My son is a rock star. At six months old, he can't play the
guitar or keyboard and his vocal repertoire is limited to screeching
out high-pitched vowels. But make no mistake: he is a rock star.
Don't believe me? Well, if pureed sweet potatoes were caviar,
he'd have his groupies spoonfeeding him caviar every night. If
grandparents were paparazzi, then he'd have his every move captured on
film or videotape by a fervent press corps. If just the slightest
glance or smile from the star sends the ladies swooning, well then look
out for swooning. And if binkies were bling-bling, then... OK, you
get the picture. I'm telling you, he's a rock star, baby.
This truth was evidenced in full force on our recent family vacation to
sunny Florida. It was my son's first spring break appearance and
he drew rave reviews in what I billed as Grammapalooza 2005. It
was a weeklong celebration of my son.
We'd officially planned the vacation last October when we bought the
airline tickets, but this trip was really five years in the making. One
of the many great blessings of my marriage is the fact that my parents
and my wife's parents get along famously. Our moms share motherly
interests and our dads share a common passion for baseball, beer and
chicken wings.
So, when my folks moved to Florida's Atlantic coast in 1999, they
extended an invitation to my wife's parents to "come down
anytime." Well, as things often go with busy work schedules and
sundry commitments, five years passed in the blink of an eye and my
in-laws hadn't yet had the opportunity to visit.
With a new grandson in the fold, my wife and I decided that this would
be the perfect year to get the four grandparents together in Florida
(they usually see each other here in Buffalo). Claiming we needed
"extra help" with the baby and luring my father-in-law with tickets to
a couple of spring training games, we pulled it off and we all headed
south.
From the moment we arrived, the excitement over our son was palpable as
the grammas realized they'd have unfettered access to the baby for one
solid week. And they had at it. They took him to a state
park. They took him to a museum. They proudly paraded him
up and down the village streets, stopping to field unsolicited
compliments from passers-by. They watched him overnight.
And they fed him. You should have seen it, two Irish grammas
suddenly turned Italian, imploring the little guy to "eat, eat," and
asking us, "he's so skinny, don't you feed him?" (No, he's not
skinny; yes, we feed him.)
I'm not sure which was more enjoyable, watching him be spoiled or watching the grammas enjoy spoiling him.
Fascinated by his new surroundings, my son relished many "firsts" on
this adventure: first airplane ride (he slept most of the way there and
back); first trip to the beach and ocean (loved dipping his tootsies in
the Atlantic); first trip to a zoo (got howled at by a howler monkey),
and first time seeing the sun for five consecutive days (we've promised
he will see the sun again in Buffalo this summer).
More amazing, I think, was the way the vacation affected the adults.
My wife and I happily did our part by relishing, for a short time at
least, the long-lost luxuries we once enjoyed as DINKs (double income,
no kids). We slept in (and slept through the night without the
static sound of a baby monitor) and kicked off to the beach — just the
two of us. You don't know true relaxation until you hand a
six-month-old over to his grandparents for a week to have his every
need met.
The four grandparents changed somehow as well. They seemed, well,
younger. They laughed and played like kids. It was
beautiful. In a moment of self-realization, my father-in-law
summed things up. As he made faces and howler monkey noises to
get my son to smile for a photo, he stopped himself and said, "Well,
this shows the power of a baby. He's making us act like kids
again." Lesson learned.
All in all, this was one of the best family vacations I've ever been on
and one we will remember for a long, long time — even if my son
doesn't. If you have the chance to do the same with your family,
go for it! Brian Kantz is a stay-at-home dad and writer living in Amherst, New York. He invites your comments and can be reached at
. Visit his website at http://users.adelphia.net/~bkantz.
