The Great Hula Hoop Incident of 1994 (A True Story)

Please note before reading this that I love my family dearly. They will not get angry when they read this as they already know how screwed up they are. This depiction will not be news to them. We’re not a vain family. If we were, we would be much more attractive and take much better care of ourselves. Enjoy the show.

The Tradition

“Just because something is traditional is no reason to do it.” – Leminy Snicket

I come from a large, loving, dysfunctional family. Actually, we’re not dysfunctional, we function very well together. We could be more accurately described as codependent. We drink too much, love too much, care too much (about each other). Everyone else can pretty much go to hell if they disagree with us on anything. Our family heritage is primarily Irish and German which means we drink way too much alcohol and are bent on world domination. We have actually discussed invading Poland. Over 50 years ago, the “Elders” in my family started an annual pilgrimage to Gulf Shores, AL. The ENTIRE FAMILY would take a 3 day/3 night vacation together, because seeing each other every weekend for crawfish boils, fish fries, barbeques and birthdays just wasn’t enough. Please understand that this trip included my parents, sister, (12) Aunts & Uncles, (15) first cousins and various friends and tag-a-longs. We would rent a beach house every year and pile everyone in on top of each other. No one slept, everyone was too loud, mealtimes were nightmares, there were fights, a few arrests, an hour wait to take a cold shower and God forbid you had to go “Number 2”. The entire family would complain about how long you were taking, ask you “how did it go in there?” and then announce to everyone how bad the bathroom smelled afterward. It was ridiculous…And I LOVED IT.

The Migration

Thursday was the day everyone drove to Gulf Shores from New Orleans, LA, Slidell, LA, Mobile, AL and other distant lands. Imagine the Jews exodus from Egypt, only much less organized and no Moses coordinating the effort. Imagine a swarm of giant, pale-skinned Irish locusts swarming in to destroy a gulf coast town and everyone else’s good time. Imagine a pod of whales swimming at top speed towards the shore only to beach themselves on a white sandy beach. (That was probably the best visual I could give you). That was my family. Preparation consisted of everyone packing food, alcohol (way too much), beach chairs, tents, etc. and very little clothing, hats, sunscreen, first-aid supplies or self-control. None was needed. We were fun, bad-assed and invincible.

Over the years, after being banned from re-renting the same beach houses and word spreading about our behavior, my family was driven from our promised land of West Gulf Shores. We were driven East all the way to the Florida border and settled at the Phoenix X Condos in Orange Beach, AL. Just to clarify…the “X” stands for the Roman numeral (10) as we were exiled from the other (9) Phoenix condos. It was next door to the world famous Flora-Bama Beach Bar located on the AL/FL border. This was the perfect location as our family could walk next door to drink instead of driving. When we were were thrown out of the bar, stumbling home was no problem. Another convenient benefit was that our baby monitors worked “most” of the time while we were next door partying.

The Invasion

“I take the invasion of my personal space very seriously.” – Kid Rock

EVERYONE knew when my family arrived in Gulf Shores. It was kind of like how animals can sense an earthquake before anyone else. Everyone and everything avoided us. Rip tides moved further down the beach to get away from us. Sharks complained to other sharks about the shitty taste in the water. Sand crabs refused to come out at night. Parents covered their children’s eyes. People prayed. Upon arrival, my family made the beach look like a refugee camp. The beautiful view of the white sand from the condo balconies were replaced with a sea of LSU and New Orleans Saints tents, ice chests, and beach chairs. There were several injuries in previous years resulting from beachgoers stepping on our white legs because they could not see them as they blended into the sand. As a result, we blocked off an area of the beach with orange cones for my family to sunbathe (see below).

” Let’s Meet at Hooters!”

“Insanity runs in my family. It practically gallops.” – Cary Grant

In 1994, using the excuse that it would take forever to check in and get our keys, most of the family decided to meet at the local Hooter’s for drinks and wings and to catch up with each other. My wife and I checked in easily and it took about 5 minutes. Being the loving wife she is, she said “I’ll watch the kids, you go have beers with your family.” A truly generous offer, but based on past history, not a brilliant one. I arrived at Hooters and after a few minutes of pleasantries…game on.

Immediately the festivities started and I was participating in a mustard juggling contest, a dance off, and then the infamous “Hula Hoop Challenge”. After a series of minor contests, I raised the bar by claiming I could run and jump through a Hula Hoop without busting my ass (imagine a Siegfried & Roy tiger jumping through a flaming hoop). Yada, yada, yada…the young Hooters girl held the Hoop of Hula vertically, I charged forward and in my best Bruce Lee jump-kick move I launched through the hoop and landed on my feet. The crowd went wild. I was raised on people’s shoulders, my tab was comped and I received marriage proposals from Hooters staff (mostly the guys in the kitchen). There were witnesses to this event that can attest to its accuracy. Many have mysteriously disappeared, most were too impaired to remember and others are family members who are taking my word for it…but it really happened.

The Idea

“No Idea Is So Outlandish That It Should Not Be Considered With A Searching But At The Same Time A Steady Eye.”– Winston Churchill.

It was almost an epiphany. My cousins Shannon, Brian and I came up with an amazing idea to bring joy into the lives of our family and friends. Why don’t we make it look like Jerry got injured and bring him back to the condo? When everyone asks “What happened?” our hilarious answer would be “Jerry got into a Hula Hoop accident!” We could not wait for the hilarity to commence. As with any great performance, it takes preparation. My cousin Shannon immediately went to work on my makeup. She expertly blackened one eye, patched the other, stuffed cotton between my gums, and strategically placed band-aids on my neck, chin and both earlobes for maximum effect. While she completed her masterpiece, my cousin Brian and I rehearsed our best Johnny Carson / Ed McMahon set-up for the soon-to-be delivered performance.

The Incident

“Ideas Won’t Keep. Something Must Be Done About Them.” – Alfred North Whitehead.

Giddy with anticipation of how hilarious we would be, we knocked on the condo door with my cousins supporting me on each side as if I couldn’t stand by myself. We were ready to take the stage. My niece Brittany was the first to open the door. The look of horror on her face was apparent. She covered her mouth and screamed “Aunt Neena! Come quick!” When my wife Celina came to the door and saw me, she covered her mouth with both hands, her eyes filled with tears, and her face turned white. The utter terror was obvious. This caused a collective “Oh shit, maybe this wasn’t a good idea.” between me and my cousins. But the show must go on. My sobbing wife then asked me “Oh My God! What happened to you?” There it was! The perfect set-up! That is when I delivered the punch line “I got into a Hula Hoop accident!” Oh, it was a “punch” line alright. While I was waiting for Celina to realize how funny we were, her face turned from white to red, her eyes widened and she punched the shit out of me. I’m telling you, Mike Tyson has nothing on this chick. She’s only 5 foot tall, weighs a hundred-and-nothing but she’s freakishly strong. She then proceeded to slam the door in our face, ran into the bedroom and locked herself in crying.

The Aftermath

“If you prick us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? If you poison us do we not die? And if you wrong us shall we not revenge?” – William Shakespeare

While I was still seeing stars, my cousin Brian approached the bedroom door begging Celina’s forgiveness for the stupid thing we had done. I instead went to the bathroom to admire what a great job we did on my makeup. After an extended amount of time, Celina finally emerged. I eventually convinced her how sorry I was, begged forgiveness and asked if I could give her a hug. She reluctantly agreed and we embraced. That’s when I started to giggle. Everyone knows what destruction hurricanes have wreaked on the Gulf Coast. None of that compared to the pounding I took from Celina. Katrina was a Category 5. Celina was a Category 10. I wouldn’t call what she did to me domestic violence, but that was only to keep her from going to jail. Needless to say the rest of the vacation didn’t go well for old Jerry. I pretty much was relegated to watching the kids and serving her drinks while Celina went to the pool, beach, bar or pretty much whatever the hell else she wanted me to do. She wouldn’t speak to me the rest of the weekend (which most of the time is a good thing). After a long day of partying and passing out that night, she took a sharpie and wrote on my lower back “POOP COMES OUT HERE” and drew an arrow pointing to my butt crack. I wish someone would have told me it was there over the next three days. My back-tat became the talk of the beach. The most damage was done to our credit card. It took a worse beating than I did. Celina used my idiotic behavior to justify a shopping spree that consisted of new bathing suits, sandals, dresses and designer sunglasses. Did I learn a lesson that day? Of course. A very profound lesson. Some people just can’t take a damned joke.

Reflection

Writing this made me realize how much I miss those days. Times were simpler. Our kids were kids, family was everything. Over the years, we’ve gone less and less with the family to Gulf Shores for a variety of bullshit reasons. The crowd has thinned and many of the Founding Elders have passed away and handed the torch to us. I’d like to think that our next generation will continue this tradition and make it even better. Stop making excuses. Seize every opportunity to spend time with your family. If you don’t, you may end up a guy in his late 50’s who desperately misses his family and reminiscing of the way it used to be. And please never forget….Don’t drink and Hula Hoop.