Ah, the Fourth of July, one of my favorite long weekends of the year. A time for BBQ-ing, seeing friends and hanging out at the Lake. In years past it has also been known for the Havasu-like party down at Split Rock complete with sun, load music and an impromptu dance party spanning the tied up boats. It has been the location of multiple injuries, both physical and moral and great stories…some that I will never remember.
This past year, my sister, 9 month old niece and I hopped in the Bass boat (Dana’s “engagement ring”…she did technically ask for something sparkly and expensive) and headed down to enjoy the party. Unlike past years however, we anchored just off the main floating party, allowing for prime viewing of the debauchery. And it was from this safe distance that I obtained a whole new perspective on what I always thought was a good time.
What I had always taken as a P Diddy style boat party (hot girls, small bikinis, good music and expensive boats) in fact looked more like an underfunded hillbilly yacht club. Yes, the boats were expensive, but the music blaring from every third boat competed so fiercely with one another that none of it sounded good. And those hot girls in small bikinis with killer dance moves (myself included in years past) looked more like bright-white flabby high schoolers doing the Carl from Fresh Prince of Bel Air. It all just seemed so wrong and inappropriate…and even worse, this got me thinking - had it always been like this or had things gotten worse. Or even more alarming, was I just getting too old to enjoy the shenanigans that my parents always complained about. Maybe this is what people mean by getting old and wiser. I no longer needed that booze drenched scene to call it a good day.
But in reality I think the moment of doubt was really just a moment of soberness. Age had nothing to do with it…my parents and friends clearly showed me that later that night with the multiple tequila shots and bottles of wine. And so I have come to realize, I am stuck in an unfortunate conundrum –I am old enough to know better, but too young not to care.
This past year, my sister, 9 month old niece and I hopped in the Bass boat (Dana’s “engagement ring”…she did technically ask for something sparkly and expensive) and headed down to enjoy the party. Unlike past years however, we anchored just off the main floating party, allowing for prime viewing of the debauchery. And it was from this safe distance that I obtained a whole new perspective on what I always thought was a good time.
What I had always taken as a P Diddy style boat party (hot girls, small bikinis, good music and expensive boats) in fact looked more like an underfunded hillbilly yacht club. Yes, the boats were expensive, but the music blaring from every third boat competed so fiercely with one another that none of it sounded good. And those hot girls in small bikinis with killer dance moves (myself included in years past) looked more like bright-white flabby high schoolers doing the Carl from Fresh Prince of Bel Air. It all just seemed so wrong and inappropriate…and even worse, this got me thinking - had it always been like this or had things gotten worse. Or even more alarming, was I just getting too old to enjoy the shenanigans that my parents always complained about. Maybe this is what people mean by getting old and wiser. I no longer needed that booze drenched scene to call it a good day.
But in reality I think the moment of doubt was really just a moment of soberness. Age had nothing to do with it…my parents and friends clearly showed me that later that night with the multiple tequila shots and bottles of wine. And so I have come to realize, I am stuck in an unfortunate conundrum –I am old enough to know better, but too young not to care.
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