A quick weekend getaway, a mini-vacation for father’s day. Why not? Father’s day on the beach, at the St. James Plantation, begins promptly at 6:05 a.m. with the pitter patter of heavy feet: “Daddy, I need help with my game.” Both the TV and the laptop are on in Dylan’s room at the condo. The TV in his room thing was a big deal, because he’s never had one in his room at home (that and the shampoo/conditioner/ shower gel dispenser in his shower left him thinking we were in the lap of luxury). In 30 minutes, the crying started. Count Dooku beat him in a light-saber duel and that was unfair. Just another tired day in the surreal planet of fatherdom.
I remind Dylan it’s Father’s Day. Time to give Daddy his gift, which just happens to be a Scarface game for PS2 (which, thank goodness, is at home). Two boys with virtual toys, our lives an intergalactic space between planets—one as a mobster and one as a Jedi. I manage both worlds at times, and today at the beach seems virtual too. Daddy playing Angry Birds on the Droid (dubbed D2). Soon the hermit crab named Shocker will have mini light-saber in hand, then he’ll kick the bucket in two weeks after someone forgets to feed and water him.
We recovered and hit the beach, a mere four hours of bodysurfing and boogie boarding and a slight burn on my back. To dinner at Fishy Fishy Café on the water in Southport, a walk in the neighborhood dreaming of living here or there, an ice cream cone, another sunset walk on the beach. Vacation is too short, and we are oh so tired from the sun and lazing around and early mornings. Planet Beach is worth visiting, but you can’t stay there. Every Dad deserves to sleep in, but that’s just not in the planetary stars for us, this world or the other.