My parents started taking us to the Southern Outer Banks of North Carolina when we were toddlers. Until I was 15, we lived maybe an hour away in Eastern North Carolina, so it was a relatively easy trip.

Well, as easy as any car trip with four young kids can be.

We later moved to Delaware when Pops accepted at  transfer with DuPont. Though we were now 8-9 hours away, the Southern Outer Banks, specifically Emerald Isle, N.C., remained our choice for a beach vacation.

We’ve continued the family tradition through various girlfriends, wives, births of children, divorces and the death of our mom in November 2015. Today, as we all pack for this year’s version, I thought it would be good to take a look back.

I stepped on the scales this morning.

I had dreaded doing it and had actually pushed the scales off to the side at an angle so I could not just step on them. I’d have to drag them out away from the wall and dresser to be able to weigh myself. That was enough extra effort to have to go through to keep me from doing it for the past few weeks.

But after struggling to get the button on my largest pair of jeans through the slot yesterday, pinching my finger in the process,  I knew it was time.

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