might sport the beard and he might have been in the Army for a short stint, but when it comes to building things, knowing sports statistics, and guzzling enough beer to belch, “I Will Always Love You,” he is not your man. If you’re looking for someone who can show you how to break into someone’s hard drive, if that’s a thing, and bake one mean pineapple upside down cake, then he’s your man.
“How’s Savannah? Is she okay with this trip across the country?”
Mustard drips off of Paul’s beard as he licks his fingers. “Yeah, she was the one who found Mom’s map. She suggested the trip after I talked about all of our vacations out on the road.”
Damn, I knew I liked that woman. It’s not very often you like your soon to be sister-in-law, unless your sibling has struck gold, and somehow Paul luckily did.
“Savannah is a good girl,” my dad chimes in.
“Do you always have to say her name like that?” I ask my dad, who also has mustard on his beard.
“How do I say her name?” My dad feigns innocence.
“As if you were born in the deep burrows of Georgia and have molasses dripping off your tongue.”
Every single time my dad says Savannah’s name, he uses a rich southern accent, as if he was transported back to the massively inappropriate cotton picking days.
“Sounds better when said like that. Plus, she likes it.”
I roll my eyes. “Where did she find the map?”
“In Mom’s photo album. We were looking through old pictures and it was in the back. She thought it would be good for us to have one more trip together. It all worked out when Porter was out in California to…”
“We don’t need to talk about what I was doing,” Porter interrupts Paul. “I’m just glad I was in the right place at the right time. Hell, if I wasn’t, I would have missed urine face.” He can’t even get the sentence out of his mouth without laughing. Paul gives him a fist bump, and like the children they are, they blow it up and go back to their hot dogs.
“What did I say? We’re not talking about…urine face,” my dad snorts.
“Dad!” I whack his arm.
“I’m sorry,” my dad chuckles. “But, sweetie, you almost drank our piss.”
Everyone with a beard at the table breaks out into a fit of laughter. Hands slap the table, guts are held onto, and the deep rumble of their chuckles vibrates through the air.
I brush off my hands and crumple my napkin, then toss it on my plate. “Yuck it up, boys. Get your jollies in now because when I get you back, you’ll want to remember this moment when I warned you.” I lean over the picnic table and I enunciate every word. “Don’t mess with me.”
Satisfaction runs through me as Paul gulps, clearly fearing what I can do to him a week before his wedding, but Porter’s reaction is the exact opposite. He sees my threat as a challenge. What he doesn’t know is it would give me the greatest pleasure to mess with his arrogance. I have some planning to do.
Our dinner is cleaned by Paul, while my dad and I lay out the next portion of the trip, and Porter takes a shower. Arizona has a few attractions we want to stop and visit, the meteor crater being one of them. If you are to take back one thing from this trip, you will learn that my father, Bernie McMann, is obsessed with space. He grew up in the era of the great space race and swore to his friends that his fiftieth birthday would be celebrated on the moon. To his dismay, it was celebrated at an Old Country Buffet with his kids, but boy did we pig out that night.
Paul and I don’t mind space; we grew up to our dad talking constantly about the moon, watching Star Trek , and being launched by my father from our living rooms to our beds as if we were our own personal rocket ships. The fear that threatens to take over me on this seven day trip is the many, and I mean many, space conversations my dad will try to have, especially after that show about astronaut wives just aired. He called me after the pilot
“How’s Savannah? Is she okay with this trip across the country?”
Mustard drips off of Paul’s beard as he licks his fingers. “Yeah, she was the one who found Mom’s map. She suggested the trip after I talked about all of our vacations out on the road.”
Damn, I knew I liked that woman. It’s not very often you like your soon to be sister-in-law, unless your sibling has struck gold, and somehow Paul luckily did.
“Savannah is a good girl,” my dad chimes in.
“Do you always have to say her name like that?” I ask my dad, who also has mustard on his beard.
“How do I say her name?” My dad feigns innocence.
“As if you were born in the deep burrows of Georgia and have molasses dripping off your tongue.”
Every single time my dad says Savannah’s name, he uses a rich southern accent, as if he was transported back to the massively inappropriate cotton picking days.
“Sounds better when said like that. Plus, she likes it.”
I roll my eyes. “Where did she find the map?”
“In Mom’s photo album. We were looking through old pictures and it was in the back. She thought it would be good for us to have one more trip together. It all worked out when Porter was out in California to…”
“We don’t need to talk about what I was doing,” Porter interrupts Paul. “I’m just glad I was in the right place at the right time. Hell, if I wasn’t, I would have missed urine face.” He can’t even get the sentence out of his mouth without laughing. Paul gives him a fist bump, and like the children they are, they blow it up and go back to their hot dogs.
“What did I say? We’re not talking about…urine face,” my dad snorts.
“Dad!” I whack his arm.
“I’m sorry,” my dad chuckles. “But, sweetie, you almost drank our piss.”
Everyone with a beard at the table breaks out into a fit of laughter. Hands slap the table, guts are held onto, and the deep rumble of their chuckles vibrates through the air.
I brush off my hands and crumple my napkin, then toss it on my plate. “Yuck it up, boys. Get your jollies in now because when I get you back, you’ll want to remember this moment when I warned you.” I lean over the picnic table and I enunciate every word. “Don’t mess with me.”
Satisfaction runs through me as Paul gulps, clearly fearing what I can do to him a week before his wedding, but Porter’s reaction is the exact opposite. He sees my threat as a challenge. What he doesn’t know is it would give me the greatest pleasure to mess with his arrogance. I have some planning to do.
Our dinner is cleaned by Paul, while my dad and I lay out the next portion of the trip, and Porter takes a shower. Arizona has a few attractions we want to stop and visit, the meteor crater being one of them. If you are to take back one thing from this trip, you will learn that my father, Bernie McMann, is obsessed with space. He grew up in the era of the great space race and swore to his friends that his fiftieth birthday would be celebrated on the moon. To his dismay, it was celebrated at an Old Country Buffet with his kids, but boy did we pig out that night.
Paul and I don’t mind space; we grew up to our dad talking constantly about the moon, watching Star Trek , and being launched by my father from our living rooms to our beds as if we were our own personal rocket ships. The fear that threatens to take over me on this seven day trip is the many, and I mean many, space conversations my dad will try to have, especially after that show about astronaut wives just aired. He called me after the pilot
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