Sorry guys, I had to take a week off to recuperate from our beach getaway.  

Overall, the four-day trip was a good time. We spent most of the days with our feet in the sand and noses full of saltwater. During the evenings, we were scarfing down yummy seafood and hunting crabs. In between all of this, we could be found lounging around the beach house relaxing, visiting and letting all eight of the grandkids play.  

But I digress, this column is not going to be a detailed account of our vacation, but instead I decided to write about my lovely father. Somehow, he got stuck riding with me on the nine-hour trip to Panama City.  

I think we made it an hour into the trip before he made his FIRST complaint. But before I get too far into those details, I need to give you a little background.  

First of all, this was my dad’s first trip to the beach in his whole life. He is 58…I think? Somewhere around there. You get the picture. He is the definition of a homebody. He goes to work every day and goes home. During the weekend, you can catch him in his boat on the lake. That is the extent of his traveling, so even getting him to agree to go on this trip was an accomplishment in itself.  

So, with that being said I expected some complaining to take place, but an hour in… come on dad. I quickly decided that I would compile a list of his grumbles.  

Kicking this off with a modest grievance, I was freezing him out of the car (remember I am in early menopause, so this wasn’t discredited) and he wished he would have brought a blanket. Followed shortly by, “I thought your car drove better than this and what is that smell?!” 

I did get to experience a couple short hours of silence as him and the three girls (who have yet to complain) fell asleep. Then, he woke up to tell me his body was hurting from riding. We are halfway there. Soon after that, we had to stop to let the ol’ man take a pee break. Followed by another pee break about an hour after that and an hour after that… the man’s bladder is the size of a PEA apparently (no pun intended).

We reach the first signs of the beach in Alabama. Dad says, “Just drop me off here.” Nope, still a couple more hours to go. At this point his body is no longer sore but is now NUMB.  

I am not going to go into details about all his quibbles after a not so short stop at Buc-ee’s. (May need a Part II for that one.) 

We finally made it. Whew! Dad spends ONE whole hour on the beach during this trip. Yes, you read that right. ONE HOUR. Not one day. ONE HOUR! His complaining subsided after he was comfortably placed at the beach house where he spent pretty much the rest of his vacation.  

Then, the dreaded drive home. Dad decided this time instead of being the passenger, he was going to drive. We stopped for a quick breakfast around 10 a.m. before hitting the road. It was a pretty quiet trip until about 4 p.m. when the kids were about to starve to death. Now, not to completely blame dad, the route the GPS took us home was a rural one and there were not a lot of places to stop.  

After about another hour of driving and him trying to convince my THREE kids to split ONE leftover donut from this morning until we got back into Louisiana, I finally convinced him to stop at a McDonald’s. Everyone had a full belly and empty bladder, and we were well on our way to the house.  

The funniest part of this whole expedition though was the cheers that left my dad’s mouth as we crossed the Louisiana state line. You would have thought he won the lottery. But I guess when all you need in life is a good week’s worth of honest work, a cold beer in the evenings and the anticipation of getting a hook wet on the weekends, he is already rich where it counts.

(Paige Gurgainers is a mom of three girls, digital journalist for Webster Parish Journal and publisher of Bienville Parish Journal and Claiborne Parish Journal.)