Mark Chance
Boingy! Boingy!
The Chances Go to Branson, Missouri
It’s family vacation time again! For those of you who missed our last trip, you may check it out in this thread and this one also.
This summer is not only another family vacation, but also a return to what passes for normalcy for us. Last summer, shortly after our romp through the Texas hill country, tragedy visited our family as my brother-in-spirit Fred Hawkins and his mother Ruth both died. The ripples of this tragic disruption have only just begun to vanish, but, of course, the empty places Fred and Ruth have left will never be filled.
Day One
Early on Friday, June 11, we hit the road for Branson, Missouri. This is a much more dramatic drive than merely trekking from Houston to the San Antonio area. All told, we covered about 600 miles in 12 hours, which is a slower pace than I anticipated, but I didn’t reckon with the tiny bladder size that my son Christopher (age 7) inherited from my wife Katrina (age undisclosed). My daughter Adrienne (age 6), taking after me, has a bladder the size of a soccer ball.
For our trip, we left our 10-year-old Toyota Corolla in Houston and rented a new Chevy Malibu, all the time hoping to avoid a repeat of last summer’s rental car problems. We packed the trunk full of necessaries (and a few luxuries, such as my new laptop on which I type this travelogue). The kids were comfortably buckled into the back. My wife sat on my right, holding the map ready for me to look at. Katrina has gotten better at reading maps, but still cannot be completely trusted with one.
And so, after a light breakfast, we set sail. Our route first took us to US 59 North out of Houston. After about a half hour, we left the city limits. I seldom appreciate exactly how large Houston is until I’m in a hurry to be out of the city. We passed through many small towns, such as historical Nacogdoches, where crazy Americans once declared that Texas, then under Mexico’s rule, was in fact the free Republic of Freedonia.
We completed the first leg of our drive right around lunchtime. We stopped in Texarkana for a rather bland meal at McDonald’s. Not that this blandness was surprising, of course, since that is truly McDonald’s specialty. The children, brainwashed by billions of dollars of corporate advertising, believe that McDonald’s is haute cuisine, and they also giggled a lot about the NeoPet plush toys that came with the aptly-named Happy Meals.
As an example of how insidious advertising can be in the minds of young children, consider the Scooby-Doo cereal. Television commercials for this noxious foodstuff show impossibly healthy children (“impossibly” due to their choice of breakfast fare) sitting around a table, giggling like lunatics as every marshmallow-filled bite induces psychotic fits of laughter. My daughter, who despite this one incident is a remarkably intelligent girl, saw these commercials and bullied my wife into buying Scooby-Doo cereal while at Fiesta.
The next day, Christopher and Adrienne dutifully surrounded the breakfast table, bowls and spoons at the ready, eager to experience the sheer hilarity of Scooby-Doo. They tittered with anticipation. My son, who has become the brave one since our white water adventure last summer, took the first bite.
Nothing happened. No compulsive peals of joys exploded from his lips. My daughter figured that Christopher hadn’t eaten enough, so she wolfed down several bites. The titters of anticipation turned to expressions of confusion. Finally, all of the cereal consumed and not a single fit of laughter to be had, Christopher opined, “Maybe you have to drink the milk, too.” But, alas, the giggling effects shown in the commercial are not triggered by the addition of milk.
And so my children learned an important lesson, summed up by my disappointed daughter. “Mommy,” she said, “the tee vee lied.”
But I digress.
We left Texarkana, and Christopher took over as navigator while Katrina moved to the back seat to be repeatedly elbowed by Adrienne. Not only has Adrienne inherited my jumbo-sized bladder, she also has my spear-like elbows. If the Zulus had been armed with my elbows, the British would never have stood a chance. As can be deduced from its name, Texarkana is just a hop, skip, and a jump from Arkansas, a state that has a richly-deserved reputation for both beautiful scenery and the difficulty one faces trying to find a native with a full set of teeth.
By this time, we had left US 59-North in favor of Interstate 30-East. In my wisdom, I had planned on the scenic route through the Ozarks, following the perilously steep and snake-like State Highway 7-North, which we picked up in Caddo Valley, just a few miles south of Hot Springs, Arkansas. SH 7-North cuts through Ouachita National Park and the Ozark National Forest.
It is a beautiful part of the state, especially for people raised in Houston. There is a noticeable lack of terrain verticality in Houston, which was built on a low-land, semi-tropical swamp. SH-7 North is full of switchback, hairpin turns that cannot be safely taken at speeds above 20 miles per hour. Frequently, sheer drop-offs of scores of yards are mere feet from either side of the car. There are deciduous and needle-leaf trees as far as the eye can see.
Since I love contrasts, as counterpoint to all of this natural beauty, I had Christopher at the ready with several CDs of funk classics. Urban music in bluegrass country. We cruised to the sounds of the Dramatics, Curtis Mayfield, the Chi-Lites, Parliament, the mighty O’Jays, and Lakeside (with musical detours through the greatest hits of Iggy Pop, the B-52s, and Alice Cooper). While Christopher and me got down with our bad selves, Katrina and Adrienne napped.
Eventually, SH-7 North leads to Harrison, Arkansas, where I spent a few summer weeks visiting my paternal grandparents’ farm as a youth. From Harrison, we picked up U.S. Highway 65-North, which is a straight shot into Branson. By eight-o’clock in the evening, we were in Branson, having a passable dinner of Chinese food: lemon chicken and fried won ton for me, Hunan pork for the boy, beef lo mein for the girl, and almond chicken for the woman. After dinner, we retired to our “cabin” (actually a two-bedroom, timeshare apartment) at the Holiday Hills resort to rest up for tomorrow’s fun.
Day Two
After a quick breakfast, we discovered that our rental car still worked, and so we drove out to Branson proper to see some sights. After navigating what passes for heavy traffic in Branson, we arrived at the Waltzing Waters theater to see the fantastic Frederick and the Fountains of Fire (dig that alliteration). Since we were early, we committed chronocide (Killed some time! Get it?) by visiting the World’s Largest Toy Museum. We all oohed and aahed at the many toys. Christopher loved the old Batman toys. Adrienne was mesmerized by the rotating Barbie display. That is, the display rotated. Not the Barbies. My wife waxed nostalgic in the Raggedy Ann section, recalling fondly the doll her mother handcrafted for her. I walked around, keeping a mental tab of all of the things on display that I once owned but that my mother tossed out pretty much the day after I left the house at the age of 17 to join the Army.
After the toys, we returned to the Waltzing Waters theater for the show. I’m trying to instill in my children an appreciation of live music, and Frederick did not disappoint. While his stand-up interludes were very cheesy, and the Fountains of Fire were somewhat distracting, Frederick plays a mean piano. In fact, he plays two mean pianos at the same time, one with each hand, to include playing two different songs simultaneously. Adrienne was suitably impressed that Frederick hunched over the ivories in a sort of Jerry Lee Lewis way. Christopher did a lot of chair dancing, to include breaking into the macarena at one point in time.
After the show, we zipped around the block to Golden Corral for the lunch buffet. Everyone is so nice in Branson. Waitresses at Golden Corral in Houston are downright surly. They act like they’re doing you a favor by refilling your water or bringing you another clean plate. Not so in Branson. Our waitress, Linda, was the very picture of southern hospitality. Even the other customers were nice, such as the elderly woman who chatted me up in the dessert line.
Lunch complete, we hit the road again, picking up 65-North into Springfield to visit Fantastic Caverns. According to Margaret, our driver/tour guide, Fantastic Caverns is the only drive-through cavern in the U.S., and one of only four in the whole world. In our propane-powered jeep, we cruised through the caves. Since I’m so cute, I got to sit next to Margaret. She chatted me up also, so much so that Margaret didn’t hear Katrina’s frequent questions about cavern-related trivia. In truth, Katrina doesn’t care about cavern-related trivia. The questions were just part of her never-ending battle to keep women away from the wonders of me.
Like many caverns in the U.S., Fantastic Caverns was once the site of live musical entertainment, violent secret societies, bootlegger-run speak-easies, and adventuresome country folk who liked stumbling around in the dark. The first organized exploration of Fantastic Caverns in 1867 was undertaken by a group of women from a local athletic society. In true tourist fashion, they vandalized the cave by writing their names on one of the walls.
After exiting the cave, we went on a little nature walk. We saw many trees and rocks, as well as a bluff, something that does not occur naturally anywhere in Houston. Adrienne expressed concern that we might get eaten by bears. Christopher raced ahead in his guise as Safety Boy, checking out the trail, making sure we used the handrails, and so forth.
By the time we were done with Fantastic Caverns, it was dinner time. We drove back to Branson and our lodge, where we dined on frozen pizzas. Actually, when we dined on them, they weren’t frozen anymore. We cooked them first.
After the children were in bed, I watched some cable TV. We don’t have cable TV at home. That’s because cable TV only multiplies the number of channels on which there is nothing worth watching. Of course, Law & Order was on about half the stations. Dean Cain was in an awful Sci-Fi Channel movie. To be fair, that’s the only kind of movie Dean Cain or the Sci-Fi Channel does, so I wasn’t surprised.
Day Three
Day three begins with a breakfast of scrambled eggs, biscuits with grape jelly, and our choice of either milk or orange juice, prepared by yours truly. Following breakfast, we attend 10:30 a.m. Mass at Our Lady of the Lake. Overall, it was a pleasant service. By the time Mass was over and we made it back to our rooms, it was time for a lunch of left over pizza and Chinese food.
For our post-lunch entertainment, we drove over to the Mansion America theater to catch the 3:00 p.m. showing of Joseph & the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, a personal favorite of both children. It was a well-done production all around. All of the actors were appropriately hammy, and they all looked like they were enjoying themselves. Landon Rose, who had the title role, did a bang-up job, especially on “Close Every Door”. Michael Todd Harris, playing Potiphar, did a hilarious soft shoe. Christopher and Adrienne both enjoyed themselves immensely.
We returned to the resort about 5:00 p.m. The kids and wife donned their swimsuits. I abstained from swimming since I forgot to pack my trunks. I attract enough unwanted, feminine attention without skinny dipping in a public pool. Besides which, I was a bit tired from not sleeping terribly well in a strange place. So, after dropping the wife and kids off at the pool, I went back to the cabin to relax a bit in that near total silence that can only be achieved in the absence of children.
I got up to leave the apartment about 6:20 p.m. to go fetch the wife and kids from the pool. To my limitless horror, when I opened the door, I was confronted by the bone-chilling presence of two mud daubers. In my life, I have handled poisonous snakes. I’ve rappelled down rocky hillsides. I’ve looked out an airplane window to see gouts of flame shooting from an engine while 35,000 feet above the Pacific Ocean. People have aimed loaded guns at me, pulled knives on me, and I’ve spent a night in jail in an overcrowded cell. None of these scared me as much as facing down flying bugs with stingers.
To my limited credit, I did try to leave the apartment. I pressed a wide eye to the peephole and frantically searched for signs of buzzing horror. Of course, they are canny hunters, and hid out of sight until I opened the door. Then, they dove in for the kill, and I slammed the door, retreating in a cold sweat. Unable to rescue myself, I called maintenance and explained my phobia-induced imprisonment. Two brave maintenance men, armed with insecticide, came to my rescue. They were polite. While I could just barely detect derision in their eyes, neither one cast aspersions on my manhood for being afraid of bugs.
Free at last, I drove down the hill and around the bend to finally get the well-soaked wife and children. I apologized and explained the cause for my delay. Katrina, who has learned to suffer my neuroses with remarkable grace, said comforting things. When we got back to the apartment, she cooked tacos. Tacos always make the boogey-men go away.
Day Four
Since we’re on a limited budget owing to the fact that my wife and I have chosen spiritually rewarding careers in historically underpaid professions (she’s an executive assistant for Houston Achievement Place and I teach in an inner-city Catholic school), we started the morning by adding up receipts for expenses so far. We were pleased to see that we’re pretty much right on target as far as money goes.
One nice thing about the timeshare we bought into is that the units all have fully stocked kitchens. Thus, rather than eating out three meals a day plus snacks, which gets terribly expensive, we trundle over to a local grocery store and stock up on provisions. We buy things like the aforementioned frozen pizzas, cold cereal, Pop Tarts, the ever-popular macaroni and cheese, milk and juice, coffee, and so forth. After a hard day of merry-making, we return to our apartment, gather around the dinner table, and dine in each other’s company.
In order to economize money while maximizing fun, we decided to purchase a CityHopper package from Silver Dollar City. This package gives us four days in three amusement parks packed with plenty of things to amaze Christopher and Adrienne. With the decision of what to do out of the way, we ate breakfast. Everyone else had cold cereal. I had two slices of wheat toast with peanut butter and grape jelly. Few things in life are more sublime than gooey peanut butter on warm bread. I also downed three cups of black coffee.
Going out in public with my children is always interesting. Christopher and Adrienne are both very well-behaved (mostly), largely because we don’t let the television do our parenting for us. Since Katrina and me are both exceptionally intelligent (especially me), our children are also terribly bright. Of course, everyone always says they’re children are terribly bright, but ours really are. I’m actually concerned that the boy is too bright. We may have to have him put ahead a grade sometime in the next few years. He starts the second grade this fall, and he’s already scoring two to four grade levels ahead of his peers in all tested curriculum areas.
Christopher is rather large for a seven-year-old. Katrina is 68 inches tall. Christopher almost comes up to her shoulder. As a result of his tender age and enormous size, Christopher’s motor skills, fine or otherwise, are noticeably lacking. Tying his shoes, a task Adrienne mastered over a year ago, is for Christopher an arduous chore fraught with more failure than success. He’s got a whole shoe-tying narrative worked out. The shoe strings are trees that fall down, perking up bunny ears attached to rabbits that run through holes. Unfortunately, the bunny ears are often malformed or misnumbered (“Four bunny ears!?”), and the rabbits either miss the holes entirely or the holes cave in on the rabbits, causing them to die horrible deaths by suffocation. But, at least he has a story to tell.
Again, I digress.
We made the scenic drive up to Silver Dollar City and parked in Lot F. A short tram ride later, we arrived at the park’s entrance, quickly purchased our tickets, and then entered Silver Dollar City proper. The theme of the park is 19th-century American hillbilly, including low-budget period costumes and frequent allusions to Mark Twain’s fiction. The first attraction we stood in line for was Marvel Cave.
I couldn’t help but notice two things. One, we were actually going on a cave tour in an amusement park. Two, there were Caucasians as far as the eye could see. I’m not used to this. In Houston, the minorities, considered collectively, aren’t the minority. For example, at Resurrection Catholic School where I teach, it isn’t much of an exaggeration to say that my children are the only non-Hispanic students. We’ve got a Chinatown, a little Vietnam, barrios and other ethnic ghettos (now politically-correctly referred to as inner-city areas). There are something like 90 different languages spoken in Houston.
Living in Houston, it’s easy to forget that most Americans are white. It was a minor bit of culture shock to find out that, in southern Missouri, the demographic situation reflects something very different from Houston. It made me think that Springfield, Missouri, would have been a better setting for Friends, the zombie equivalent of a T.V. show (IOW, it lived on well after its death and assaulted one’s intelligence in a manner analogous to eating one’s brain).
The friends on that show were all white folks. People of color were used largely for nothing more than window dressing, but not too much window dressing. Even the street scenes were populated largely by nothing by white folk. In Manhattan. As my daughter has noted, T.V. lies. You can’t swing a dead cat in Manhattan and not hit a Puerto Rican, an African-American (or even a regular African), a Pakistani, et cetera. I’m suddenly reminded of the Mad TV skit that explained that the abbreviation NBC really stands for Nothing But Caucasians.
Marvel Cave was marvelous. The Cathedral Room, accessed by descending about a billion stairs, is surely one of the largest natural chambers in the world. It is large enough that once, several years ago, the chamber was host to five hot air balloons. A 20-story building, including the city block on which it stands, would fit in the Cathedral Room. We squeezed through some very narrow passages with low-ceilings. In a few places, the ceiling was no more than four feet high. There are oodles of stairs, including a perilous spiral staircase that leads down to the base of the waterfall, which is out 500 feet below the earth’s surface.
As adults, we sometimes lose the “comfortability” of striking up conversations with complete strangers without fear of judgement. Children, thankfully, have not. As we descended the first flight of stairs, Christopher quickly found in the crowd two boys that appeared to be around his age. Sometimes judging other children’s ages is difficult since we have giant, Texas-sized children. Christopher and the two boys struck up a conversation, telling each other all of their previous vacation experiences. The boys’ father and Katrina looked uncomfortably at one another on occasion.
Adrienne has developed a shy streak and usually refrains from talking to strangers. Christopher, in order to give the girl something to do, delegated his job as Safety Boy to his sister. Adrienne walked cautiously, warned us of low-hanging rocks, explained that slippery spots are ideal places for the careless to fall, and so forth. Christopher, meanwhile, decided that in a cave on narrow trails near sheer drop-offs was a good place to work on his sprinting skills. A quick smack to the back of the head, which had a very satisfying echo in the cave, disabused him of this new hobby.
The climb up isn’t quite as arduous, but only because most of it is accomplished by riding on a train. From running 30 miles a week for the first four years I was in the Army, the cartilage in my knees has been pounded to the thickness of bond paper. I greatly enjoyed the train ride as it gave my aching joints time to rest.
After the cave, we hit the pizza buffet at a nearby park restaurant, and then set out to ride some rides. My wife isn’t much for rides, especially those that go fast or drop suddenly or are fun, so she sat a few of them out. We went on a slow-moving water ride. The boats included pistols that fired some sort of invisible signal. Situated throughout the ride were dozens of small targets that, when hit by this invisible signal, would make the goofy, prison/mine-inspired figures and decor do different things. Hit that target, and water would spray from a ruptured pipe. Hit this target, and a coffin would open to reveal a skeleton. Stuff like that.
I couldn’t help but think how much more fun the “It’s a Small World” ride would be if it included firearms. While the children of the world chirp out that annoying song, the riders could lay down barrages of suppressive fire. The more effective the barrages, the less of that song that gets played. In place of it, blaring over the noise of gunfire, as a reward for stopping the madness, the speakers could belt out Alice Cooper’s “Welcome to My Nightmare.” Now that would be a ride.
We next went toward the water rides. These rides say you will get wet on them, which is an understatement. We couldn’t have gotten much wetter by slowly lowering ourselves via a ridiculously slow-moving dipping mechanism into a 500-gallon drum of water. The first ride was a sort of watery roller coaster. My wife braved this fun. Fortunately, it didn’t scare her too badly. There was also a “white water” raft ride which we all went on. For this one, the park attendants put you into a circular boat and send you spinning down river so that cold water can splash up your back and down your shorts.
Katrina refused to go on the water slide. Adrienne insisted she wanted to go on it, and I decided to let her find out on her own that she wouldn’t like it. Experience is the best teacher. After a leisurely ride through a narrow, artificial river, the boat, shaped like a dugout canoe, rides to the top of 45-foot-high slide. The boat, along with its passengers, then races in a near free-fall into a large splash pool. Christopher screamed and laughed like a madman. Adrienne was nearly in tears, but calmed down when I assured her that she was perfectly safe and that she wouldn’t have to go back on the ride. Katrina further gender-typed Adrienne by explaining to her that boys always like doing stupid things (such as plunging into pools of water after a free fall in a boat), and that sensible girls justly avoided such madness.
By now, it was time to head over to the Riverfront Theater for the Veggie Tales show. Bob and Larry were enormous. Bob was easily the second largest tomato I’ve ever seen. They were also fighting because Larry wanted to change the opening theme song, but Bob objected that Larry was too silly. This, of course, delayed the show while the other characters and the audience had to teach Bob and Larry about being friends. By the time Bob realized he was being selfish, there was only time left to let Larry do the new theme song, which was really just the old theme song with a techno feel to it. Bob was clearly over-reacting.
For young children, people in giant vegetable costumes passes for great theater. Christopher and Adrienne were enthralled. Larry exerts an almost Jim Jones-like effect on them. Of course, Larry is terribly funny, so it’s understandable. Jim Jones was probably a real hoot at parties as well. When he wasn’t convincing people to kill themselves and their children, that is. Unfortunately, there was only one Silly Song included with the show, but it was the Hairbrush Song, so I guess that’s satisfactory.
There are two areas in Silver Dollar City where children can run amok. One is a treehouse motif maze of cargo netting, child-sized tunnels (both vertical and horizontal, although, I suppose, a vertical tunnel is more aptly called a shaft), and slides. The kids and I had fun racing around inside it. The other area is a multi-story building of sorts that contains water cannons, slides, and squishy balls that can be fired out of air guns.
By the time we were done playing with the air guns and water cannons, it was time to go. Adrienne was arguing about everything, which she only does when she’s tired and/or hungry. We trammed back to our car and drove back to our rooms. While I went to the coin-operated laundry, Katrina fixed beef tips and mashed potatoes with gravy for dinner. After dinner, we put the children to bed. Katrina went to sleep not too long after. I was up until about 10:00 p.m. in amazement that cable gives us 50 some odd channels of nothing worth watching. Oh yeah: Law & Order was still on.
Day Five
Breakfast this day consisted of leftover taco meat mixed with scrambled eggs and cheese, some fresh fruit, and blueberry muffins. Once we were bathed, dressed, and so forth, we climbed into the car and drove into Branson to visit the White Water park. We arrived early, about 10:00 a.m., and the park was only lightly populated by visitors. Consequently, the lines for the various water slides were short.
Katrina, of course, refused to go on about half the rides. Adrienne, however, was brave enough to hit the slides on her own. You can’t ride triple on any of the water slides, and I didn’t want the children fighting over me. We tried taking turns with Daddy, but, to be honest, I got tired hauling that double-inner-tube-boat contraption up all of those stairs. The water slides were appropriately fast, twisting, and, in most cases, dark, the latter because the slide turned into a windowless tube.
Katrina did climb to the top of one of the water slides, but when she saw the tube through which she would be sliding in near-total darkness at excessive speeds, she declined the ride. She later confessed that she was certain she would become lost somehow. This wouldn’t seem like much of a possibility, since you can’t actually exit the tube until the very end, and this very end is connected to the very beginning, thus eliminating all possibility of getting lost. But this is my wife we’re talking about.
Before heading to the water park, I needed to buy some swim trunks. Since I’m congenitally lazy, I imperiously dispatched the rest of my family on this errand while I lazed about. There is a sort of convenience store on the property here. It is about a half-mile away. To get there, one drives down the hill, following the road in the only direction it goes. Then one either makes a left or a right. Right takes you off property, but another left gets you right back on the property. There are signs with bold letters and arrows everywhere.
Katrina got lost. The seven-year-old boy, fortunately, inherited my sense of direction and was able to direct Katrina back to our apartments. Otherwise, she and the kids would have likely ended up in Kansas.
There is also a straight water slide, the start of which must be at least fifty feet high. Christopher chickened out the first time we went up all of those stairs. While I rocketed down on my back to skip across the water of the receiving pool on my buttocks, Christopher climbed back down the stairs. Later, after we spent some time floating around in the artificial river and being jostled in the wave pool (listening to Adrienne loudly comment on how inappropriately dressed were many of the older girls), Christopher and I returned to the high slide. Katrina and Adrienne waited at the end of the ride, undoubtedly discussing the stupid things boys do.
This second time, Christopher gritted his teeth and bravely plummeted to the bottom with me just a bit behind him on the other chute of the slide. Christopher discovered that water can forcibly shoot up his nose, but he was otherwise unscathed. He even said he wanted to go again, but by this time my knees were about ready to explode. The only way I was going back to the top of the tower was if they installed an elevator.
After all of this water-related fun, it was past lunch time. Adrienne was arguing about everything. We drove back to the resort. While the children rested and watched cartoons, I fixed macaroni and cheese and beef brautwurst for a late lunch. We spent the rest of the day indoors. My knees and calves were cramping by this time, so I took a couple of painkillers and laid on the coach until it was time to go to bed.
Day Six
As I write these words, day six is already off to a rough start. Christopher woke up shortly after me. He sits next to me, engrossed in a Bible trivia book. Adrienne woke up just as I was going to start this paragraph. Seeing Christopher enjoying himself, she decided to intervene in the fun.
“Let’s play that together, Christopher,” she said. This really means, “Christopher, you sit there and watch me play.”
When Christopher noted that he wanted to read on his own, Adrienne kicked him. Since kicking people isn’t usually a good way to handle disappointment, I sent Adrienne to another part of the room. She is now playing with the Hot Wheels and blocks.
Adding to the irritating behavior of the children was the uncooperative weather. It was raining. Not a heavy rain, mind you, but enough that the many outdoor activities in and around Branson would be closed. Since the third amusement park on our list is outside, this presented problems. Also, we had eaten all of our breakfast fare. We love breakfast.
So, with the children still arguing about who did or did not do this or that, we climbed into the car and drove into town. Everywhere you go in America, you can find two places essential to survival: Wal-Mart and Denny’s. Two stores, both open 24 hours a day, that together sell everything you could possibly need.
Denny’s in Branson is expensive. An expensive Denny’s. That’s a new oxymoron. Breakfast for all four of us, not including tip, was about $8 more expensive than the same breakfast in Houston. I guess eggs are harder to come by in Missouri.
While we were eating, a youthful fellow named Ryan came by our table. He explained that he is the good-looking Hughes brother, and gave us a coupon to come see his family’s show. Since it was still raining and the children were worried about not having fun, we decided to go. I was dubious. Never before have I been panhandled by a well-dressed, relatively (compared to me) handsome entertainer. Surely, if the Hughes brothers have to solicit audience members at Denny’s, their show must be lacking something crucial to a show.
Fortunately, I was wrong, which is something that seldom ever happens. The Hughes Brothers show was entertaining. The brothers are a quintet of singers who sample various southern rock, gospel, cowboy songs, and Broadway show tunes. Being talented is mandatory in their family. Their wives sing and dance. Their brood of children sing and dance. One of the brothers plays a mean Spanish guitar. One of the daughters, age eleven, plays a mean violin (or fiddle, as we call them down here). During intermission and after the show, the brothers are quite accessible. They posed for pictures, signed autographs, sold merchandise, shook hands, and so forth. Adrienne insisted on meeting Jason because “he’s cute.” Christopher giggled a lot.
After this show, we ate lunch and then went to see the Amazing Kirby. He was the children’s first real magic show. Adrienne did her best to analyze each trick, making predictions about who would vanish from where only to reappear elsewhere. She’s bright enough to know that magic is a trick. Kirby was pretty good. According to his emcee, he was voted magician of the year recently. He also had scantily clad dancing girls. Both Adrienne and I admired their form, but with different connotations to the word “form.”
Also, comedian Phillip Wellford did a few brief skits. He juggles, rides a unicycle, and tells bad jokes. For example:
“We arranged the parking lot so that people won’t get confused. Folks from Texas park in the flat area. Folks from Missouri park in the inclined area. Folks from Arkansas park where their cars won’t get repossessed.”
Ba-dum-ching!
Having gone off budget this day, we left Kirby’s show and headed back to the timeshare. It was still raining, so any more indoor fun would have seriously tapped into our vacation funds. For some reason, I was terribly tired, so I climbed into bed and watched the ludicrous Red Planet on the Sci-Fi Channel. Katrina made peach cobbler and some sort of main course for dinner. I ate the peach cobbler.
Our Last Day
Day seven is off to a better start. The children aren’t fighting. I don’t hear any rain. Looks like today we might actually make it to Celebration City!, which is the third amusement park. Since it is still early on day seven, and my wife is reclined next to me pinching my buttocks, I guess I should sign off for now. More on today’s activities after we’ve actually completed them.
Time passes....
Well, we’ve completed today’s activities, and they were a bust. We hit Golden Corral for the breakfast buffet again. Then, after a brief detour to an ATM to get some cash, we went and played a round of putt-putt golf. Unfortunately, this was about all of the fun the children were able to handle. They were just too tired from everything that’s gone on the past few days.
So, rather than listen to the children whine and fight about everything, I made a command decision and piled everyone back into the car. We returned to the resort and spent a relatively quiet day indoors. The children played with their toys and watched cartoons. I worked on a Mutants & Masterminds Super-Link product that I’ve been given the green light by Green Ronin to develop. Katrina puttered about, cleaning this and that, packing this and that, et cetera, preparing for our return to Houston tomorrow morning. Since the drive back to Houston was very much like the drive away from Houston, I’ll spare you the blow-by-blow account of the return trip.
And thus the Chance family 2004 summer vacation comes to an end. All in all, it was a smashing success, but I’m glad to be back home where I can get some rest.
It’s family vacation time again! For those of you who missed our last trip, you may check it out in this thread and this one also.
This summer is not only another family vacation, but also a return to what passes for normalcy for us. Last summer, shortly after our romp through the Texas hill country, tragedy visited our family as my brother-in-spirit Fred Hawkins and his mother Ruth both died. The ripples of this tragic disruption have only just begun to vanish, but, of course, the empty places Fred and Ruth have left will never be filled.
Day One
Early on Friday, June 11, we hit the road for Branson, Missouri. This is a much more dramatic drive than merely trekking from Houston to the San Antonio area. All told, we covered about 600 miles in 12 hours, which is a slower pace than I anticipated, but I didn’t reckon with the tiny bladder size that my son Christopher (age 7) inherited from my wife Katrina (age undisclosed). My daughter Adrienne (age 6), taking after me, has a bladder the size of a soccer ball.
For our trip, we left our 10-year-old Toyota Corolla in Houston and rented a new Chevy Malibu, all the time hoping to avoid a repeat of last summer’s rental car problems. We packed the trunk full of necessaries (and a few luxuries, such as my new laptop on which I type this travelogue). The kids were comfortably buckled into the back. My wife sat on my right, holding the map ready for me to look at. Katrina has gotten better at reading maps, but still cannot be completely trusted with one.
And so, after a light breakfast, we set sail. Our route first took us to US 59 North out of Houston. After about a half hour, we left the city limits. I seldom appreciate exactly how large Houston is until I’m in a hurry to be out of the city. We passed through many small towns, such as historical Nacogdoches, where crazy Americans once declared that Texas, then under Mexico’s rule, was in fact the free Republic of Freedonia.
We completed the first leg of our drive right around lunchtime. We stopped in Texarkana for a rather bland meal at McDonald’s. Not that this blandness was surprising, of course, since that is truly McDonald’s specialty. The children, brainwashed by billions of dollars of corporate advertising, believe that McDonald’s is haute cuisine, and they also giggled a lot about the NeoPet plush toys that came with the aptly-named Happy Meals.
As an example of how insidious advertising can be in the minds of young children, consider the Scooby-Doo cereal. Television commercials for this noxious foodstuff show impossibly healthy children (“impossibly” due to their choice of breakfast fare) sitting around a table, giggling like lunatics as every marshmallow-filled bite induces psychotic fits of laughter. My daughter, who despite this one incident is a remarkably intelligent girl, saw these commercials and bullied my wife into buying Scooby-Doo cereal while at Fiesta.
The next day, Christopher and Adrienne dutifully surrounded the breakfast table, bowls and spoons at the ready, eager to experience the sheer hilarity of Scooby-Doo. They tittered with anticipation. My son, who has become the brave one since our white water adventure last summer, took the first bite.
Nothing happened. No compulsive peals of joys exploded from his lips. My daughter figured that Christopher hadn’t eaten enough, so she wolfed down several bites. The titters of anticipation turned to expressions of confusion. Finally, all of the cereal consumed and not a single fit of laughter to be had, Christopher opined, “Maybe you have to drink the milk, too.” But, alas, the giggling effects shown in the commercial are not triggered by the addition of milk.
And so my children learned an important lesson, summed up by my disappointed daughter. “Mommy,” she said, “the tee vee lied.”
But I digress.
We left Texarkana, and Christopher took over as navigator while Katrina moved to the back seat to be repeatedly elbowed by Adrienne. Not only has Adrienne inherited my jumbo-sized bladder, she also has my spear-like elbows. If the Zulus had been armed with my elbows, the British would never have stood a chance. As can be deduced from its name, Texarkana is just a hop, skip, and a jump from Arkansas, a state that has a richly-deserved reputation for both beautiful scenery and the difficulty one faces trying to find a native with a full set of teeth.
By this time, we had left US 59-North in favor of Interstate 30-East. In my wisdom, I had planned on the scenic route through the Ozarks, following the perilously steep and snake-like State Highway 7-North, which we picked up in Caddo Valley, just a few miles south of Hot Springs, Arkansas. SH 7-North cuts through Ouachita National Park and the Ozark National Forest.
It is a beautiful part of the state, especially for people raised in Houston. There is a noticeable lack of terrain verticality in Houston, which was built on a low-land, semi-tropical swamp. SH-7 North is full of switchback, hairpin turns that cannot be safely taken at speeds above 20 miles per hour. Frequently, sheer drop-offs of scores of yards are mere feet from either side of the car. There are deciduous and needle-leaf trees as far as the eye can see.
Since I love contrasts, as counterpoint to all of this natural beauty, I had Christopher at the ready with several CDs of funk classics. Urban music in bluegrass country. We cruised to the sounds of the Dramatics, Curtis Mayfield, the Chi-Lites, Parliament, the mighty O’Jays, and Lakeside (with musical detours through the greatest hits of Iggy Pop, the B-52s, and Alice Cooper). While Christopher and me got down with our bad selves, Katrina and Adrienne napped.
Eventually, SH-7 North leads to Harrison, Arkansas, where I spent a few summer weeks visiting my paternal grandparents’ farm as a youth. From Harrison, we picked up U.S. Highway 65-North, which is a straight shot into Branson. By eight-o’clock in the evening, we were in Branson, having a passable dinner of Chinese food: lemon chicken and fried won ton for me, Hunan pork for the boy, beef lo mein for the girl, and almond chicken for the woman. After dinner, we retired to our “cabin” (actually a two-bedroom, timeshare apartment) at the Holiday Hills resort to rest up for tomorrow’s fun.
Day Two
After a quick breakfast, we discovered that our rental car still worked, and so we drove out to Branson proper to see some sights. After navigating what passes for heavy traffic in Branson, we arrived at the Waltzing Waters theater to see the fantastic Frederick and the Fountains of Fire (dig that alliteration). Since we were early, we committed chronocide (Killed some time! Get it?) by visiting the World’s Largest Toy Museum. We all oohed and aahed at the many toys. Christopher loved the old Batman toys. Adrienne was mesmerized by the rotating Barbie display. That is, the display rotated. Not the Barbies. My wife waxed nostalgic in the Raggedy Ann section, recalling fondly the doll her mother handcrafted for her. I walked around, keeping a mental tab of all of the things on display that I once owned but that my mother tossed out pretty much the day after I left the house at the age of 17 to join the Army.
After the toys, we returned to the Waltzing Waters theater for the show. I’m trying to instill in my children an appreciation of live music, and Frederick did not disappoint. While his stand-up interludes were very cheesy, and the Fountains of Fire were somewhat distracting, Frederick plays a mean piano. In fact, he plays two mean pianos at the same time, one with each hand, to include playing two different songs simultaneously. Adrienne was suitably impressed that Frederick hunched over the ivories in a sort of Jerry Lee Lewis way. Christopher did a lot of chair dancing, to include breaking into the macarena at one point in time.
After the show, we zipped around the block to Golden Corral for the lunch buffet. Everyone is so nice in Branson. Waitresses at Golden Corral in Houston are downright surly. They act like they’re doing you a favor by refilling your water or bringing you another clean plate. Not so in Branson. Our waitress, Linda, was the very picture of southern hospitality. Even the other customers were nice, such as the elderly woman who chatted me up in the dessert line.
Lunch complete, we hit the road again, picking up 65-North into Springfield to visit Fantastic Caverns. According to Margaret, our driver/tour guide, Fantastic Caverns is the only drive-through cavern in the U.S., and one of only four in the whole world. In our propane-powered jeep, we cruised through the caves. Since I’m so cute, I got to sit next to Margaret. She chatted me up also, so much so that Margaret didn’t hear Katrina’s frequent questions about cavern-related trivia. In truth, Katrina doesn’t care about cavern-related trivia. The questions were just part of her never-ending battle to keep women away from the wonders of me.
Like many caverns in the U.S., Fantastic Caverns was once the site of live musical entertainment, violent secret societies, bootlegger-run speak-easies, and adventuresome country folk who liked stumbling around in the dark. The first organized exploration of Fantastic Caverns in 1867 was undertaken by a group of women from a local athletic society. In true tourist fashion, they vandalized the cave by writing their names on one of the walls.
After exiting the cave, we went on a little nature walk. We saw many trees and rocks, as well as a bluff, something that does not occur naturally anywhere in Houston. Adrienne expressed concern that we might get eaten by bears. Christopher raced ahead in his guise as Safety Boy, checking out the trail, making sure we used the handrails, and so forth.
By the time we were done with Fantastic Caverns, it was dinner time. We drove back to Branson and our lodge, where we dined on frozen pizzas. Actually, when we dined on them, they weren’t frozen anymore. We cooked them first.
After the children were in bed, I watched some cable TV. We don’t have cable TV at home. That’s because cable TV only multiplies the number of channels on which there is nothing worth watching. Of course, Law & Order was on about half the stations. Dean Cain was in an awful Sci-Fi Channel movie. To be fair, that’s the only kind of movie Dean Cain or the Sci-Fi Channel does, so I wasn’t surprised.
Day Three
Day three begins with a breakfast of scrambled eggs, biscuits with grape jelly, and our choice of either milk or orange juice, prepared by yours truly. Following breakfast, we attend 10:30 a.m. Mass at Our Lady of the Lake. Overall, it was a pleasant service. By the time Mass was over and we made it back to our rooms, it was time for a lunch of left over pizza and Chinese food.
For our post-lunch entertainment, we drove over to the Mansion America theater to catch the 3:00 p.m. showing of Joseph & the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, a personal favorite of both children. It was a well-done production all around. All of the actors were appropriately hammy, and they all looked like they were enjoying themselves. Landon Rose, who had the title role, did a bang-up job, especially on “Close Every Door”. Michael Todd Harris, playing Potiphar, did a hilarious soft shoe. Christopher and Adrienne both enjoyed themselves immensely.
We returned to the resort about 5:00 p.m. The kids and wife donned their swimsuits. I abstained from swimming since I forgot to pack my trunks. I attract enough unwanted, feminine attention without skinny dipping in a public pool. Besides which, I was a bit tired from not sleeping terribly well in a strange place. So, after dropping the wife and kids off at the pool, I went back to the cabin to relax a bit in that near total silence that can only be achieved in the absence of children.
I got up to leave the apartment about 6:20 p.m. to go fetch the wife and kids from the pool. To my limitless horror, when I opened the door, I was confronted by the bone-chilling presence of two mud daubers. In my life, I have handled poisonous snakes. I’ve rappelled down rocky hillsides. I’ve looked out an airplane window to see gouts of flame shooting from an engine while 35,000 feet above the Pacific Ocean. People have aimed loaded guns at me, pulled knives on me, and I’ve spent a night in jail in an overcrowded cell. None of these scared me as much as facing down flying bugs with stingers.
To my limited credit, I did try to leave the apartment. I pressed a wide eye to the peephole and frantically searched for signs of buzzing horror. Of course, they are canny hunters, and hid out of sight until I opened the door. Then, they dove in for the kill, and I slammed the door, retreating in a cold sweat. Unable to rescue myself, I called maintenance and explained my phobia-induced imprisonment. Two brave maintenance men, armed with insecticide, came to my rescue. They were polite. While I could just barely detect derision in their eyes, neither one cast aspersions on my manhood for being afraid of bugs.
Free at last, I drove down the hill and around the bend to finally get the well-soaked wife and children. I apologized and explained the cause for my delay. Katrina, who has learned to suffer my neuroses with remarkable grace, said comforting things. When we got back to the apartment, she cooked tacos. Tacos always make the boogey-men go away.
Day Four
Since we’re on a limited budget owing to the fact that my wife and I have chosen spiritually rewarding careers in historically underpaid professions (she’s an executive assistant for Houston Achievement Place and I teach in an inner-city Catholic school), we started the morning by adding up receipts for expenses so far. We were pleased to see that we’re pretty much right on target as far as money goes.
One nice thing about the timeshare we bought into is that the units all have fully stocked kitchens. Thus, rather than eating out three meals a day plus snacks, which gets terribly expensive, we trundle over to a local grocery store and stock up on provisions. We buy things like the aforementioned frozen pizzas, cold cereal, Pop Tarts, the ever-popular macaroni and cheese, milk and juice, coffee, and so forth. After a hard day of merry-making, we return to our apartment, gather around the dinner table, and dine in each other’s company.
In order to economize money while maximizing fun, we decided to purchase a CityHopper package from Silver Dollar City. This package gives us four days in three amusement parks packed with plenty of things to amaze Christopher and Adrienne. With the decision of what to do out of the way, we ate breakfast. Everyone else had cold cereal. I had two slices of wheat toast with peanut butter and grape jelly. Few things in life are more sublime than gooey peanut butter on warm bread. I also downed three cups of black coffee.
Going out in public with my children is always interesting. Christopher and Adrienne are both very well-behaved (mostly), largely because we don’t let the television do our parenting for us. Since Katrina and me are both exceptionally intelligent (especially me), our children are also terribly bright. Of course, everyone always says they’re children are terribly bright, but ours really are. I’m actually concerned that the boy is too bright. We may have to have him put ahead a grade sometime in the next few years. He starts the second grade this fall, and he’s already scoring two to four grade levels ahead of his peers in all tested curriculum areas.
Christopher is rather large for a seven-year-old. Katrina is 68 inches tall. Christopher almost comes up to her shoulder. As a result of his tender age and enormous size, Christopher’s motor skills, fine or otherwise, are noticeably lacking. Tying his shoes, a task Adrienne mastered over a year ago, is for Christopher an arduous chore fraught with more failure than success. He’s got a whole shoe-tying narrative worked out. The shoe strings are trees that fall down, perking up bunny ears attached to rabbits that run through holes. Unfortunately, the bunny ears are often malformed or misnumbered (“Four bunny ears!?”), and the rabbits either miss the holes entirely or the holes cave in on the rabbits, causing them to die horrible deaths by suffocation. But, at least he has a story to tell.
Again, I digress.
We made the scenic drive up to Silver Dollar City and parked in Lot F. A short tram ride later, we arrived at the park’s entrance, quickly purchased our tickets, and then entered Silver Dollar City proper. The theme of the park is 19th-century American hillbilly, including low-budget period costumes and frequent allusions to Mark Twain’s fiction. The first attraction we stood in line for was Marvel Cave.
I couldn’t help but notice two things. One, we were actually going on a cave tour in an amusement park. Two, there were Caucasians as far as the eye could see. I’m not used to this. In Houston, the minorities, considered collectively, aren’t the minority. For example, at Resurrection Catholic School where I teach, it isn’t much of an exaggeration to say that my children are the only non-Hispanic students. We’ve got a Chinatown, a little Vietnam, barrios and other ethnic ghettos (now politically-correctly referred to as inner-city areas). There are something like 90 different languages spoken in Houston.
Living in Houston, it’s easy to forget that most Americans are white. It was a minor bit of culture shock to find out that, in southern Missouri, the demographic situation reflects something very different from Houston. It made me think that Springfield, Missouri, would have been a better setting for Friends, the zombie equivalent of a T.V. show (IOW, it lived on well after its death and assaulted one’s intelligence in a manner analogous to eating one’s brain).
The friends on that show were all white folks. People of color were used largely for nothing more than window dressing, but not too much window dressing. Even the street scenes were populated largely by nothing by white folk. In Manhattan. As my daughter has noted, T.V. lies. You can’t swing a dead cat in Manhattan and not hit a Puerto Rican, an African-American (or even a regular African), a Pakistani, et cetera. I’m suddenly reminded of the Mad TV skit that explained that the abbreviation NBC really stands for Nothing But Caucasians.
Marvel Cave was marvelous. The Cathedral Room, accessed by descending about a billion stairs, is surely one of the largest natural chambers in the world. It is large enough that once, several years ago, the chamber was host to five hot air balloons. A 20-story building, including the city block on which it stands, would fit in the Cathedral Room. We squeezed through some very narrow passages with low-ceilings. In a few places, the ceiling was no more than four feet high. There are oodles of stairs, including a perilous spiral staircase that leads down to the base of the waterfall, which is out 500 feet below the earth’s surface.
As adults, we sometimes lose the “comfortability” of striking up conversations with complete strangers without fear of judgement. Children, thankfully, have not. As we descended the first flight of stairs, Christopher quickly found in the crowd two boys that appeared to be around his age. Sometimes judging other children’s ages is difficult since we have giant, Texas-sized children. Christopher and the two boys struck up a conversation, telling each other all of their previous vacation experiences. The boys’ father and Katrina looked uncomfortably at one another on occasion.
Adrienne has developed a shy streak and usually refrains from talking to strangers. Christopher, in order to give the girl something to do, delegated his job as Safety Boy to his sister. Adrienne walked cautiously, warned us of low-hanging rocks, explained that slippery spots are ideal places for the careless to fall, and so forth. Christopher, meanwhile, decided that in a cave on narrow trails near sheer drop-offs was a good place to work on his sprinting skills. A quick smack to the back of the head, which had a very satisfying echo in the cave, disabused him of this new hobby.
The climb up isn’t quite as arduous, but only because most of it is accomplished by riding on a train. From running 30 miles a week for the first four years I was in the Army, the cartilage in my knees has been pounded to the thickness of bond paper. I greatly enjoyed the train ride as it gave my aching joints time to rest.
After the cave, we hit the pizza buffet at a nearby park restaurant, and then set out to ride some rides. My wife isn’t much for rides, especially those that go fast or drop suddenly or are fun, so she sat a few of them out. We went on a slow-moving water ride. The boats included pistols that fired some sort of invisible signal. Situated throughout the ride were dozens of small targets that, when hit by this invisible signal, would make the goofy, prison/mine-inspired figures and decor do different things. Hit that target, and water would spray from a ruptured pipe. Hit this target, and a coffin would open to reveal a skeleton. Stuff like that.
I couldn’t help but think how much more fun the “It’s a Small World” ride would be if it included firearms. While the children of the world chirp out that annoying song, the riders could lay down barrages of suppressive fire. The more effective the barrages, the less of that song that gets played. In place of it, blaring over the noise of gunfire, as a reward for stopping the madness, the speakers could belt out Alice Cooper’s “Welcome to My Nightmare.” Now that would be a ride.
We next went toward the water rides. These rides say you will get wet on them, which is an understatement. We couldn’t have gotten much wetter by slowly lowering ourselves via a ridiculously slow-moving dipping mechanism into a 500-gallon drum of water. The first ride was a sort of watery roller coaster. My wife braved this fun. Fortunately, it didn’t scare her too badly. There was also a “white water” raft ride which we all went on. For this one, the park attendants put you into a circular boat and send you spinning down river so that cold water can splash up your back and down your shorts.
Katrina refused to go on the water slide. Adrienne insisted she wanted to go on it, and I decided to let her find out on her own that she wouldn’t like it. Experience is the best teacher. After a leisurely ride through a narrow, artificial river, the boat, shaped like a dugout canoe, rides to the top of 45-foot-high slide. The boat, along with its passengers, then races in a near free-fall into a large splash pool. Christopher screamed and laughed like a madman. Adrienne was nearly in tears, but calmed down when I assured her that she was perfectly safe and that she wouldn’t have to go back on the ride. Katrina further gender-typed Adrienne by explaining to her that boys always like doing stupid things (such as plunging into pools of water after a free fall in a boat), and that sensible girls justly avoided such madness.
By now, it was time to head over to the Riverfront Theater for the Veggie Tales show. Bob and Larry were enormous. Bob was easily the second largest tomato I’ve ever seen. They were also fighting because Larry wanted to change the opening theme song, but Bob objected that Larry was too silly. This, of course, delayed the show while the other characters and the audience had to teach Bob and Larry about being friends. By the time Bob realized he was being selfish, there was only time left to let Larry do the new theme song, which was really just the old theme song with a techno feel to it. Bob was clearly over-reacting.
For young children, people in giant vegetable costumes passes for great theater. Christopher and Adrienne were enthralled. Larry exerts an almost Jim Jones-like effect on them. Of course, Larry is terribly funny, so it’s understandable. Jim Jones was probably a real hoot at parties as well. When he wasn’t convincing people to kill themselves and their children, that is. Unfortunately, there was only one Silly Song included with the show, but it was the Hairbrush Song, so I guess that’s satisfactory.
There are two areas in Silver Dollar City where children can run amok. One is a treehouse motif maze of cargo netting, child-sized tunnels (both vertical and horizontal, although, I suppose, a vertical tunnel is more aptly called a shaft), and slides. The kids and I had fun racing around inside it. The other area is a multi-story building of sorts that contains water cannons, slides, and squishy balls that can be fired out of air guns.
By the time we were done playing with the air guns and water cannons, it was time to go. Adrienne was arguing about everything, which she only does when she’s tired and/or hungry. We trammed back to our car and drove back to our rooms. While I went to the coin-operated laundry, Katrina fixed beef tips and mashed potatoes with gravy for dinner. After dinner, we put the children to bed. Katrina went to sleep not too long after. I was up until about 10:00 p.m. in amazement that cable gives us 50 some odd channels of nothing worth watching. Oh yeah: Law & Order was still on.
Day Five
Breakfast this day consisted of leftover taco meat mixed with scrambled eggs and cheese, some fresh fruit, and blueberry muffins. Once we were bathed, dressed, and so forth, we climbed into the car and drove into Branson to visit the White Water park. We arrived early, about 10:00 a.m., and the park was only lightly populated by visitors. Consequently, the lines for the various water slides were short.
Katrina, of course, refused to go on about half the rides. Adrienne, however, was brave enough to hit the slides on her own. You can’t ride triple on any of the water slides, and I didn’t want the children fighting over me. We tried taking turns with Daddy, but, to be honest, I got tired hauling that double-inner-tube-boat contraption up all of those stairs. The water slides were appropriately fast, twisting, and, in most cases, dark, the latter because the slide turned into a windowless tube.
Katrina did climb to the top of one of the water slides, but when she saw the tube through which she would be sliding in near-total darkness at excessive speeds, she declined the ride. She later confessed that she was certain she would become lost somehow. This wouldn’t seem like much of a possibility, since you can’t actually exit the tube until the very end, and this very end is connected to the very beginning, thus eliminating all possibility of getting lost. But this is my wife we’re talking about.
Before heading to the water park, I needed to buy some swim trunks. Since I’m congenitally lazy, I imperiously dispatched the rest of my family on this errand while I lazed about. There is a sort of convenience store on the property here. It is about a half-mile away. To get there, one drives down the hill, following the road in the only direction it goes. Then one either makes a left or a right. Right takes you off property, but another left gets you right back on the property. There are signs with bold letters and arrows everywhere.
Katrina got lost. The seven-year-old boy, fortunately, inherited my sense of direction and was able to direct Katrina back to our apartments. Otherwise, she and the kids would have likely ended up in Kansas.
There is also a straight water slide, the start of which must be at least fifty feet high. Christopher chickened out the first time we went up all of those stairs. While I rocketed down on my back to skip across the water of the receiving pool on my buttocks, Christopher climbed back down the stairs. Later, after we spent some time floating around in the artificial river and being jostled in the wave pool (listening to Adrienne loudly comment on how inappropriately dressed were many of the older girls), Christopher and I returned to the high slide. Katrina and Adrienne waited at the end of the ride, undoubtedly discussing the stupid things boys do.
This second time, Christopher gritted his teeth and bravely plummeted to the bottom with me just a bit behind him on the other chute of the slide. Christopher discovered that water can forcibly shoot up his nose, but he was otherwise unscathed. He even said he wanted to go again, but by this time my knees were about ready to explode. The only way I was going back to the top of the tower was if they installed an elevator.
After all of this water-related fun, it was past lunch time. Adrienne was arguing about everything. We drove back to the resort. While the children rested and watched cartoons, I fixed macaroni and cheese and beef brautwurst for a late lunch. We spent the rest of the day indoors. My knees and calves were cramping by this time, so I took a couple of painkillers and laid on the coach until it was time to go to bed.
Day Six
As I write these words, day six is already off to a rough start. Christopher woke up shortly after me. He sits next to me, engrossed in a Bible trivia book. Adrienne woke up just as I was going to start this paragraph. Seeing Christopher enjoying himself, she decided to intervene in the fun.
“Let’s play that together, Christopher,” she said. This really means, “Christopher, you sit there and watch me play.”
When Christopher noted that he wanted to read on his own, Adrienne kicked him. Since kicking people isn’t usually a good way to handle disappointment, I sent Adrienne to another part of the room. She is now playing with the Hot Wheels and blocks.
Adding to the irritating behavior of the children was the uncooperative weather. It was raining. Not a heavy rain, mind you, but enough that the many outdoor activities in and around Branson would be closed. Since the third amusement park on our list is outside, this presented problems. Also, we had eaten all of our breakfast fare. We love breakfast.
So, with the children still arguing about who did or did not do this or that, we climbed into the car and drove into town. Everywhere you go in America, you can find two places essential to survival: Wal-Mart and Denny’s. Two stores, both open 24 hours a day, that together sell everything you could possibly need.
Denny’s in Branson is expensive. An expensive Denny’s. That’s a new oxymoron. Breakfast for all four of us, not including tip, was about $8 more expensive than the same breakfast in Houston. I guess eggs are harder to come by in Missouri.
While we were eating, a youthful fellow named Ryan came by our table. He explained that he is the good-looking Hughes brother, and gave us a coupon to come see his family’s show. Since it was still raining and the children were worried about not having fun, we decided to go. I was dubious. Never before have I been panhandled by a well-dressed, relatively (compared to me) handsome entertainer. Surely, if the Hughes brothers have to solicit audience members at Denny’s, their show must be lacking something crucial to a show.
Fortunately, I was wrong, which is something that seldom ever happens. The Hughes Brothers show was entertaining. The brothers are a quintet of singers who sample various southern rock, gospel, cowboy songs, and Broadway show tunes. Being talented is mandatory in their family. Their wives sing and dance. Their brood of children sing and dance. One of the brothers plays a mean Spanish guitar. One of the daughters, age eleven, plays a mean violin (or fiddle, as we call them down here). During intermission and after the show, the brothers are quite accessible. They posed for pictures, signed autographs, sold merchandise, shook hands, and so forth. Adrienne insisted on meeting Jason because “he’s cute.” Christopher giggled a lot.
After this show, we ate lunch and then went to see the Amazing Kirby. He was the children’s first real magic show. Adrienne did her best to analyze each trick, making predictions about who would vanish from where only to reappear elsewhere. She’s bright enough to know that magic is a trick. Kirby was pretty good. According to his emcee, he was voted magician of the year recently. He also had scantily clad dancing girls. Both Adrienne and I admired their form, but with different connotations to the word “form.”
Also, comedian Phillip Wellford did a few brief skits. He juggles, rides a unicycle, and tells bad jokes. For example:
“We arranged the parking lot so that people won’t get confused. Folks from Texas park in the flat area. Folks from Missouri park in the inclined area. Folks from Arkansas park where their cars won’t get repossessed.”
Ba-dum-ching!
Having gone off budget this day, we left Kirby’s show and headed back to the timeshare. It was still raining, so any more indoor fun would have seriously tapped into our vacation funds. For some reason, I was terribly tired, so I climbed into bed and watched the ludicrous Red Planet on the Sci-Fi Channel. Katrina made peach cobbler and some sort of main course for dinner. I ate the peach cobbler.
Our Last Day
Day seven is off to a better start. The children aren’t fighting. I don’t hear any rain. Looks like today we might actually make it to Celebration City!, which is the third amusement park. Since it is still early on day seven, and my wife is reclined next to me pinching my buttocks, I guess I should sign off for now. More on today’s activities after we’ve actually completed them.
Time passes....
Well, we’ve completed today’s activities, and they were a bust. We hit Golden Corral for the breakfast buffet again. Then, after a brief detour to an ATM to get some cash, we went and played a round of putt-putt golf. Unfortunately, this was about all of the fun the children were able to handle. They were just too tired from everything that’s gone on the past few days.
So, rather than listen to the children whine and fight about everything, I made a command decision and piled everyone back into the car. We returned to the resort and spent a relatively quiet day indoors. The children played with their toys and watched cartoons. I worked on a Mutants & Masterminds Super-Link product that I’ve been given the green light by Green Ronin to develop. Katrina puttered about, cleaning this and that, packing this and that, et cetera, preparing for our return to Houston tomorrow morning. Since the drive back to Houston was very much like the drive away from Houston, I’ll spare you the blow-by-blow account of the return trip.
And thus the Chance family 2004 summer vacation comes to an end. All in all, it was a smashing success, but I’m glad to be back home where I can get some rest.
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