The best thing I ever did for my family started with my son sucking at Monopoly.
For more than three decades our family has spent time on the Florida Panhandle, typically renting the same house. During our kids’ teenage years, we let each bring two or three friends. My wife and I loved a house full of kids, though peace and quiet were in short supply. That never bothered me. I don’t sit still very well, especially on a beach.
Destin also holds an important place in my life. I have been clean and sober for a little over 43 years. Destin was the last place I lived while I was in the throes of addiction.
I got fired from a restaurant job there in May 1983 and moved back to Hattiesburg. I would have been homeless had it not been for a loving grandmother who took me in. Within weeks, I was driving down Fourth Street at two in the morning, going 90 miles per hour with my headlights off and three Hattiesburg Police Department cars behind me with their blue lights on.
Things were not going well.
I ended up in rehab in Jackson and later a halfway house in Omaha. My life changed forever. When I tell stories about that period today, it feels as if I’m talking about someone else. That’s a good thing for me and everyone nearby. The world is a much better place without Robert drinking in it.
Four years into sobriety I moved back to Florida and waited tables at Harbor Docks. Charles Morgan was my boss, which makes him the last boss I ever had. So far. I still tell him that if this restaurant thing doesn’t work out, maybe he’ll take me back as a Social Security-aged server. I think I’ve still got it.
This trip Charles invited the family onto one of his boats behind Harbor Docks. We ate, visited and watched the sun go down.
The whole week felt that way. The days of a dozen teenagers running through the beach house are gone. No one slept on the front porch because they stayed out too late. My son-in-law was with us until work called him home. My son flew in from Chicago. We ate well. Café Thirty-A remains a favorite, Ambrosia was a strong new entry, and we had an excellent meal at Basmati’s.
Mostly, though, we played games. We are a game family. Give us cards, dice, a board game or an iPhone app and we’re set.
We played Triopoly, a favorite from my childhood, though my family is terrible at it. We also played Left Right Center, which sent me to the bank for one hundred $1 bills. Walk into a bank you’ve never used at nine o’clock on a Tuesday and ask for one hundred ones, and expect a look that says, “Buddy, that’s awfully early for the strip club.”
But the game that mattered most was Monopoly.
Deep in our game closet my wife found the old Beatles-themed Monopoly set. I’m a lifelong Beatles fanatic, and my family gave it to me for Christmas years ago. My son was around eight and my daughter was 12. Sometime between Christmas and New Year’s in 2008, the four of us sat down and played.
I remember two things about that night. First, my son was probably the worst Monopoly player in history. He hated charging rent and felt guilty when anyone landed on his property. Monopoly is difficult when your primary concern is the financial well-being of your opponents.
The second thing I remember changed our lives.
My daughter was laughing. I looked across the table and caught her in mid-laugh when a thought hit me: She’s 12. In a couple of years, she’s going to want to spend more time with her friends than with us.
For years I had been thinking about taking our family to Europe during the summers. My plan was to choose a different country each year and spend a month there. During the 11 months before each trip, the kids could help choose places, research things to see and learn a little of the language.
Looking across that Monopoly board, another thought hit me. What if we didn’t wait six years? What if we did it all at once? My next thought was, You can’t do that. Then came the one that mattered: Why can’t you, and what would you have to do to make it happen?
From that night forward, I started working on it. In 2011 the four of us flew to Sweden, bought a Volvo and spent six months traveling through 72 cities, 17 countries and two continents.
It was the best thing I have ever done for my family.
It[‘s actually the best thing I’ve ever done. Period.
I hadn’t thought about any of that when the Beatles Monopoly game came out on this beach trip. About 30 minutes in, I pushed back from the table and looked around.
My daughter isn’t 12 anymore. She was sitting across from me carrying our grandson, who will arrive in December. My son no longer feels sorry for anyone who lands on his property. Somewhere along the way he apparently earned an advanced degree in hostile real-estate negotiations. He was ruthless. My wife had more property than anyone, which shouldn’t have surprised me. She’s always been smarter than the rest of us.
My son-in-law had already left for work. He fits into our family so naturally that the table felt incomplete without him.
For a few seconds I ignored the game and looked at those three people, thinking about how much life had happened between those two Monopoly games. The kids grew up, went to college and built careers. One got married. A grandchild is on the way. My son will soon be back home working with us. There’s a nursery taking shape upstairs, and my wife is keeping the delivery drivers busy getting ready for December.
Somehow, through all of it, that Beatles Monopoly game had been sitting in the back of a closet.
The beach week ended, as beach weeks always do. My son flew back to Chicago. Everyone returned to work. The suitcases were unpacked and life picked up speed again. But I kept thinking about those two games.
Years ago, I looked across that board at a 12-year-old girl laughing and realized time was moving faster than I wanted it to. So, I did something about it. We left, traveled for six months and made memories none of us would trade for anything.
I know now that it doesn’t take six months in Europe. Sometimes it’s a week in the same beach house you’ve rented for decades. Sometimes it’s dinner on a friend’s boat, one-hundred-dollar bills in a ridiculous dice game or sitting around a table arguing over Boardwalk and Park Place (or, in this case, Abbey Road Studios and Apple Studios).
There were several moments that week when I looked around at my family and thought, There is no place I’d rather be and no people I’d rather be with.
All those years ago, a Monopoly game reminded me that time was passing. This one reminded me how blessed we’ve been to spend it together.
Onward.
Shrimp, Crab and Andouille Gumbo
1 /2 cup Canola oil
3 /4 cup Flour
2 Tbl File powder
1 cup Onion, diced
1 /2 cup Celery, diced
1 /2 cup Bell pepper, diced
1 1 /2 cups Andouille sausage, sliced
2 Tbl Garlic, minced
1 lbs Shrimp, small
2 tsp Salt
1 1 /2 tsp Black pepper
2 tsp Creole Seasoning
1 1 /2 tsp Basil, dry
1 tsp Thyme, dry
1 cup Tomatoes, diced, canned or fresh
2 quarts Shrimp stock
1 Tbl Hot Sauce
1 /4 tsp Cayenne pepper
1 Pound Crab Claw Meat
2-3 cups Cooked White Rice
In a large skillet, combine oil, flour and file powder to form a roux. Cook over medium heat, stirring often until roux is very dark (be careful not to burn). Add
vegetables, andouille, garlic, spices and shrimp and continue to cook for five to seven minutes, stirring constantly to prevent burning. Meanwhile, bring shrimp stock and tomatoes to a boil. Slowly add roux mixture to boiling stock and mix well. Add the crab meat and lower heat to a slow simmer. Cook 10 more minutes. Add hot sauce and cayenne pepper.
Place a small amount of white rice in each serving bowl, then pour gumbo over rice and serve.
Yield: 1 gallon
(Robert St. John is a chef, restauranteur and published cookbook author who lives in Hattiesburg, Miss.)