Gentlemen, if you have a kid, you’ve GOT to take him on a father-son road trip. And if you don’t have a kid, go find someone to impregnate ASAP: I swear to you, it’s totally worth it.
My oldest boy, Daniel, joined the Army Cavalry (Florida National Guard) at age 17. So, until he turned 18, I had legal authority to spank a member of the U.S. Armed Services, which doesn’t sound right. Anyhoo, there we were, a year later, and not only does he have 12 weeks of training coming up at Fort Benning Moore Benning in Georgia this summer — but when he leaves, he’ll be out of the house for college. (Shout-out to James Madison University!)
We had always talked about doing a father-son road trip one day, and we were quickly running out of daylight. It was now or never.
So we opted for “now.”
Our itinerary was modest: On day one, we’d leave our hometown of Tampa Bay and settle in Jacksonville for the evening. Next, we’d hit the Holy City of Charleston, South Carolina. For our final night, we’d sample the sights and sounds of Savannah, Georgia.
Danny drove the entire way, forward and back.
Pro Tip: When your kids are little, make sure you brainwash ‘em into liking your music. One of the smartest things I’ve ever done was giving Danny my old iPod when he was three or four: He grew up thinking Iron Maiden was a cool new band. That paid off in spades on this trip, because we never argued about the music. (Although I had to cede to Daniel’s demand to include at least some stuff from this millennium. But hey, as long as his new music sounds like my old music, it’s all good.)
Jacksonville was… disappointing. The lady at the hotel tried to charge us for two rooms. We told her our reservation was for one room with two beds. She then canceled both our rooms, for reasons that remain unclear. (When we tried to get an explanation, she said the manager wasn’t around. Then she went outside to suck down a few more cigarettes.) Fantastic work by the Magnuson Hotel Jacksonville Downtown!
This was on July 4, so we could’ve been royally screwed — stranded in a city with nowhere to stay. Fortunately, we found another hotel (Hampton) that was nicer, cheaper, and had an excellent view of the fireworks.
Still, our run-in with that unhospitable desk clerk dampened our impression of the city. Doesn’t exactly make you feel warm and welcomed. But we still had a good time, hitting a Mexican restaurant and destroying a few dozen tacos.
The Jacksonville downtown area was eerily quiet. Not much going on.
But the next day we hit Charleston. And GOOD LORD, what a difference: The city was jam-packed with gorgeous people. Aesthetically, those guys and gals were ridiculously good looking. About 20 years earlier, I lived in Charleston and had a radio show on 1250 WTMA, so this was a city I kinda/sorta knew. But it had changed so much: There used to be a rickety, one-lane metal bridge connecting Charleston to Mount Pleasant, and it was replaced by a really nice, extra-wide concrete bridge. There was even an Apple Store in the downtown area.
While we were strolling around the marketplace, a vendor approached us. And that’s when Danny’s “Pinsker genes” kicked in:
VENDOR: Hey, young fella! Wanna go on the official Charleston ghost tour?
DANNY: Wait — you… you can SEE me?!
VENDOR: Yeah. I mean… uh… what?
DANNY: It worked! It worked! The wizard’s spell worked!
[Daniel jumps up and down in excitement and then races away in the opposite direction]
VENDOR: [to me] Ha, ha, that was weird.
ME: Dude, who were you just talking to? There was nobody there!
[I walk away shaking my head, leaving the vendor baffled]
We had a blast in South Carolina, eating (even more) nachos and hitting the beach. Great food, fantastic people. If I were still in my 20s (or a retired billionaire) I’d probably relocate there.
For our final night away from home, we invaded Savannah, Georgia. It’s an artsy-fartsy town, almost a cross between Jacksonville and Charleston. (In fact, we started calling it “Chubby Charleston” because the locals were noticeably tubbier.) The touristy downtown area wasn’t as packed as Charleston’s, but it still had enough foot traffic to make it entertaining.
I forget where we ate, but the place claimed to be the inventor of the chicken finger. So, naturally, we ordered the chicken fingers. (“When in Rome,” right? Verdict: Very average.) My kid is only 18, so some of the hot spots were off limits; no 21+ clubs, obviously. We still had fun on a few rooftop bars, including one with a slide to the lower level.
And then, alas, it was time to return home.
Other than a sojourn to Buc-ee's (which stole a page from the “South of the Border” I-95 billboard campaign — only instead of a zillion ads of Pedro and his sombrero, it’s the Buc-ee, the cartoon beaver), we stayed on the road… and talked.
And talked. And talked. And then we talked some more.
Some big changes coming to the Pinsker household: For the last 18 years, I’ve been the luckiest guy on the planet, because all the people I love the most live with me. I get to hug ‘em and kiss ‘em every single day.
Even my bad days were perfect.
That part of my life is now over. This is gonna be something… different. Probably won’t be nearly as fun or rewarding. I mean, how could it be?
How can you compete with perfection?
I know I’m being a big, fat hypocrite, because I left my parent’s house when I turned 18. I honestly don’t remember it being that big of a deal; clearly, it was time to move on: Of course I’m moving out at 18!
And intellectually, I know it’s time for Daniel. He’s ready. More ready than I was: I didn’t have the maturity to join the Army at age 17.
But emotionally, every goddamn impulse in my head is screaming at me to hold him close — that this is still way too soon — that he’s still my baby, and he still needs his Daddy.
About 25 years ago, I was living in Washington, D.C., for law school. My two best buddies were Aaron and Matt, and we did everything together. During my final few months, whenever we were together, I tried to hold onto the memories: “Okay, Scotty. This part of your life isn’t gonna last forever. This might be the last time you’re in your 20s, hanging out with your best friends, on the prowl for ladies, love, and libations. Because one day soon, you’re gonna be a married, middle-aged guy with kids, and all this will be in the rearview mirror.”
Even today, those memories of me, Aaron, and Matt are still so vivid, I can close my eyes and remember every last detail.
I did the same thing with Daniel on our trip: Sitting in the passenger seat, as he hurtled down the highway, I closed my eyes and locked in every detail. The smells; the sights; the music; the jokes; the way my heart felt.
All of it.
I think this is something I’ll remember on my deathbed.
Good news is, I’m a stickler for fairness, so what I do with one kid, I’ve gotta do with the other. And since I did this with Daniel when he turned 18, I’m morally obligated to do the same with Micah, my 16-year-old.
Just two years away!
So, at least I still have that.
