My Excellent Birthday Adventure

Last month, I turned 38.  I know.  I am really young to be falling apart like this.  Anyway, for my birthday, we drove up to Connecticut for a memorial ceremony honoring my father-in-law.  I know that doesn't seem like a super-fun birthday activity, but honestly, does anyone really care about birthdays any more?  I mean, once you can drive, vote, and legally purchase alcohol, the partying is kind of over.

The drive from Philly to Connecticut should take about four hours or so.  At least it did before we had kids.  Now it takes at least five hours, because we have to stop approximately every twenty-seven minutes.  And then if there's construction, which there always is, it takes even longer.

We sat in traffic on the Jersey Turnpike for an eternity.  I texted my brother-in-law that we were on our way, but probably wouldn't be there at 2 p.m. for the start of the memorial.

"No worries," he texted back.  "Drive safely."

Then we had to make a "quick stop" for something work-related for my husband, the Absent-Minded Professor.  (Note: the quick stop was to retrieve his freaking driver's license that he had left with the front desk.)  (Also note: there is a reason I call him "the Absent-Minded Professor.")

Sometimes, the Professor's work takes him to various prisons.  Yes, his job is extremely glamorous highly paid rewarding.  The kids think that Daddy going to prison is awesome, and constantly ask if they can go with him for "take your daughter to prison work day."

So imagine their delight when we announced that on this very day, we could stop at a prison.  I thumb-typed it on my phone so I could recount for you exactly how it went:

"Hey, kids!  Good news!  We're going to stop at a prison!"
"Yay!"  (cheering and clapping)
"I want to go to prison!"
"I want to see a robber in the window!"
"I want to see a prisoner and then say, 'see ya, sucker!'"

So, we stopped at Essex County Correctional Facility.  As you can imagine, correction facilities are not in the nicest areas of town.  There more like in the scariest industrial part of town.  In the parking lot, more than one family was having a stress-related Domestic Incident.

Little Dude was mildly freaked out about the whole situation, but decided that staying in the parking lot of the prison with Mommy was worse than going in with the whole family.  So over the little barbed-wire-encrusted bridge we went, right up to the front door.

Here is what it looks like:

Here is what my children saw:



In their heads, it sounded like this (click to play):

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We entered the prison.  Really, we entered the front waiting room, where lots of families were waiting to see their loved ones.  Mostly it was moms and kids.  It was Father's Day weekend.  Heartbreaking.  Heartbreaking to me.  My kids thought is was Super Awesome Happy Fun Time.

While the front desk guard searched for the Absent-Minded Professor's identification, my kids took the opportunity to ask lots of questions.  Obviously.

The Peanut Butter Kid: "Sometimes the guards have to whack the prisoners with bats."
Pork Lo Maniac: "Daddy, do the guards really whack the prisoners with bats?"
Absent-Minded Professor: "I don't know.  You'd have to ask a guard."
Pork Lo Maniac (to guard): "Do you ever have to whack the prisoners with a bat?"
Guard: "Let's just say that if restraint is necessary, we'll use it."

At this point, I see that at least two of my kids are starting to do the potty dance.  Of course.  It had been a full twenty-seven minutes since the last pee break.

"Does anyone need to use the bathroom while we're here?" I ask.
Horrified stares from my daughters.
"Noooooo."
"But there's a ladies' room right there."
"Mommy, in prison the guards watch you pee."
"I'm not taking you to pee in a prison cell.  There's a bathroom right there for visitors."
"No way, Mommy."
Sigh.  "Fine."

After leaving the prison, we have to get back on the highway to find a place to pee, because the prison is actually the safest, cleanest place to pee in that area.

"Hey, I see the Statue of Liberty!"

Wait, what?  We don't normally pass the Statue of Liberty.  Unfortunately, in all the excitement of prison and needing to pee, we had gotten onto an extension of the highway that took us completely out of our way.
Awesome.  Our drive to Connecticut now involved the Holland Tunnel scenic route.  At this point, I texted my brother-in-law again that we were going to be hella late to the memorial.  He texted back not to worry about it.

Four hours late, we made it to the memorial.  It was a pretty casual event, more of an Open House, so it was still going on.  We had missed the speeches, and the town Mayor, but not family and friends.  It was fine.  Except that our family had been horribly worried about us.  It probably would have been smarter of me to text my brother-in-law that he needed to pass on our status to the rest of the family.  I guess he thought I just wanted to update him personally.

We got there in time, though, for all the kids to write messages on balloons to their Bampa, as they called their grandfather.  Except for Little Dude, of course, who has Balloonaphobia.  He played with his uncles and had a blast, though.

The traffic on the Turnpike, the stop at the prison, the wrong exit: none of it mattered.  The Professor's dad, who was a World War II Navy veteran who taught middle school English for more than thirty years, wouldn't have cared that we were late.  He would have been happy simply to have family together, playing, and remembering good times.