Two things that signified the Cape Cod vacations of our youth were miniature golf and ice cream at the Lil Caboose. The former was easy to replicate, and we soon found ourselves swinging away on an 18 hole course. (Yes, 18 – which, after the first two holes took half an hour to get through, meant for a very long evening.)
I don’t want to brag, but I was averaging two shots per hole, thank you very much. It’s all in the ball – and my chosen color was purple.
Andy was a maniac on the mini-greens, launching his ball out of bounds more often than not. People were actually moving out of the way when he came up to putt. (Mainly my brother and myself.)
The twins handled themselves pretty well until the last few holes. Emi was done with the whole process, and Noah was getting unruly. A few sets of players behind us had already been advised to play through, and most welcomed the chance. The mosquitoes were also out by this time, so I was very thankful when the last ball disappeared into the abyss of the last hole.
For our final outing on this family vacation, we stopped by a childhood haunt – the Lil Caboose – for ice cream. I’d spotted the venerable establishment earlier that day, astounded that it was still around, and that I still remembered. My brother instantly recalled it, and I finally realized that in many ways he is more nostalgic than me. As his kids enjoyed their first Lil Caboose experience, the distant memories of our vacations came back little by little. It was different being one of the adults this time, but different in a good way. One of the things that remained the same was the feeling, on that last night, of not wanting it to end.
