the first generation who didn’t do better or as well as their parents, but the game has changed. I don’t want to blame that all on Nixon taking the dollar off the gold standard to pay for Vietnam, but that didn’t help.
The other spouses join in.
What also didn’t help was my passion lie in doing creative things such as teaching, writing, painting…pretty much everything which guarantee that it’ll be a long shot, even in good times, to make much money. Too bad I can’t monetize “rich in personality.”
Mother/son picture.
At the same time, now that I’m middle aged, I’m saving for whatever retirement is going to look like. Some days at work, I consider myself semi-retired when I have less work to do for the same pay. That’s the direction I’d love to move into. The biggest jump will be working for myself like I did in the before times. I had a good run with that while it lasted. At the end of the day, I’m not an entrepreneur. That’s not a good thing in a country known for such strong capitalistic ways.
Cousins and Aunt
I may not be able to control my work schedule, but I’ve already planted the seed to work reduced full time, Monday through Thursday. Oh, all the wonderfully creative things I plan to do, besides running errands and doing chores! It’s so tantalizing. I find it unbelievable that when other people retire, they feel lost because they were their jobs. As for me, I cannot usually find enough time in the day to do everything I want to do unless it’s on the weekends. Having an extra weekend day would just boost that.
Mom and my sister jump in.
At this point, I have conceded that I’ll never be in the position to retire. The best I can do is stop and smell the roses along the way. This weekend was just a taste of the possibilities of a three-day weekend.
Playmate cousin when growing up.
I’d heard more stories about my father’s side of the family than ever before. Not only am I old enough to ask the questions, I’m mature enough to listen and appreciate the answers. And for things that happened when I was alive, I marvel at which parts of the shared memory we’d all tucked away inside of us, only to bring those pieces out when we get together to see what the big picture would be.
The James River Bridge.
This sight always reminded me of the beginning and the end of visiting my Hampton relatives. Since Mom can’t swim, but does most of the driving, she makes record time across it. Her (ir)rationale was she wanted to minimize her time on the bridge just in case it collapsed and put her at risk of having to swim. I’ve never bothered asking her how she’d survive the collapse long enough to hit the water. Happy to report, just like all the other times, there was no collapsed bridge.