The only family trip I remember from when I was a kid was our outting to Corpus Christi for a convention my dad had to attend. I was freshly fourteen. It was two weeks after my birthday.
On the way down, we stayed at Aquamarina Springs in San Marcus, TX. I remember the mermaids under the glass-bottom boats. I remember the wet moss covered limestone wall out our room's window. I remember the Driscoll Hotel in Corpus Christi. The balcony. The breakfasts. The entire idea I was living the life I thought I had been born to live.
I hardly ever took my three-piece suit off during the entire stay. I was in my element.
I remember calling my best friend Steve back in Dallas from a pay phone at the back of the grand ballroom. I remember adding quarters to the phone, each time causing a gong sound from the receiver. (change sound) Dong! (change sound) Dong! (change sound) Dong!
On the way back, we stopped in San Antonio. It was my only visit to The Alamo. I found it fascinating and disappointing at the same time. It's so small.
My wife lives in San Antonio as we speak. She's there for like two months every winter. She is in charge of the concession during several events, including the BIG rodeo. My wife has an apartment and all she needs during this time. This is, maybe, her seventh year.
I've still never been back to San Antonio....except I remember being hidden from the cops on the Riverwalk many years ago.
