I’m heading home from a weeklong spring break trip in Mexico with wonderful new friends. The excitement leading up to the trip was shadowed by a subtle anxiety: would our three get along with their two, especially considering the age differences? Our boys are 13 and 7; our girl is 11. Their girl is 10 and their boy 6. To many adults, they might sound close “enough”, but to a child, that equates to grades 7, 5, 4, 2 and 1.
O.M.G.!!! Those are, like, totally different worlds! Different lunch times, different teachers, different friends – and that’s just counting the kids in elementary school. Don’t even get us started on the apples and oranges between middle school and gradeschool!
There were moments throughout the trip when I wondered how we’d ever pull it off.
Our 2ndbossed their 1st grader around. Their 1st grader pointed out our 2nd grader’s lack of expertise in checkers. Our 7th grader continuously sprayed AXE Body Spray in and around the rental house, nauseating many of us with his nightclub-ready scent.
The, thank , have held the longest friendship. Their easy manner was apparent from the start, either reading by the pool, getting their hair braided, or complaining about annoying brothers.
The girls played nicely enough, the little guys wrestled their way through little-boy struggles, and thespent most of his time without a peer at all. However, the five kids often orbited in their own worlds, frequently seeking individual check-ins with a parent or, more often, playing on a personal gaming device.
That is, until our teenager introduced the Fedora into the mix.
Yes. The Fedora.
One evening, our teenager met up with three boys from two other families from our hometown; three of the boys haggled a local merchant for strikingly cheap fedoras for a shockingly low price. Instead of walking around downtown Isla Mujeres as the cuatro amigos in sombreros, the boys looked like pubescent pimps. God they loved it.
When my teen showed off his fedora to all of us, the reaction was unanimous:
“You look ridiculous!”
Our response, of course, only ignited his passion for that fedora. He wore it everywhere, even while driving down dusty roads along the Caribbean sea in a golf cart, wearing a bathing suit and flip flops.
The more the girls teased him, the more he defended the fedora. “You know you want one,” he’d say, smiling his shiny smile. “You’re just jealous.”
The girls would giggle and roll their eyes, especially when he’d say, “Not everyone can look as Fedoran as I do.”
“Yup. Fedoran. It takes a certain something, you know, special.” He’d flip-flop away, tapping the band on his $133.00 Fedora ($11.11 in U.S. currency). “It’s pretty Fedoran.”
We razzed him over the Fedoran thing. He never once wavered from the term. The more we laughed, the more he’d use it:
“This guacamole’s pretty Fedoran.”
“Do NOT get sand in my eyes. Wouldn’t be Fedoran.”
“This vacation’s totally Fedoran.”
Pretty soon, all started using the term. One of the girls coined the phrase Fedorable, as in “he looks Fedorable.”
On the last day of vacation, the little guys declared they’d each like a Fedora. I wondered how the teen would respond. After all, little dudes have the nasty potential to wreak havoc on an older boy’s totally Fedoran setup. However, two subsequent Fedora purchases created an entire posse of cool dudes (imagined or otherwise).
The last night of vacation was spent eating delicious take-out tacos, packing and – unexpectedly – videotaping an impromptu Fedoran dance party including all five kids (the girls happily acted as backup dancers):
The party was occasionally interrupted by the youngest boy’s repeated requests to either a) remind him what the hat was called or b) have his parents promise to buy him a can of AXE Body Spray upon his family’s return to Evanston.