As we enter March, the time for spring break, I find it fitting to share one of my children’s most memorable activities: observing their father empty the RV’s septic tank. To provide context, my upbringing was not steeped in camping traditions. My father, an Eastern European immigrant, and my first-generation American mother saw the value in having a roof over our heads—why would anyone willingly choose to sleep outside? In stark contrast, my wife, Emily, grew up in a family that embraced tent camping. They often recount the tale of a particularly stormy night when Emily’s father had to dash to the car—completely naked due to the tent’s collapse during the downpour.
Marriage often requires compromise, especially when it comes to family activities. How do you reconcile an outdoor enthusiast with someone less inclined to embrace nature? The solution was RV camping, which offered a blend of experiences: hiking, campfires, s’mores, indoor plumbing, a kitchen, and beds (of sorts).
On our inaugural RV trip, our children were ages 6, 4, and 2. While stopping for gas on the second day—after several costly fill-ups (an RV averages about 4 miles per gallon)—we encountered a Sinclair station featuring an impressive life-sized green Brontosaurus. This stop was significant not just because of the dinosaur; it marked our first family “dump” experience. RVs are equipped with septic tanks, complete with a gauge to monitor waste levels and valves for disposal. The rental company provided thorough instructions on how to empty these tanks, which some first-timers find daunting.
What can be tricky is locating a dump station when the gauge indicates it’s time to empty the tanks. Happening upon a dinosaur photo op and a dump station was a stroke of good luck. While Emily took the younger kids to pose on the dinosaur’s feet, I kept our 6-year-old back for a lesson on septic tank maintenance. Parents should seize every opportunity for teaching moments.
I donned double gloves and retrieved the waste hose from the storage compartment. After ensuring the tank valves were tightly sealed, I opened the caps. A pungent odor wafted up. I attached the hose to the first tank outlet, designated for “non-sink” waste. The procedure involves connecting one end of the hose to the tank outlet and placing the other end into a dump hole, which was surprisingly covered with an iron lid featuring a foot pedal.
“Why don’t you step on the pedal and hold the lid open while I insert the hose?” I suggested in my best lumberjack voice. My eager assistant, now struggling to breathe with his shirt pulled over his face, stomped on the pedal, which promptly broke off, clattering to the ground while the lid remained shut. My son’s eyes widened in horror. “I broke it! I broke it!” he exclaimed, bolting back to the RV, convinced we were about to face dire consequences.
“Don’t worry, buddy. The lid was rusty and would have broken regardless. You just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.” This did little to assuage his fears. “Let’s just go, please!” he begged. However, I knew it was important to teach him that confronting mistakes is vital. So, we ventured into the gas station to explain our mishap. “Please, Dad, don’t make me go in!” he pleaded.
Sometimes, parenting involves being the “bad guy” for the sake of a lesson. We approached the clerk, who was incredibly understanding. “No problem,” he assured us. “We’ve needed to replace that lid for some time. Go ahead and use the dump hole.”
“See, son? That’s how you handle a mistake. Be honest, and things usually turn out fine,” I stated, feeling quite wise. After finishing the task, our son, relieved he wouldn’t be facing jail time, joined his siblings at the RV’s window to witness our family’s inaugural dump, with Emily capturing the moment on video.
Looking back, I suspect I didn’t secure the hose tightly enough to the outlet valve. The loud sucking noise that soon followed was the hose being yanked from the valve and disappearing into the dump hole. The resulting vacuum effect was astounding! As the hose vanished, waste from two days began to spew forth. The children erupted in laughter, while Emily rushed outside to assist me, still filming. I gestured for her to return to the RV, anxiously checking if the clerk was watching. I jumped into the driver’s seat and sped off like a character in a high-octane action movie, inadvertently leaving a trail of blue waste across the parking lot, along the access road, and ultimately onto I-25 North.
I have no idea how many miles we traveled before the flow ceased, but our children were entertained for three days. My son, in particular, showed remarkable restraint regarding our lesson on handling accidents.
We embarked on more than two dozen RV trips after that, until the kids grew too large for the cramped beds. Never again did our waste hose succumb to the vacuum of the dump hole. Yet, every spring break, at each dump stop for the next twelve years, the kids eagerly anticipated a repeat of that memorable event.
In summary, family adventures often come with unexpected lessons and laughter. For those interested in learning more about home insemination, consider checking out resources like Make a Mom for valuable insights or their fertility booster for men. Additionally, the Fertility Center at Johns Hopkins is an excellent resource for those exploring pregnancy options.
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