I’m inside the largest man-made whale structure I’d ever seen at the St. Louis City Museum. At 10 years old, this was the highest point of my life. It was the first couple of days of my spring break trip and life could not get much better. So many people my age had the exact same interest: exploring the great unknown; being a part of something. It felt like I was in some sort of adventurous heaven. Even though I was thousands of miles away from the roller coasters in Orlando or the sunshine of California, I couldn’t imagine a better experience.
Fast forward 11 years and I'm even cooler than I was then, but my friends are not. As a second-semester senior, spring break isn’t just a week-long break from my last semester of classes, it's my last chance to have an adventure with my friends. Despite this, all I hear from other college kids is how cool it is to go to the beach for spring break.
My freshman year, I too had the flashy beachy spring break trip to Gulf Shores, Alabama, and it was absolutely … boring. We were right on the beach and honestly, the food was fantastic, but the truth was it didn’t feel like we did anything. The first two days we were in town it was even colder than it was back home in Chicago. Even when it got warmer, our day consisted of sitting out in the sun to tan and occasionally going into the water where it was often too windy to go past the shallow part. I understand the appeal of coming back to school with a brand new shiny tan, but as a ginger, I’ve never had that luxury. I came back to school after that week with peeled skin and a new sunburn.
Alabama was not a bad trip, but my personal inconveniences are why I’m happy to have taken trips to Washington D.C., St. Louis and Minneapolis. In 20-degree weather in March, sitting out in the sun isn’t possible and wouldn’t suffice. Instead, the Gorbett family had to create its own fun and that is exactly what happened. In St. Louis, the children’s museum lived up to the wild expectations. It was a surreal architectural jungle gym that provided a stunning amount of fun for me and my siblings.
In D.C., I was slightly bored by the historical stuff as a rambunctious pre-teen, but the spy museum was right up my alley. As someone who called himself James Bond on Instagram on two separate occasions, all things relating to espionage had me simply transfixed.
At the Mall of America in Minneapolis, the Nickelodeon roller coasters may not have had the iconography of those in Disney, but they also certainly did not have the obnoxious wait times.
It’s amazing what I would give to go back to being an overtly energetic 10-year-old in a place built for an energetic 10-year-old for just 30 more minutes. Instead, my friends will force me to settle with dozing in and out of consciousness in the laziest of rivers in some pool in Tampa Bay.
Bobby Gorbett is a senior studying journalism. Please note that the views and opinions of the columnists do not reflect those of The Post. Want to talk more about it? Let Bobby know by tweeting him @GorbettBobby.
