Updated: April 8, 2021
Originally Published: March 15, 2009
March marks the arrival of spring break, and I can’t think of a better time to share my kids’ all-time favorite spring break adventure: watching Dad tackle the RV septic tank. Allow me to provide a little background. Unlike my wife, Emily, who grew up in a camping family, my childhood experiences were quite the opposite. My Eastern European father and first-generation American mother were proud to have a roof over our heads—why on earth would anyone choose to sleep outside?
Emily’s family, on the other hand, has a wealth of camping stories, including a hilarious tale of one stormy night when her dad had to sprint to the car—completely naked—because the tent had collapsed under the downpour. These anecdotes always leave me feeling a bit less masculine.
Marriage is all about finding middle ground. So, how do a seasoned outdoorsy mom and a not-so-nature-loving dad blend their ideas of family fun? The answer is RV camping! It offers a little something for everyone: hiking, campfires, s’mores, indoor plumbing, and, of course, basic sleeping arrangements.
On our first RV trip, our kids were just 6, 4, and 2 years old. By day two, after multiple stops for gas (an RV averages about 4 miles per gallon), we pulled into a Sinclair station boasting a life-size green Plaster of Paris Brontosaurus in the parking lot. This was no ordinary pit stop; it was also our first family “dump.”
RVs come equipped with septic tanks beneath the cabin, complete with a gauge that tells you when it’s time to empty them. Thankfully, the RV rental company provides ample instructions on how to handle this task. However, some newbies clearly find it daunting. Finding a dump station when you need one can be tricky, but stumbling upon a dinosaur photo op alongside a dumping ground felt like camping karma.
While our younger kids jumped out to explore the dinosaur, I kept our 6-year-old, Max, close by to teach him the ins and outs of septic tank emptying. After donning double gloves, I retrieved the waste hose from the storage compartment. With the tank valves securely closed, I opened the caps on the outlet valves. The smell was, shall we say, distinctive! After attaching the hose to the first tank outlet, I pointed to the dump hole covered by an iron lid with a foot pedal. “Max, why don’t you step on the pedal and hold the lid open while Dad connects the hose?” I said in my best dad voice.
Max enthusiastically stomped on the pedal, only for it to snap from the lid and clatter to the ground, leaving the lid still closed. Panic set in. “I broke it, I broke it!” he cried, sprinting back to the RV, convinced he was headed for jail in Wyoming.
“Don’t worry, buddy. The lid was rusted and would have broken anyway. You just happened to be there when it happened.” Unfortunately, my reassurances did little to comfort him. “Let’s just go, please, let’s just leave!”
But I knew this was a learning opportunity. We couldn’t just drive away. “We need to go inside and explain what happened,” I insisted. “You couldn’t have broken that lid; it was already in bad shape.”
“No, no, please, Dad! You go talk to him!”
Sometimes, being a parent means stepping up as the bad guy for the sake of a lesson. So, with my mortified son in tow, we picked up the rusty pedal and confessed. The attendant was incredibly understanding, assuring us that they were due for a new lid anyway. “Go ahead and use the dump hole; you’re all set up.”
“See, Max? That’s how you handle mistakes—by addressing them honestly,” I said, feeling like a sage. We loaded the kids back into the RV, and I prepared to finish the job. Max, relieved that he wouldn’t be facing jail time, watched from the window alongside his siblings as Emily filmed this momentous occasion.
As I propped the lid open with my foot and connected the hose, I realized I had neglected to tighten it onto the outlet valve. In hindsight, it was my first time, after all. What followed was a loud sucking sound that echoed through the area—the hose was yanked from the valve and disappeared into the dump hole, creating a rather chaotic situation.
As the “non-sink” waste erupted from the open valve, our kids erupted with laughter from the RV window, while Emily rushed out with the camera. I nervously urged her back inside and jumped into the driver’s seat. I tore out of the gas station, leaving a colorful trail of waste and blue disinfectant across the parking lot, the highway access road, and I-25 North.
I lost track of how many miles we drove before the tank was finally empty, but I do remember the kids laughing for three straight days. Max never brought up the lesson about confronting accidents again.
Over time, we embarked on more than two dozen RV trips, until the kids outgrew their cramped sleeping arrangements. We never had another incident with the waste hose again, but each spring break, every time we stopped to dump, the kids hoped for another wild adventure.
In conclusion, while RV camping may seem daunting, it can lead to unforgettable moments and lessons for the entire family.
Keyphrase: RV camping adventures
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