What I did on my summer vacation.

Four kids, three weeks, 6500 miles, beaches, zoos, swimming pools, miniature golf, concerts, and roller coasters. People marveled at how the Groms behaved so well. It's not voodoo, it's family.

I’m just trying to do for these Grommets what this woman once did for me a long time ago. If people looked on the outside like they are on the inside, she would grace every magazine cover on the planet.

It’s been a minute. To all of my subscribers, I apologize for taking the better part of a month off without notice. The opportunity for this vacation trip developed rapidly, and we were in the truck towing our fifth-wheel trailer to points east not long after the opportunity presented itself. It only took a few days from conception to implementation.

As many of you know, my past two years have been, shall we say, interesting. If things go as I think that they will, everything should sort itself out in the next few months. More on all of that later, but for the time being, I’m back from the vacation of a lifetime and returning to my normal routine. What passes for discourse here will resume forthwith for your amusement and edification. Stay tuned.

Both my two biological and two foster kids have been through a lot in the past few years. This trip was my effort to heal some of that hurt. What I did not fully comprehend, living somewhat cloistered in the outlands of the Intermountain West, is that in more populous parts of the country there are entire industries built around extracting money from parents who, for one reason or another, really want to show their kids a no-holds-barred good time.

We walked into Chuck E. Cheese in Evansville, Indiana and I parted with $153 for a pizza before I could even yell for help. A Reds-Yankees game at Great American Ballpark in Cincinnati ended up setting me back about a luxury car payment. There were mosquitoes, owees, bad service and other misfortunes that got in the way of a completely uninterrupted good time. Driving 6500 miles towing a 49’ fifth wheel with four kids under 10 in the truck was a feat. But it was 100% worth it. I just thank my lucky stars that I was able to pull it off—along with a little help from my friends who chipped in time and money to make everything magical.

One of the four Groms in the photo above isn’t visible except for her feet. The woman in the center, one of my paternal aunts, took me in when I was young, alone and frightened about my circumstances—like these kids. I just wanted her to know, while she’s still above ground, that it meant enough to me that all these years later I’m doing the same thing to these kids who need the same kind of help.

Despite the smiles in our trip photos, none of this is easy. Most days I’m exhausted. I frequently lie awake at night re-examining the events of the day, wishing that I could have done better. I’m in constant doubt about my parenting skills. I do not know why this burden was presented to me, probably a poor substitute for what these kids need, but I know that, despite my internal doubts, I must bear it.

I’ve tried my entire life to leave the world in better shape than I found it. I tried being a teacher and mentor, but the world now is far more ignorant than when I started. I tried explaining the wonders of science and promising that if one did the work, it would lead to the promised land, then COVID torpedoed all of that. I tried writing, extending as much grace as possible to those with whom I disagree, but that certainly didn't work—even among the declining cohort of adults who can actually read.

So improving the world through my life’s work came up snake eyes. That’s a tough thing to wrap one’s mind around, but it’s true. My last attempt at salvation just might be taking care of these kids: helping them create healthy, wonderful memories, showing them that as screwed up as life can be, it isn’t all bad, and introducing them to people that I know who are the actual, legitimate salt of the earth.

All of this just might succeed where all else has failed—at least for these four young souls. That just might have to be enough.

Associated Press and Idaho Press Club-winning columnist Martin Hackworth of Pocatello is a physicist, writer, and retired Idaho State University faculty member who now spends his time with family, riding bicycles and motorcycles, and arranging and playing music. Follow him on Twitter @MartinHackworth, on Facebook at facebook.com/martin.hackworth, and on Substack at martinhackworthsubstack.com