O Spring Break, Where Art Thou?

“Any big plans for spring break, Professor Hurley?”

I heard this question last week from James, an earnest young man who has lived for maybe twenty years. Short cropped brown hair and intense eyes, James looked all the world like he wanted not just an answer, but a BIG answer. Memorable and not cliche. Expensive if need be, but photo-worthy and full of stories. A moonlit stroll on the Champs-Élysées. Lounging under the Mexican sun in a Cancun resort or an Alaskan cruise from Seattle to Skagway and back. At the very least, hiking Pike’s Peak or hot air balloons soaring above New Mexico.

James waited and stared. I smiled and licked my lips, measuring my words. “I’m just staying local, James. How about you?”

I can’t say for sure, but the fallen face suggested how he hopes he never reaches this age, this mindset that seems content and says “staying local.” It’s old.

The truth is, spring break just doesn’t have the same pop it used to. In my youth, spring break wasn’t a phrase we used. It was Easter Break. We had the week off before Easter, wherever that fell on the calendar. My childish gripe then centered on how we had to go back to school the day after Easter, which wasn’t true of Christmas. How was Christmas worth two weeks, but Easter just one? I had too little time to recover from my chocolate bunny hangover and secure my candy-laden Easter basket from my scavenging siblings. Those vultures!

I can only imagine the reaction from either of my parents if I had asked them, “Hey, where are we going for spring break this year?” Holy heck, it would have been a belt, a tongue-lashing, or some extended quiet time in my room. Or all three. Likely my question would have been met with a question: “Who do you think we are, the Kennedys?” At any rate, I was smart enough to keep my yap shut.

Maybe spring break became a craze in the 80’s with a spate of movies highlighting beach party lifestyles of the poor and decadent. Pick a locale (preferably Florida) and fill it with skin, alcohol, goofy dudes, some overzealous adult moralist, and more skin. Voila! You have a spring break movie. Before there was the Internet and accompanying social media, movies helped drive the movement.

I actually spent many a spring break in FL as a volunteer staff person for our church. Some years, I even had a permit to drive the bus. Melanie graciously let me go a dozen or so times. When you’re on the tail-end of a Chicago winter, a bus trip to Florida was a welcome trek. (That meant I spent all my working days with teenagers. I taught teenagers. I coached Debate with teenagers. Then I volunteered at my church for a few decades with…teenagers. Suffice to say, it’s an age group I love.)

Busing high school students to FL also meant foolish choice. I’ve witnessed blistering burns and splotches of red where the individual missed applying sunscreen. The worst victims were the self-deluded who assured the adults that yes, baby oil was their preferred skin protector. It was usually followed by that individual wearing long-sleeved shirts and pants to the beach after that first day in the sun.

By the 80’s and beyond, spring break was a big deal, a really big deal. In February and March, everyone talked about what they were doing for Break. Unless you weren’t doing anything, in which case you just avoided everyone else. Afterward the Spring Break (worthy of capital letters now), we would compare war stories. The population was divided into the tan (and depressed) and the pasty (and annoyed). This lasted maybe a month.

Now, I’m retired from full-time teaching, trading it for a twice per week part-time gig at Collin College. On Mondays and Wednesdays, I’m done teaching speech at 1pm. That leaves five days per week where I don’t teach at all. Outside grading and prep is minimal. At this point, I don’t really need spring break because I don’t do enough work to require a vacation.

I’ve been rehearsing my reply to James when school resumes next week, mostly because I know he’ll ask the question. I’ll put on my serious face. “As a matter of fact, James, I ended up going to the Outback. True story. My wife and I did a walkabout.” I’ll say, pausing to let the words sink in. “I went to the Outback, the one in Frisco. I ate some ribs and baked potato, then walked about an hour to burn the calories. James, it was everything I ever wanted in a spring break.”