March heralds the arrival of spring break, and I’m excited to share my kids’ most beloved spring break experience: watching Dad tackle the RV septic tank! A bit of background first—my childhood didn’t involve camping at all. My Eastern European father and first-generation American mother were just happy to have a roof over our heads; the idea of sleeping outside was absurd to them. My wife, Mia, on the other hand, grew up with camping trips galore. One of her favorites involves her dad scrambling to the car in the rain—naked—after their tent collapsed. Trust me, stories like that don’t help my ego!
Compromising on Outdoor Fun
Marriage is all about finding common ground. So how does a rugged outdoorsy mom and a city-dwelling dad find a happy medium for family adventures? Enter RV camping! It offers a little something for everyone: hiking, campfires, s’mores, and—thankfully—indoor plumbing.
On our first RV excursion, our kids were 6, 4, and 2. By the second day, we stopped at a Sinclair gas station that boasted a life-sized green Brontosaurus out front. It was a memorable pit stop, not just for the dinosaur but also for our inaugural family “dump.” RVs feature septic tanks with gauges that indicate when it’s time to empty them. The RV rental company gives you all the instructions, but the process can seem daunting for first-timers.
The Great Dump Adventure
Finding a dump station when you really need one can be tricky, so stumbling upon one with a dinosaur photo op was pure camping fate. While Mia took the younger kids to pose with the dinosaur, I kept our 6-year-old close to teach him about the art of dumping the tanks. It’s important to seize every teaching moment, right? I donned double gloves and pulled out the waste hose, ensuring the tank valves were tightly closed before opening the caps. The odor that hit me was something else!
I hooked the hose to the first tank outlet—meant for “non-sink” waste. The idea is simple: attach one end to the outlet and place the other in a hole that leads who-knows-where. This hole was covered by an iron lid with a foot pedal. “Why don’t you step on the pedal and hold the lid open while I connect the hose?” I said, channeling my inner lumberjack. My son, overwhelmed by the smell and the sheer importance of the moment, stomped on the pedal, which promptly snapped off and fell to the ground. “I broke it! I broke it!” he cried, convinced he’d just landed us in some serious trouble.
“Sweetheart, it’s not your fault. That lid was rusted and could’ve broken under anyone’s foot,” I reassured him, though he didn’t seem comforted. “Let’s just leave, please!”
But running away wasn’t an option. We had to face the music and let the gas station attendant know what happened. “No, Dad, please don’t make me go inside!” he pleaded, turning pale at the thought.
Facing the Consequences
Sometimes, being a parent means being the bad guy for the greater good. So, my embarrassed son and I headed inside with the rusty pedal in hand, ready to confess. The attendant was incredibly understanding. “Don’t worry about it, kid! We’ve needed a new lid for ages. Go ahead and use the dump hole since you’re already set up.”
“See, buddy? That’s how you deal with accidents—face them head-on, and it’ll all work out,” I said wisely. We returned to the RV, and my son, now relieved, watched the first family dump from the window, with Mia filming for the memory books.
As I confidently propped the lid open and slipped the hose in, it became evident that I hadn’t tightened it properly. The loud whoosh that ensued was the hose being yanked out by the vacuum of the dump hole, sending two days’ worth of “non-sink” waste spewing everywhere. With our kids laughing hysterically from the RV, Mia rushed to help, but I quickly ushered her back inside, glancing nervously for the attendant. I jumped into the driver’s seat and sped away like I was in a high-octane action movie, leaving a trail of blue disinfectant and toilet paper behind.
How far we drove before the tank was empty and the blue goo stopped leaking, I couldn’t tell you, but our kids were in stitches for days. My son was kind enough to stay quiet about the parenting lesson we learned.
Over the years, we took more than two dozen RV trips, and thankfully, we never had another hose mishap. Yet, every spring break stop for the next twelve years, my kids eagerly awaited the next adventure.
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Summary
Spring break can lead to unexpected and hilarious family moments, such as the time we tackled the RV septic tank at a gas station with a dinosaur. What began as a simple task turned into a lesson in facing mistakes and making the best of a messy situation. Each trip after that became a cherished memory, as our kids learned to embrace the adventures that came with RV camping.