A Week in the South

A trip to my father's house was oftentimes a bit trying. In the past, the time spent with my father would usually be spent alone amidst a swirl of booze, parties and strangers.

My dad's gotten older. He can't drink like he used to. He hasn't stopped altogether. But he just doesn't have the stamina that he did back in the 80s and early 90s.

This past week in Myrtle Beach was one of the most memorable trips I've taken to see my father, stepmother and siblings. Sure, we drank. But like we have in the past. I caught a matinee with my father on a cold Friday afternoon. We talked about my future. He displayed a newfound generosity that was usually reserved for my half sister and half brother. We ate.

I also spent a great deal of the week with my brother John. I whipped his ass in a ping pong tournament that just wouldn't come to an end. We split in bowling. We bought a bunch of shots. We talked about the Yankees and music. We bolted onto a stage at 2am to duet on Springsteen's "Thunder Road" (yes, I was down on one knee).

It was what Thanksgiving is supposed to be. Family. Cheers. And most importantly, a load of memories.

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