How I Spent My Summer Vacation

Well, at least about a week and a half of it anyway. And the roughly 10 days in question occurred with my family on a trip to Florida.

It should be noted that I’m a miserable person, especially when around other people. And my misery only increases when I’m around the same person or people on a regular basis (shout out to the future Mrs. Lincoln, best of luck to you). So vacationing with the family isn’t really something I enjoy doing for the most part.

I was promised by my mother that last year was the last time we would go on a vacation as a family. But it’s apparent that the Lincoln family summer vacation has now gone from once every few year occurrence to a yearly event. I realized this not when I noticed we were going on vacation in consecutive summers for the first time I could remember, but when I heard my dad talking to someone at our hotel and told them he and my mom try to talk my brother and me away at least once a year.

I could’ve chimed in, like an asshole, and said that this now yearly trip’s expenses are almost entirely paid by his boss because apparently my dad is well-liked and important to at least one person. But I didn’t, because he would’ve shot back with something about how he works hard and is footing the bill for my school. I would’ve realized he was right, and felt like quite a jerk. So I stayed quiet, and will continue to until I graduate/drop out/fail out/die.

It’s that trait that makes me feel like I’ll one day be successful. I’ve technically already sold out. I fully intend on doing the same one day if there’s a chance to make a comfortable living.

So anyway, Florida. My grandpa is there, but I thought it was odd to go there to visit him because he splits his time between there and New Jersey, and we had just seen him recently. I was told we’d spend out trip visiting him (i.e. at his house or the local deli) or we’d go to a beach. Great.

Us Lincolns aren’t beach people. For starters, we all beach bodies, which are safely tucked underneath a layer, or layers, of fat. Secondly, we burn. Thirdly, we don’t really like to just sit around for hours upon hours.

Except my brother, who is shameless, apparently.

I packed accordingly: iPod, headphones, sunscreen and three books. I also took some clothes, but not too many.

Our first day at the beach, my brother found a group of young’ns to hang around with. My mom encouraged me to do the same. I reminded her of my social shortcomings, plus I had three books to read. She cried herself to sleep that night. I assume.

It was a ground of I’d say about 8 kids in total, although the number varied throughout the course of the day. As far as I know, they mostly walked around all afternoon, and eventually picked a spot to coolly sit down and talk while all sitting in cool sitting positions. Or they threw around a football. I guess I can’t say fully, as I wasn’t invited to join them.

But that’s totally cool, cause, like, I wouldn’t have wanted to anyway. I had a lot of reading to do.

My brother clearly wanted nothing to do with any of us. One day my mom and I were walking, and we were walking towards my brother and a few of his friends, who were walking towards us. He noticed us, and didn’t acknowledge us. We got closer, I was prepared to not say anything. But as we neared, my mom said, “Zach Lincoln, how are you?” He didn’t answer and kept walking. Ouch.

A few days into the trip my mom was still trying to make me befriend people. We were sitting in some restaurant eating diner, and she told me a few of the people my brother were hanging out are closer to my age (20) than his (15). I said “that’s nice,” and went back to my meal.

She asked my brother if I could go with him and his friends, which would’ve been embarrassing if she wasn’t asking my brother, who is clearly well aware of how un-awesome other people think I am. Personally, I think I’m really awesome.

As my brother was desperately pleading to not have his older tagalong on his daily journey, I started to think at where my life had ended up. When I was growing up, older brothers always seemed cool. They were just older, and all cool. I have the older part down. But if I drive my brother and his friends somewhere, I usually turn my music down, not up, like I remember thinking my friends’ brothers did. And even if I did turn it up, I guess it’s not really music they would recognize for the most part, which would then make me seem odd.

And I wondered if my brother even told people we were brothers. Or if I was some exchange student living with his family. Or an adopted brother. Or a homeless kid with no real family his family took in as a nice gesture.

I then realized I had become the Daria to my brother’s Quinn. I guess somewhat coincidentally, I have a friend who has told me I’m a male version of Daria since we were in middle school. I do like guys in bands and my best friend’s boyfriends, so I can see where that comparison works out nicely.

I suppose I was a little upset, until I realized I reference Daria, at least in my head, and was instantly pleased.

My mom gave up trying to set me up with my brother’s friends after he kept saying I couldn’t hang out with them. That was fine though. I still had a lot of reading to do.

I got my redemption one night when my parents and I went gambling, which I guess is legal in Florida. I don’t know if the legal age is 18 or 21. Nobody questioned my age, but I attribute that to my natural state, which is one that exudes confidence and makes me feel like I own every place I walk into.

I can now also say, after one long night, I don’t like gambling. I lost maybe only $10 of my own money, but it wasn’t even that. It just bored me. Possibly I need to use only my own money, or gamble for high stacks to make it more exciting. I don’t plan on doing that, though.

We started off with some slot machines, which weren’t exciting. They’re a great way to pick up widows though. Well, widows of men who lose their lives in World War II, if you’re into that type of thing. And I am.

Then my parents took me to play some Blackjack. I thought, “Hey, a game at a table! This should be fun!” It wasn’t. At the tables I played with my parents money. I’d say I probably used $10 of their money. We managed to stay at the table for a good 45 minutes. It was thrilling.

I lost all $10 I was given, and I think my parents both left with a few dollars less than they started with. I was ready to go, but was persuaded to stay. And by persuaded, I mean told we weren’t leaving yet.

They said, “Go play some more slots.” I did. Right as I was throwing down some mackalious game on a lovely lady named Estelle, I won $145. That was pretty cool. I gave it to her to help pay for a hip replacement and went on my way.

I found my parents, told them of their success and they claimed to have never been more proud of me. I said we should probably leave, so I can go out on top. That somehow worked, and we left.

The next day we were deciding if we should do something or just go to the beach again. My brother wanted to go to the beach to meet up with his friends. I was trying to push for a day trip to Disney or Universal Studios, as I had been since the announcement of the trip.

“Why would we go there? What could we do there?” my mom said.
“Why not? It’s something to do that might be fun? When’s the last time any of us have been there?”
“What’s wrong with going to the beach?”
“It sucks.”
“You have your headphones. Plus, I thought you had a lot of reading to do.”

Fuck. She got me there, so we once again went to the beach. It sucked.

Finally the end of our trip came. I hadn’t really spoken much the last two days of the trip. I hated these people now. And I didn’t want to talk to people I hated. I’m pretty sure my mom felt the same about everyone else too. My brother didn’t give a shit about us. And my dad thought we were all having a great trip because the family was together, and that’s all it takes.

Our seats going back on the plane were split up two in one row and two a few rows back. My mom and I had decided this was good, and we’d sit together and my brother and dad would a few rows away. My dad wasn’t having it. He wanted us all to be together.

When we checked in my dad asked if we could switch the seats around to find four together.

“So you have four seats on the plane, split up by two in different rows, and you want to have four together?” she said.

“Yes,” my dad said.

“Or,” I interrupted, “if you have four separate seats in possibly the corners of the plane, we’d take those too.”

She smiled and told us that more often than we’d believe, couples or married people often want to split up their seats on the ride back from a vacation. I found it not hard to believe.

My dad didn’t find it funny. He told me that it’s important for the family to be together. Whenever he talks about us as “the family” I always feel like we should be in the mafia, or else “the family” just doesn’t work.

Like, “Adaham, you have to do what’s best for the family. Take out Sal.”

It makes me happy to think about my family being in the mafia, but then I immediately get depressed because I know I’m too much of a pussy to actually kill anyone. And then I realize I’d be an embarrassment in a mafia family, and relegated to being a driver or something. And that’s how my family’s vacation ended - ith depressing thoughts of being unable to murder and having to drive around Italians.

It wasn’t a total waste, though. I got a lot of reading done.