weak in the knees

At the beginning of July, the eldest of my brethren, Marty, went and got his testicles removed by a pretty girl named Lisa. They held the ceremony in Cabo San Lucas, Mexico, and they took the whole family with them to watch, including our young Benjamin. The trip was one for the books: the weather perfect, the drinks cold, the resort swanky, and the airplane rides extremely, extremely, extremely, extremely. . . extremely long.

The rest of the family might not have found the airplanes rides so, um. . . difficult, but they weren't the ones holding onto a 31 lb wriggling, squirming, flailing, punching gorilla. Have you ever tried to hold onto a fierce animal in full attack mode? Ever go out into the backyard late at night and find the biggest, meanest raccoon, grab hold of it as it twists in your arms and claws at your face, then take it to the airport and sit on a plane for six hours? Can you imagine the looks on the faces of your fellow travelers as your growling lap-passenger repeatedly attempts to leap from your arms and run down the aisle? Can you picture the bruises on your arms and legs? The scratches on your face? Can you feel just how exhausted you’d be by the time you got off the plane?

Such is an airplane ride with Bigger Ben. And I am definitely, absolutely, most positively NOT exaggerating.

I don’t blame him – airplane rides with me aren’t really all that different, save for the scratching and punching. I hate airplanes if for no other reason than that they are too cramped - especially for a guy considered by any conventional measurement to be XL. My tiny little wife just barely fits in her own seat, which means that either people were a lot smaller 30 years ago when so many of these planes were built, or big-time airline executives are just big, gaping ass-holes.

But everything after the plane ride was truly memorable. I guess that’s my favorite thing about the trip: my brother and his new bride will have some wonderful memories from their tropical destination-wedding, but they've also given each of us some lasting memories that probably wouldn't have been had at your typical one-night-stand ceremony and reception at the local VFW.

Actually, my favorite part of the trip occurred one specific night down on the beach:

The family was gathering at sunset for pictures along the oceanfront, all of us dressed in khaki and white. The walk down the beach was fairly long and Ben, struggling beside me in the deep sand, started to fall behind the rest of the party. It was so far past his normal bedtime after a long day in the sun, and I could see in the determined but silent expression on his face that he was just too tired to complain, too tired to keep his little white onesie and khaki shorts clean of sand. So I picked up my little guy as he rubbed his eyes with his fists, set him on my hip and tried to catch up with the others.

Anna was further behind the two of us having secured the stroller at the top of the beach, so I paused to let her join her us. As I turned my head around to look back at her, I caught the eye of my baby Ben who was apparently staring at me, lovingly, or adoringly, or at least adorably. Caught by his stare - the coastline a silent blur beyond his tired face - I choked-up, getting that familiar tingly, weak feeling behind my knees. It was such a difficult trip up to that point: the traveling, the planes, the hectic schedule, the missed naps, the heat, the foreign rooms and people. And here was my boy, my little gorilla, staring me right in the face, silently letting me know how much he loved me, how much he appreciated me, how much he needed me. . . even if it was only my personal interpretation of that calming look in his eyes. I stared right back at him and told him that I loved him, so much. And it was in his response that all my thoughts were justified: his arm around my neck, he stared a second longer then leaned over and kissed me. He kissed me! For the first time without prodding or pleading, he kissed me. Something he typically saves for his mother, this time he gave to me. It made my night - it made my trip. It was one of those rare moments when your infant gives back to you, clearly and unprovoked, without expectation. It was one of those moments that make you feel like it’s all been worthwhile. Makes you believe. Makes you invincible. Makes you feel like a father.


It was something, perhaps more than anything else, that I can remember from my brother’s wedding that wouldn’t have happened save for the deep sand and cramped plane rides that come bundled with a wedding trip to Mexico. Before that moment, there is no way I could say what I’m thinking now - that taking your 14 month old on a trip across the world can be one of the most worthwhile experiences you’ll ever have. The planes rides you’ll forget. The evening on the beach with the people you love most, well, that’s worth a lifetime.