The Dad of Dissapointment

Listen to: Live from the Hovel on the hill, No.15

The Dad of disappointment

Every once in a while I get to really stand out as a parent. Meaning that, I use all my critical timing skills, all my years of hard earned experience and artfully seize the opportunity to disappoint my entire family and a few unprotected friends as well. I have just had one of those glorious moments, and I have no doubt it will be talked about on analyst’s couches for generations to come.
It started with my oldest’s vacation idea. He envisioned an impromptu spring vacation trip to go camping in the woods and then sightseeing in Boston. After three whole trips to that fair city, he feels it is firmly in his masterful grasp. After all, that is probably where he will spend his college years, so obviously he is ready to command an expedition.
As I heard it, the original plan for his trip was to get in the car, fill it up with other adventurous kids and then ask me for gas money. I might have seemed a little ‘cool’ on the original plot. In my doubting parent way, I felt it lacked some of the finer points of preparation necessary to have a fulfilling spring break, like knowing how to get where you are going.
Beyond other minor details like eating and sleeping, I saw two troubling weaknesses in his itinerary. First his “camping” plan involved driving up north and stepping out of the car right into the waiting arms of “mud season”. “Mud season” happens just after the time it’s so cold that your coffee freezes over in mid sip and just before you run screaming through the pines trying to escape the annual spring return of 40 billion tiny, dark and very hungry Black flies.
During “Mud season”, ground that was as hard as granite all winter suddenly has the consistency of tapioca pudding. For locals in the area, it means about a month of trudging through shin deep goo while being rained on. I know, I know, what a wet blanket I am!
My second issue with this happy holiday, was that some of the kids were far younger than 18. Would hotel managers all over Boston greet five very muddy kids with open arms and offer them the presidential suite? Jeez, talk about a doubting daddy!
However, parentally I felt this was one of those times when dropping a cement truck on the whole idea was not the right thing to do.
Instead of playing the part of Snidely Whiplash, I made a suggestion. I wasn’t going to Boston with them but I could “help” with the camping part. We have a house in the north woods, which is know for camping excellence. What if his brothers and I provided a place of refuge for the first part of this soiree? I promised not to be a lead weight around the neck of fun. I swore that if they wanted to camp, they could. I would be nearby, in case someone needed a shower, or stitches or something. Just to provide a friendly face in the event of an encounter with 5 or 6 very hungry bears, fresh from a long winter’s snooze.
My son, being the soul of patience and forbearance, begrudgingly allowed as how the idea might not completely stink. The other parents thought this was a capital plan. If someone else wanted to be trapped in a house with 8 hungry boys for three days in the rain, surrounded by brown goo, they were all for it.
Sounds like a good plan, right? It was, and then the dice started to roll. First, it wasn’t going to be three fun filled days in the woods with actual showers. After I refused to “help” by keeping the rest of his family upstairs, except during designated bathroom times, my son shrank the stay to one night.
Second, a call to a knowledgeable local revealed that the 8 mile road into the house was not just soft and muddy, it was gone. “Might be back by May though….” he added, helpfully.
Faced with taking one son out of school, trucking dogs, cat, gear and food on a 5 hour road tip that ended with a 4 mile walk, for an overnight, I balked. I just didn’t feel that helpful. I told my son it was not worth it, and thereby sealed my doom. He told me he was going to do the Boston part anyway, and my “help” was no longer required.
All my sons are radiating disappointment like lighthouses now. The one who thought he was getting out of three days of school went catatonic midway through my fatherly explanation. Even the dogs are morose and the cat looks at me with suspicion now.
If anyone needs anything, I’ll be hiding in the basement “helping” myself.

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