Trips

Me and my brother Robbie

When I was younger, every year my family went to Lake Weir, Florida on vacation. We used to all have matching t-shirts that said "Weir Crazy" that we would wear on our way down there. I was always the first one dressed in my t-shirt and I always bugged my brothers to put their shirts on hours ahead of time. They hated me because I was the only girl and the baby, and so, if I insisted, Daddy made them put their shirt on way before they wanted to get dressed. All because of me. I could not help it; I loved going to Lake Weir. We rented a cabin on top of a hill and to get to the lake, I had to walk through orange trees and down a long gravel road. I can distinctly remember learning how to blow my first bubble walking down that road to the lake. It was Super Bubble that I bought from the little country store that was located on the beach of the lake. The store was more like a recreation room than a store. It had a jukebox and a few pool tables and a place to rent tubes if you wanted to go tubing. I also bought an occasional Stewart sandwich from there also, but Mama always went to the grocery store and stocked up so we did not have to buy too much from the store.


My cousin Dusty
There was something about Lake Weir that made my family do things we did not do at home. We ate Hoagie sandwiches for dinner, but at home, we never had a cold dinner. My mom always cooked, so it was a real vacation for her. We went to the movies at Lake Weir - shows like The Apple Dumpling Gang and Jaws - and it was such a treat because we never did that at home. However, Jaws was not such a good choice when we were spending 90% of our vacation in the water. Along with blowing bubbles, I also learned to swim at Lake Weir. My dad would throw me off the dock and then walk away from me as I struggled and gasped my way towards him. At times, I could not believe he could be so cruel, but I did learn to swim. I could not wait for the day when I could follow my brothers to the big, high dock where the cool girls sunbathed while the guys smoked cigarettes and flirted with the girls in the string bikinis. You can see it in the background of the pics. It was the place to be. Obviously, I never made it in my bikini. The pics on here (yes, that is me doing a fabulous back flip) are the last known photographs of me in a two-piece. At least, I hope they are. If you look closely at this pic, you can see my father's hand just at the edge of the picture; waiting to grab me if I should hit my head or have trouble finding my way up from the bottom.






When I was 10, we went to Lake Weir for the last time. Two of my brothers were older and had full-time jobs, so they decided to stay home, but my older brother and his wife and son came with us. My dad was very upset that Robbie and Tim decided not to make the family trip. As we rode down the white gravel road that serpentined through orange groves, I remember my mom reaching over and grabbing my dad's hand and saying, "They are growing up Charles. They will come again next year." It was not the same without "the boys," as we always called them. A week after we got back from Lake Weir, my dad was killed in an accident at work. My brothers say they still have not gotten over the fact that they did not go that year, and we have planned trips back, but these plans have never quite worked out. I think we may all want to remember Lake Weir with our dad; the way it should be remembered.