Not a single luxury
"You can watch TV at home!?!"
"Not like this."
Dad's look said it all as he stomped past me on his way out the door for another load of luggage.
Even at the tender age of eight, I got why he was annoyed.
He'd spent the whole day driving with me in the back seat repeatedly asking, 'Are we there yet?'
And now that we were there, or here, the first thing I did was watch TV. While the first thing he did was unpack all our shit and haul it into the room. Knowing that he'd have to do it in reverse the next morning. When all he wanted to do was crack open an ice-cold can of beer by the murky hotel pool. A pool he wanted to see me swimming in. But instead I sat on the hotel bed watching TV.
What he didn't get was my watching TV was what amounted to high adventure for my geeky ass circa 1975. I mean, here I was in a new city and state, exploring the TV landscape like some pre-cable Lewis and/or Clark which was ironic, considering I always ended up watching the castaways of Gilligan's Island. Usually in black and white. Which meant that it was the first season, and also proof that I did learn something from watching so much TV. Even if it was, or is, inane trivia.
Eventually Mom wandered into the room with our toy poodle Fifi in her arms. Fifi wasn't welcome in this hotel, the same way she wasn't welcome in roughly 90% of the hotels we stayed in on the vacations of my youth. My parents didn't seem to give a shit about the hotels rules though, even though Fifi's shit (and piss) were the reason for the hotel's stringent anti-pet policies.
"You can watch TV at home."
"Not like this, Mom." I said.
She shook her head in frustration as she took a deep pull from her cigarette. To this day, I wonder if any of those frustrated inhalations planted the seed that would become the cancer that would eventually kill her.
"We're going to the pool." She said, exhaling a steady stream of smoke in my general direction.
I waved my arms and hands to try and fan the smoke away without missing any of the action on TV.
"Come out when you are ready." She said as she grabbed a pack of cigarettes out of a carton that was on top of the beat up hotel card table.
She was nearly out the door when she suddenly stopped and walked back into the room, stopping right in front of the TV, where she dug through a bag that was next to the dresser.
"Mom!?!?!?" I said.
"Did you hear me?" She asked as she extracted a bottle of baby oil from the bag.
"We'll be at the pool." She said. "Come out when you are ready."
Perhaps the baby oil induced burn tan is what planted the seed that would become the cancer that would eventually kill her.
"Did you hear me?" She asked again as Dad walked into the room with another load of luggage.
"He can watch TV at home." Dad said to Mom.
"Leave him alone." Mom said to Dad, and then smiling at me, "Did you hear me?"
"Yes. I heard you." I said to Mom.
"And not like this." I said to Dad.
"Not like this."
Dad's look said it all as he stomped past me on his way out the door for another load of luggage.
Even at the tender age of eight, I got why he was annoyed.
He'd spent the whole day driving with me in the back seat repeatedly asking, 'Are we there yet?'
And now that we were there, or here, the first thing I did was watch TV. While the first thing he did was unpack all our shit and haul it into the room. Knowing that he'd have to do it in reverse the next morning. When all he wanted to do was crack open an ice-cold can of beer by the murky hotel pool. A pool he wanted to see me swimming in. But instead I sat on the hotel bed watching TV.
What he didn't get was my watching TV was what amounted to high adventure for my geeky ass circa 1975. I mean, here I was in a new city and state, exploring the TV landscape like some pre-cable Lewis and/or Clark which was ironic, considering I always ended up watching the castaways of Gilligan's Island. Usually in black and white. Which meant that it was the first season, and also proof that I did learn something from watching so much TV. Even if it was, or is, inane trivia.
Eventually Mom wandered into the room with our toy poodle Fifi in her arms. Fifi wasn't welcome in this hotel, the same way she wasn't welcome in roughly 90% of the hotels we stayed in on the vacations of my youth. My parents didn't seem to give a shit about the hotels rules though, even though Fifi's shit (and piss) were the reason for the hotel's stringent anti-pet policies.
"You can watch TV at home."
"Not like this, Mom." I said.
She shook her head in frustration as she took a deep pull from her cigarette. To this day, I wonder if any of those frustrated inhalations planted the seed that would become the cancer that would eventually kill her.
"We're going to the pool." She said, exhaling a steady stream of smoke in my general direction.
I waved my arms and hands to try and fan the smoke away without missing any of the action on TV.
"Come out when you are ready." She said as she grabbed a pack of cigarettes out of a carton that was on top of the beat up hotel card table.
She was nearly out the door when she suddenly stopped and walked back into the room, stopping right in front of the TV, where she dug through a bag that was next to the dresser.
"Mom!?!?!?" I said.
"Did you hear me?" She asked as she extracted a bottle of baby oil from the bag.
"We'll be at the pool." She said. "Come out when you are ready."
Perhaps the baby oil induced burn tan is what planted the seed that would become the cancer that would eventually kill her.
"Did you hear me?" She asked again as Dad walked into the room with another load of luggage.
"He can watch TV at home." Dad said to Mom.
"Leave him alone." Mom said to Dad, and then smiling at me, "Did you hear me?"
"Yes. I heard you." I said to Mom.
"And not like this." I said to Dad.
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