Spring Break at the Dump Site: A Parenting Adventure

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As March ushers in spring break, I find it fitting to recount one of my children’s most cherished experiences: witnessing their father empty the RV septic tank. To provide some context, my upbringing was quite different. Coming from an Eastern European background, my father and first-generation American mother viewed the outdoors with skepticism; why would anyone choose to sleep outside? In stark contrast, my wife Lisa grew up camping, often sharing tales that leave me feeling somewhat inadequate, like the infamous night her father had to dash to their car in the rain, naked, after their tent collapsed.

Marriage is a dance of compromise. How do you blend the outdoor-loving spirit of a camping enthusiast with the hesitance of someone who spent their childhood indoors? The answer lies in RV camping—a perfect blend of adventure and comfort, offering hiking, campfires, s’mores, and the luxury of indoor plumbing.

Our first RV trip was memorable; our children were 6, 4, and 2 at the time. On day two, we stopped at a Sinclair gas station, where a life-size green Brontosaurus greeted us. This stop was significant not only for the dinosaur but also for marking our first family “dump.” RVs come equipped with septic tanks, complete with a gauge that signals when it’s time to empty them. The RV rental company had provided comprehensive instructions on how to handle this process—though some novices seem to find it daunting.

Finding a dump station can be a challenge, so discovering one alongside such a quirky photo op felt like fortuitous camping luck. While our younger kids jumped out to explore the dinosaur, I stayed behind with our eldest to demonstrate the intricacies of septic tank management. Seizing the opportunity for a teaching moment, I donned double gloves and retrieved the waste hose from storage. After ensuring the tank valves were securely closed, I opened the caps to the outlets and was immediately greeted by an overwhelming odor.

I attached the hose to the first tank outlet, the one designated for “non-sink” waste. The goal was to insert the hose into a dump hole, which was conveniently covered by an iron lid with a foot pedal. “Why don’t you step on the pedal and hold the lid open while I insert the hose?” I suggested, channeling my inner lumberjack. My son, however, gasped for air as he buried his face in his shirt while stepping on the pedal, only for the lid to snap and clang to the ground. Terror washed over him as he exclaimed, “I broke it, I broke it!”—convinced this would land him in a Wyoming jail.

I quickly reassured him, “It wasn’t your fault. The lid was rusted and would have broken regardless of who stepped on it.” This didn’t alleviate his fears; he pleaded, “Let’s just go! Drive away, pleaaaaassse!” But driving away would teach our children nothing. Instead, we needed to confront the situation head-on. I encouraged him to accompany me into the gas station so we could explain what happened, emphasizing that a 6-year-old couldn’t possibly be responsible for a rusted lid.

With some reluctance, we approached the station attendant, and to our surprise, he was incredibly understanding. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, “We’ll just replace it. It should have been done months ago.” This became a teachable moment: “You see, son, it’s essential to face accidents with honesty. Most times, things will turn out fine if you do.”

With the kids now back in the RV, my son and I proceeded to finish the job, while Lisa filmed the historic first family dump. I confidently positioned the hose and opened the valve, but in hindsight, I must not have secured it properly. The hose was violently yanked from the outlet, disappearing into the dump hole as the valve began to spew two days’ worth of waste. Our children erupted in laughter from the RV window, while I frantically attempted to manage the situation.

“Quick! Get back inside!” I instructed Lisa as I leapt into the driver’s seat, speeding away from the gas station like a scene from a high-octane movie. The RV left a trail of bright blue waste along the parking lot, the highway access road, and ultimately onto I-25 North.

Despite the chaos, our kids laughed uncontrollably for days. We continued to take RV trips over the years, and while the waste hose never met the same fate again, the anticipation of similar mishaps became a tradition.

In summary, this experience served as a humorous yet poignant reminder of the importance of addressing mistakes honestly, all while creating lasting memories with family. For more insights on topics related to home insemination, check out this excellent resource, or explore our at-home insemination kit options.