The birthday breakfast road trip

Shift happens.

I hope I included all the letters in that first word there.

Things change, that’s what I mean.

For example, on Tuesday I was the proud father of four teenagers. On Wednesday I was the proud father of three teenagers.

That doesn’t mean I lost pride in one of my teens. It means Cary, my 19-year-old daughter, turned 20.

She lives in Athens, where we lived when she was born.

It seems like yesterday that I was standing in St. Mary’s Hospital holding a tiny human being and realizing I had no idea what I was doing.

Or what I was going to do. I was in graduate school finishing a collection of short stories. That and a couple of bucks will buy you a decent cup of coffee.

We were in a double hospital room because that’s all our student insurance covered, but it was Easter weekend and a slow time for childbirths. The nurse said I could lie on the empty second bed without paying for it, as long as I didn’t get under the covers.

“I’m going to find something to do and I’m going to take care of you,” I told Cary. “You’re in good hands.” Or something like that. But deep down I was wondering why the heck I got out of the Army.

At moments like that, you learn important things. For me, I learned that it’s scary to be responsible for somebody besides yourself, but it’s also kind of empowering.

Bess learned something too. She learned that no man, regardless of title or medical education, is qualified to tell a woman that childbirth will be more rewarding without an epidural.

We knew better the next time, when our first son was born — and then our second, and then our third.

Those guys are still teenagers and still living at home. In the fall, the oldest son will be joining his sister at the University of Georgia, which means half our children will be living in Athens. Maybe we’ll get up there more often. For now, we don’t make the 170-mile trek much.

On Wednesday morning, when Cary turned the big 2-0, we were in Columbus and she was in Athens. We called her and sang Happy Birthday. By “we,” I mean Bess, who is the only morning person in our family.

Cary had asked for a bicycle, but as the father of four children, I’ve bought my share of bikes from big-box retailers and I didn’t want my garage littered with another one.

So at lunch I walked down the street to a bike shop and did some research. Then I texted Cary photos of bikes I thought she might like.

She had a clear idea of what she wanted, which was a blue bike instead of a red or yellow bike.

As of Wednesday afternoon, that was my gift to her: a photo of a nice blue bicycle.

That wasn’t enough, of course.

On Friday morning, Bess and I couldn’t stand it any longer. With our boys still sleeping in their beds, we left the house at 6 o’clock and headed north on I-185.

It was smooth sailing. We breezed past Newnan, over to 285, under the airplane bridge and on to I-20, then off the ramp to Conyers.

By 9 o’clock we were in Athens, sitting in a diner drinking coffee with Cary and eating a big breakfast.

By 10 o’clock, as soon as the “Open” sign lit up, we were inside a bike shop with Cary picking out a nice blue model, and of course a helmet and a lock.

By 11, we were back on the road, once again just the two of us, without our baby girl, heading back to home and work and all the worries of life.

It wasn’t practical, but the best road trips never are.

This was one of the best, with more to come.

This story was originally published April 8, 2016 at 8:09 PM with the headline "The birthday breakfast road trip."