Spring Break Diaries
Issue 21
Note to my children who may read this in the future: Picture me in my monogrammed robe, scrambling your eggs, and reciting Bible stories until the end of time, please. Mom, I thank you for your grace, then and now. As for my husband, this is who you married.
While driving my boys around recently, we talked about our impending spring break trip, and they asked where I went for spring break when I was a kid. I told them stories about family beach trips, then my mind drifted to later years. I thought about the spring break trips I took in college and laughed as I imagined enduring such a trip today, 20+ years later.
There are a handful of reasons why I can’t be president, most of which took place in college. I am ever grateful that social media didn’t exist in my day. It’s not that we were heathens, but we had the freedom to be a little reckless without the threat of perpetual shame. The only evidence from my wildest days are a few weathered photographs and stories shared amongst a group of girls who share my Greek letters.
The thing about our college spring breaks is that none of us girls had the budget for a trip, but what we lacked in financial resources, we made up for in enthusiasm. The beach beckoned like a siren’s call, and my sorority sisters and I answered.
Logistics were simple. We booked side-by-side hotel rooms across the street from the beach and crammed girls in like a clown car. I don’t recall packing food or water. This may seem unfathomable, but, at the turn of the century, water was not as trendy, nor essential, apparently, as it is today. We didn’t drink a daily gallon out of $50 designer cups. We likely split a 12-pack of Dasani for the week. I’m not saying the trip was sponsored by Boone’s Farm and Corona Light, but I’m not not saying that.
Tanning oil and sand coated every surface of our room, but we were unbothered. We were young, free, and the Days Inn didn’t offer housekeeping. We wore uniforms of bikinis and flip flops and spent our days roasting like chickens on the beach.
It was much like Frankie and Annette’s beach movies, minus the spontaneous singing, which is such a shame, because I would have loved that. One of us did perform a very classy, very accurate rendition of the “Bye Bye Bye” dance in a zebra print bikini before a crowd of onlookers, but in the spirit of sisterhood, we will keep her identity private. WON’T WE, SISTERS?
Our fraternity friends chose the same housing situation as us, packing in about a dozen guys per room. They invited us to a party, and it was so crowded that the only way I could cross the room was by walking across a bed. I was about halfway when I felt a thud and saw stars. A guy threw an unopened can of Budweiser to his friend across the room and my head intercepted.
“I may be concussed,” I told my girlfriend when I floated to her by way of a mosh pit.
Unfortunately, she was mid-crisis with her boyfriend and couldn’t render aid, so I found comfort by pressing another unopened, and very cold, can of Budweiser to my head.
“What did you do for spring break when you were in college, Mom?” one of my sons asked from the backseat, yanking me from memory lane.
“Umm, some sweet friends and I went to the beach.”
“So, like, no parents went with you?”
“That’s right, buddy. Just us college kids.”
“That sounds cool.”
“Yes, we had a very nice time, but who’s to say you can’t spring break with your parents when you’re in college?”
“Yeah, maybe we could go somewhere to ride roller coasters like we’re doing this year!”
“Yes, buddy, yes, I like that idea. Let’s do that! Maybe I’ll get that in writing later.”
Of course, the boys’ plans will change, so I will savor these days of playing putt putt and riding roller coasters with them for spring break. Our trip will be sponsored by Dramamine and Tylenol. Come to think of it, I remember a lot of Tylenol during those college spring breaks, too.