We were traveling with two families who we had spent every new years with since I was born. The seven of us kids were all boys, and everywhere we went, we raised some hell. There was a great dynamic, and just the right balance of personalities to make any situation a recipe for a great time.
This summer trip we were traveling through Maine, just chilling out and walking around town. As soon as we spotted the local ice-cream store, we needed to go. The idea was met with resistance from the parental units, so we began our campaign. It started with a chant “ICE-CREAM, ICE-CREAM”. This was usually followed by one of us refusing to walk as if our legs didn’t work, and then further guerrilla tactics if need be. One way or another, the seven of us were going to get our ice-cream
Surrendering to inevitable defeat, the parents took us in. My bro and I both wanted banana splits, which was apparently way too unexciting for my Dad. My Dads defeat was not going to be as graceful as we had planned.
As the as ice-cream arrived, it hit the table we hear the word SHARE. There was only one banana split. Our victory dance came to a quick halt as this horrible parental strategy became our reality. For those who do not know, first rule of brother sharing is : The first person who gets it makes the rules. This usually includes eating while debating what the rules should be, and then releasing the rest when full. I got it first.
As I thought (and ate) my way through the meaning of sharing, FatScott began to yell. A few more scoops into it, FatScotts yelling got louder and awakened the Father’s inner pistoffness. I tactfully took one last bite and gently slide the ice-cream down to my brother before my Dad could get involved. I’m not sure who greased up the table, but that ice-cream moved a bit faster than I had planned, and landed in my brothers’ lap.
Without looking back at my Dad, I knew shit was about to go down. The table went quiet and I saw him get up out of the corner of my eye. It was on. I knew he was coming for me. The question of fight or flight was quickly answered, and off I went.
I darted straight down the main street in-between traffic on the double yellow line. There was a peer at the end of the street just far enough away to be my safe haven. About 15 seconds through my sprint-for-life, I looked back to see how the family was cleaning up. CRAP! I WAS BEING CHASED BY DAD! THIS WAS NOT IN THE PLAN! A few feet behind my Dad, my Mom! My little legs were carrying me through the last minutes of my life. Sprinting past the cars and people, everything went into slow-motion as I took in the last of my pain free existence. Remember the famous Wally World sprint? Imagine the same thing just Rusty was being chased by Clark.
I had underestimated my Dad’s land speed as he was catching up. The peer, my original targeted safe haven, was now looking more like a runway. A 15 foot jump into the ocean at its end was a sure way to lose him. He may have owned the land, but my swimming was Olympic-like.
Dad had gotten to within arms reach and I still had 20 feet to go. Mom was closing in fast behind him. I had resorted to evasive maneuvers. With Mom inbound, this could get messy… I had no idea which one of us she was backing up!
Yes! Mom was one of ours!!
Dad had chosen to not engage, and I did not have to dive into the ocean. I’m not sure how my Mom defused the situation, but it all ended as quickly as it had began.
Little did I know, this was also my 15 minutes of fame and I didn’t even get to enjoy it! Walking back to the ice-cream store everyone in town (including the traffic which pulled over to watch) slowly returned back to normal. The war was over… and so was vacation. With peace restored no words were spoken. I think it was understood that after a vacation event like this one, it was end game. We got in the car and went directly home.
I think it’s a funny story only because of how loving my Mom and Dad truly are. I owe them everything. From vacations at the beach and driving down to Florida, to building water-guns and peddle carts, every single minute together is worth.
Happy Points for years of swimming lessons at camp = +230
I can't tell you how much I enjoy reading your stories - even when it is at my own expense.
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