After a few grueling weeks of prep for an Emergency Preparedness night at church, I decided that I need a little treat on Saturday. So I slept in until 10 am and then went to the library to check out the Junie B Jones books.
So I read this one that is about Junie B’s trip to Hawaii with her parents. I went to Hawaii with my parents once. I wasn’t in kindergarten like she was. I was in high school. I had seen plenty of made-for-tv movies about kids who went on vacation with their families and met some young attractive native and had a little vacation romance. So, obviously, that was my goal. I tried really hard to meet someone. I ALWAYS volunteered to go get ice from the ice machine because that was the only time I got to spend without my parents. Have you ever noticed that you don’t use all that much ice at home, but somehow you have to trek back and forth to the hotel ice machine a dozen times? I have no idea what I use all that ice for, but I sure as heck know that I won’t stay anywhere that doesn’t have an ice machine. Anyway, I would always volunteer to get ice. Yes, I was in high school, but my mother was still very concerned about “stranger danger”. It was sort of hard to meet people because you know that a lot of kids get kidnapped at hotels because they walk too close to the side of the hallway and bad guys sit behind their doors peeping through the peephole, waiting for a young child to walk three inches to the left of center and then BAM - kidnap them. You always have to walk down the very middle of the hall so that if someone pops out to grab you from either side you are as far away from them as possible. So, while maintaining the perfect center of the hall and looking out for kidnappers, I didn’t really have time to scope out my very own Polynesian summer fling.
I don’t remember a whole lot more about that trip other than we went snorkeling one day. Well, my sister and my dad and I went snorkeling. Abby snorkeled off somewhere (there were approximately 1200 people snorkeling within 500 square feet of ocean) and didn’t get out of the water at the same time that we (my dad and I) did. Well, mom flipped out at dad about how he had been so careless as to let Abby drown. She was obviously dead because she was not with us. I remember thinking bitterly, “That $%&$*%! Abby went and drowned and ruined this whole trip.” Now I just look back and wonder why my mom berated my dad for killing my sister instead of alerting a lifeguard who could have perhaps saved her. A few minutes later Abby emerged from the water, safe. No one was happy to see her. We were all just mad at her. It was a weird, weird vacation.