photo-#2

We had read our travel handbooks, eaten our last hamburgers, packed our bags, gotten our passports, said our goodbyes...we were off.

I said goodbye to my favorite rocking chair and slid into the passenger seat attempting a smile and patting my son, Bennie, on the shoulder.
"Good morning, honey"
"Good morning, George"
This was a morning ritual, one of the ones that made me feel secure. Safe to start another day. This time it did nothing to brighten it. It was final. To Italy we went. It seemed like it would be forever. I will never forgive myself for proposing this vacation, i thought.

ITALY. the letters, big and bold on our plane tickets looked erasable. Unfortunately, the rest of my family, having boarded the plane already, would refuse to turn back. I love my wife and my son, but SOMETIMES... well you know, things can get a little crazy. But this time...really out of hand. I said that i needed to take a "few days of work". this of COURSE meant "We have to raise up all our loose cash and move to Italy for half a year". I think she meant well.

I have never been out of the country. It has just never occured to me. I guess you could call me un-worldly. I don't mind. I'm happy where i live, a small suburb with a fish pond in the back yard and a porch looking out to our neighbors homes perfect for lemonade and reading the newspaper.



When the plane took off, i leaned my head against the window. My wife, Martha, took my hand and smiled. "Isn't this going to be FUN?!" her obnoxious glasses stared back at me waiting for an enthusiastic reply."Yeah" i bit my lip, yeah sure, for you and Bennie. Just think at how many people will be staring. looking. bothering us. I wasnt socially ready. Im 34 years old. I need time to get used to being old! i cant just focus on being different, it doesnt work like that! But instead i nodded my head vigorously and then settled into my newspaper and airplane coffee.

Now dont take me wrong. I loved the fact that i was getting off work. The fact that i was missing it had nothing to do with the fact that i was gloomy about the prospect of boarding a plane. Its just, i was scared i guess. I was a stay-at-home sort of guy. Putting myself in circumstances where i was bound to look like an outsider made me uncomfortable. i liked to blend in to my surroundings. The obvious language boundary i was about to face was only the tip of the iceberg.
The plane took a long time but i dreaded the end in the last hours. I knew that soon i would be prey for the Italians, they would look upon the fact that i didnt speak italian as comical. i could hear the laughter now.

The Wheels hit the runway and the bags were unloaded. Here we are.

Its true. It looked just like the pictures, beautiful. I could not take my eyes off the fantastic buildings and shops. My wife toad me around by the hand exclaiming "oh look at that! Look here! Oh what a beautiful city!"

Benny wanted to go to the beach. He just wouldn't stop pestering us. Every five minutes he would ask. Finally we caved.

The beach was sandy and there weren't that many people (to my liking). The Italians weren't ALL that bad after all... i had seen a number of great art exibits and my family was happy. "take a picture of us George!! Just look at the ocean, how blue it is!!! Quick! Before Bennie runs away!!!"

so i did.
the sun heated up my head of hair and no doubt burned that bald patch up there somewhere. somehow i didn't mind. There were all these people around and somehow i just didn't care. Funny how life works, i thought to myself.
i lay back on the sand, head resting on my hands and realized that i could maybe get used to this....the sun was bright and blinded me as i lay there.