This year we went to South Carolina. We traded our mountain view for a beach front property and, I don't use this term lightly, it was gorgeous. South Carolina, where the only thing more numerous than firework stores is churches. South Carolina, where golf carts take up the road and block traffic on your way to Myrtle Beach. South Carolina, where even the squirrels are friendly.
Spring break trips are special. On these trips we are creating the memories that we will one day tell our kids. Spring break is about knowing the proper level of inebriation for you to wear a cowboy vest. It's about wrecking your lodgings and then scrambling to fix it the last day so you can keep your security deposit. It's about looking at a steakhouse menu in bewilderment, unable to afford anything yet spending your last twenty on filet mignon because you don't care anymore. But most importantly, it's about losing your voice singing Taking Back Sunday songs all night long.
I got the mic and you got the mosh pit.
Sometimes I just want to kick them in the face, but I love my friends. And I can't think of a better group of people to spend a week in a house with. And I'll tell my kids about the time we shot fireworks at each other and got second place in beer-lympics, at the same time laughing and warning them about doing such dangerous things. I'll pass the stories along because, in a Stand By Me kind of way, when the friends go at least you have the stories to tell. Not going in a dying way of course, but more like a life happening kind of way.