Packing Light

As you’re reading this, I’m driving east towards the North Carolina coast with my wife and the middle children of my siblings. I’m writing this less than eleven hours before it arrives in your inbox (if you’re subscribed). Currently, I still haven’t packed for our week-long vacation. It’s not that I’m a procrastinator, I just let other tasks get the better of me—writing this article being one of the many things I had to complete before leaving.

We have been doing this annual vacation to Ocean Isle Beach for the last fifteen years. My dad and stepmom rent a house, and all of my siblings, spouses, and children converge en masse. We are equidistant from the ocean and the intercoastal waterway at this beach house. The sun rises and sets over water there. It’s magical. It’s also the longest I’ve been around most of these people at one given time in my entire life.

Since my parents’ divorce when I was around five, I only saw my dad every other weekend. He coached Little League teams for my brother and me, but neither he nor I cared much for team sports as kids, much to our dad’s chagrin. Give us creeks and frogs, not bases and balls. It dawned on me that these beach trips with my dad are the most time I’ve spent with him since kindergarten in one place.

If you add a set of half-siblings I didn’t grow up with that are eleven and fourteen years my junior, it can at times create scenarios that are both bonding and wedge-worthy. Still, I’m thankful for the opportunities to spend time with everyone, despite my mouth sometimes wantonly espousing the wrong things to the wrong people and making everyone mad. I have a bad habit of speaking unfiltered, and I could do well, perhaps, by finding a way to bite my tongue more often. Everything doesn’t need to be said, and the baggage I carry doesn’t need to be unloaded on everyone. I’m working on it.

I appreciate that my dad is investing in time with his kids now. I didn’t get that luxury growing up, and it’s just the way the cards were dealt. My parents did the best they could; I see that now. They are just people, and we all deserve grace and as many do-overs as possible—especially if they’re truly trying to set things right.

My dad isn’t perfect. He dropped the ball a lot when we were kids, but we’re adults now, and he’s making a concerted effort. That’s applaudable. It makes me want to do better, too. No need to dig up the past because even though some wounds won’t ever fully heal, hearing my dad say he was proud of me while bobbing in the waves on one of these trips meant a lot. I was thirty-eight years old before I ever heard those words. Better late than never. Again, I know he’s trying, so I, too, must try to be a better man.

I am excited to hit the sand. I love spending time with my nieces and nephews. We all will be fishing and body surfing on the meager Brunswick County waves within twenty-four hours. No one’s childhood was perfect. If it was, well, I bet that person is boring as hell. No, I’m glad it took a while because as an adult, I’m having way more fun than I’d have been allowed to have as a kid.

The past is the past, and we can never go back. What we can do is move forward, pack our bags for adventures to come, and make the most of the days we all have left. I, for one, am packing light. I’m leaving all that old baggage in the past where it belongs, and I’m going to let the waves and salt air soothe my soul.