This weekend my wife and kids (along with my wife’s sister) decided to go camping. “Camping.” The word reeks of a place with no central heat and air, no cable … and no high speed Internet access. Yuck. “Daddy, are you coming?” my four-year-old son asked as I helped my wife load a pile of duffle bags into the car. “Not this time,” I answered, and patted his head. “Daddy’s got some work to do around the house,” I told him, with visions of videogames and a pants-free weekend in my head.

The older you get, the harder it gets to rebel. Without realizing when or how it happened, I’ve become domesticated; house-broken, if you will.

Soon the minivan, packed floor to ceiling with “only the necessities”, began backing down the driveway. Standing in the entry hallway behind the glass front door, I waved to the departing campers. They waved back, and the van drove off into the horizon. Once they had disappeared over the hill, the reality of the situation hit me. I had the house to myself for the entire weekend and could do whatever I wanted. I was alone.

First things first, I rotated the living room love seat so it now not only faced the television, but was three feet away from it. Then it was off to the kitchen to round up some man food. I snagged the new bottle of caffiene-Free Diet Coke. No glass needed; I was going to be drinking out of the bottle this weekend, my friends. While pilfering through the pantry looking for snacks, I found the bag of big marshmellows. My wife would kill me for eating all the marshmellows, but she’s not here this weekend, now is she? Satisfied with my booty, I took the marshmellows and 2-liter bottle back out to the living room and tossed them on the couch. Then I turned on the Xbox. Then I took off my pants.

A couple of hours later, with an empty 2-liter bottle and my bladder next in the queue, I went to take a pee. Returning from the bathroom, I stopped and looked at my little bachelor area I’d set up for the weekend. Pretty sad. Where was the old me? Where was the kid who threw a kegger spring break of his senior year while his parents were out of town? “That kid didn’t have a glass coffee table,” I said to myself outloud. Even if I’d wanted to throw a party, I only talk to half a dozen people on a regular basis anyway, and getting more than one or two of them together at the same time is like pulling teeth. It’s not like the old days. In the old days I could have called a dozen or two people and had a party together within an hour. Now it takes weeks, sometimes months worth of scheduling to get enough people together for a simple poker game.

For a few minutes I sat on the couch, game paused, trying to think of the best way to use this weekend. I called a few friends; no one wanted to do as much as have dinner, much less hang out. There were a few projects I needed to do around the house, sure, but I’ll be damned if that’s the way I was going to spend a free Saturday night. I could feel my mind wandering as I mentally grasped for something/anything to do.

And then the phone rang.

My wife, who took her sister along for the trip, called and said that her sister’s daughter (my neice, Jessie) needed some help. It was closing time at the fast food restaurant she worked at, and some local kids were giving her some trouble. The story was sketchy. There were some kids who wouldn’t leave the restaurant. No wait, they had left, but they were waiting in the parking lot. To beat her up. No, to follow her to her house and have a party at her house. And then beat her up. Or something. Whatever was going on, it sounded like an adult needed to be up there. I turned off the Xbox.

And, like a superhero donning his cape for the first time, I put my pants on.

It was cold, cold last night. In a rush, I threw on a pair of work boots and a black hoodie. Over the whole get up, I threw on my trenchcoat, and finally a black baseball cap. Come to think of it, the entire outfit’s not far from something I might have worn as a teenager.

I arrived at the restaurant in record time. Jessie’s car was there, but she was nowhere in sight. Finally a couple of scared girls peered out through the fogged-up glass before steppng outside. I got out of my truck, and walked to the front door.

“These guys have been messing with us all night,” Jessie said, and pointed to a Tahoe sitting across the parking lot, idling with its lights off.

“They’re not going to mess with me,” I replied. Jessie’s friend looked up at me and nodded silently, agreeing. My large, six-foot frame towered over the two small girls, making them look even younger than they already seemed. Nothing reminds me more quickly how long I’ve been out of high school than standing next to someone who’s still there.

The two looked at me for a plan. We couldn’t leave Jessie’s car at the place, for fear of the guys trashing it overnight. I agreed to let Jess drive her car and take her co-worker home. After that it was decided she would come over to my house until we came up with a better plan. Staying alone at her house (which apparently these guys knew the location of) was out of the question. I told Jessie to take the girl home, and I’d follow them in my truck.

Jessie pulled out of the parking lot and turned left. I pulled out, directly behind her. And then the Tahoe pulled out behind me.

The awkward caravan made its way down to the only stop light we would hit along our route. In the car in front of me sat two young, scared girls. Behind me was a large subarban filled with who knows how many kids. Options raced through my mind. Do I call the police? Do I get out and reason with them? Do I get behind and start following them instead? My hand tightened its grip around the baseball bat which was now in the front seat.

“Back in Black” came on the CD changer. I cranked up the radio, and hit “repeat”. Every hero needs a theme song.

The light turned green. Jessica turned left. I sat there, unmoving. The suburban inched forward, and then stopped. The car began flashing its lights and honking, but I didn’t move. I saw Jessica making her getaway; so did they. The car behind me moved into the right lane, trying to go around me to make a left-hand turn. Then I pulled forward, blocking the road. Jessica’s car drove off into the night, her taillights slowly disappearing. The Tahoe, with nowhere else to go, went straight through the intersection. Then I turned left, realizing I had just blown the entire plan. All of a sudden I didn’t know where either vehicle was.

Of course, it’s not the dark ages. Jessica called her mom, who was standing next to my wife, who called me. Through this bastardized relay system it was determined that Jessica, after dropping her friend off, would drive back by the parking lot where I had stopped. I’d pick up the trail there and follow her back to my house. Pretty soon, I saw Jessica’s car come under the street lights. As I was pulling out, I saw another car behind her. It was the Tahoe again, and this time they were none-too-happy with me.

Again, we pulled up to the light, although this time the Tahoe came around me and lined up next to Jessica. The suburban rolled down its window. I rolled down mine.

“Back in Black … I hit the sack … I been too long, I’m glad to be back …”

This time Jessica went straight. The Tahoe, unnerved to see me a second time, turned right. I followed Jessica through the neighborhood to our house. Once inside we both made our “we made it home safe” phone calls.

“Want a marshmellow?” I offered. She declined.

Now, Jessica needed to go home to change clothes and let the dog out. “Not on my watch,” I said, peeking through the blinds, making sure we hadn’t been followed.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

I told her we had to let the heat cool down for at least 30 minutes. Then, we could take my other car (which is also conveniently heavily tinted) and let her go in the house for a few minutes before returning.

“It’ll be just like 007,” I said.

“Who?” she replied.

—

An hour later, we arrived at her house. I drove around the block twice, looking for parked Tahoes. During the trip, it was explained to me that someone’s friend’s girlfriend’s friend wanted to beat up Jessica’s sister for something she said to someone one time somewhere and that person’s brother’s cousin’s friend who used to work somewhere else wanted to do something to someone … the words, all spoken in high-school-ese, were lost on me.

Soon, my last plan of the night was hatched. Once the street was secured, I’d drop her off in front of the house. She’d do whatever she needed to do while I parked down the street, securing the area. Once she was ready to come out she’d call me, and if no one had pulled up, I’d tell her it was clear to come out.

I watch a lot of spy movies.

And so, that’s what we did. As Jessie changed clothes and let the dog outside to crap I sat outside in my car with the lights and radio off, watching the road in silence. Within a few minutes, my cell phone rang. I informed her the coast was clear and she could come out. After picking her up, I doubled back the other way, and took the long way back around to my house (which is, in reality, only about two blocks away from hers).

“A ninja never walks the same path twice,” I said.

“Oh,” she said in a tone of voice I instantly recognized as the same one I personally use whenever someone tells me a useless fact that they must’ve thought was important enough to share.

And soon, the excitement was over. Jessica got ready for bed and made her way to the guest bedroom. I walked past the living room mirror and caught a glimpse of myself. I /did/ look evil. The mean version of Silent Bob, perhaps. While I was taking my coat off, I wondered what would have happened had there been an actual confrontation. Part of me worried about hurting a couple of teenagers. The realistic side of me wondered just how badly a couple of high school boys would have beaten my nearing-the-hill, out of shape ass.

After winding down I eventually turned out all the lights and got ready for bed myself. I cracked the front blinds slightly and sat at the table for a few minutes, listening to the sound of the sleet bouncing off the roof and into the metal gutters.

At least for one night, I was back. Back in black, baby.