Spring Break. Bowden Style.

I can't remember the exact circumstances, but I do recall I was in ninth grade and we were living in Brandon, Florida.

Spring Break was approaching and I had big plans.

"Hey, dad, some teachers are taking a group of kids to PARIS for the week! Can I go?"

"Is it free?"

"No. Duh."

"Do you have money?"

Silence.

"If you can raise half the money, we'll talk."

"I'll never do it in enough time! Why do I have to pay HALF of everything?!!! When you get old you have to pay HALF of your bed pan, I swear it!"

At that point, my mother entered and told me I didn't have to worry about raising the money for a Parisian get away.

"Why?"

"Because you and your brother are spending the week with the Camps in Bowden, GA."

The Camps were (and still are) a 2nd family to us. We met them when we moved to Florida the summer before my 8th grade year. Johnny and Malinda have a son my age, Cory, and a daughter named Lauren.

Bowden is the town where Johnny and Malinda grew up.

I loved the Camps, but I also loved the idea of Paris.

"Um, why? And why Bowden?"

"Because your father and I are going to Tennessee for his high school reunion and the Camps have agreed to take you and Brett home with them. I refuse to let your father go without me because Beverly will be there and I know she'll try to sink her claws into him. She did not like losing your father to me."

"Wasn't that twenty years ago?"

"It doesn't matter. You're going with the Camps and you are going to like it. Clear?"

"Uh huh."

It didn't take terribly long to adjust. I adored any time I got to spend with the Camps and I loved Cory's grandparents.

How to describe Bowden....the word "tiny" is too big. It's tinier than tiny. There might have been paved roads. Maybe. Veggies were sold on the corner, not in a store. Dogs had no concept of yards. Fields went on for days. Everyone waved and knew your lineage. So many trees stood guard in front of houses you had to know where you were going to find one.

I loved it. It felt like I was on a different planet. Almost theme-park-ish.

Malinda's dad greeted us at the door wearing a scary rubber mask.

We pretended to be frightened.

He was the perfect mixture of gruff and sweet. His body didn't "work gud no more", but that didn't stop him from sweating his ass off in the field.

I learned how to drive a stick shift that week. Sort of. He had an old yellow Punch Bug stripped of everything but the frame, a seat and the mechanical parts.

After a quick 2 minute lesson, he told me to practice 'till I got it and he walked away to tend to the animals.

I nearly stalled on top of my nine-year-old brother, Brett.

No one seemed concerned. Except Brett. He appeared a little panic stricken.

Brett IDOLIZED Malinda's father.

He shadowed him everywhere. And I do mean everywhere.

"Kid, I'ma go to the bathroom right now, I'll be right back. You just sitchu down over yonder, okay?"

See. Everywhere.

Her dad had a soft spot for Brett too....but he was irritable about one thing. Brett's name.

He could not remember it to save his life.

When Malinda first introduced him, her dad kept saying: "Burt?"

"No, Brett."

"Bette? Like a girl?"

"No. B R E T T."

"Buck?"

"No. Brett. Listen. BRETT."

"Ah, Hell. I don't understand naming kids weird stuff now a days..."

He never did get it.

Two days into our week-long trip, he started yelling for my brother.

"Burt! Beck! Bart! Bud! DAMMIT! GEORGE, GIT OVER HERE!"

My brother answered to George all week. Didn't even bat an eye.

He still answers to George.

Screw international travel. Bowden is where it's at.

Trust me.