WATERCOLOR, Fla.— The Florida Panhandle has known a lot of different versions of me over the past 60 years. It knew me as a little boy whose father had just died, as a young man who had lost his way, as a newly sober waiter dreaming of owning a restaurant, as a husband and father bringing his own family to the beach, and now as a man waiting for the next addition.

It’s never been home, though I lived here for short periods twice. My wife and I aren’t really beach people, though we’ve spent a week down here almost every summer for three decades. I like the beach early in the morning and late in the afternoon. Everything in between can usually be enjoyed just as well through an air-conditioned window.

My earliest Panhandle memory came not too long after my father died. I was six when he passed away after a very short bout with cancer. Dr. J.P. Culpepper, a close friend of my father, helped take care of him during that illness. After his death, the Culpepper family brought my mother, brother, and me to Florida with them several times.

At the time my brother and I never thought much about it. Kids don’t wonder who is paying for the hotel room or buying the groceries. Someone tells you you’re going to the beach, you throw a swimsuit in a bag and get in the car.

It’s only with almost 60 years of hindsight that I understand what was probably happening. My mother was a public-school art teacher raising two boys on her own. She did an amazing job, and we never felt deprived, but vacations just weren’t something we could afford.

That’s the beauty of the way the Culpeppers handled those trips. There was never a hint that they were doing anything for us. We were just two families going to Florida together. Looking back, I see it for what it was— one family helping another during a difficult time. There is a lot to be said for the kind of charity that helps people without ever making them feel as if they’re being helped.

In the 1970s condominiums started popping up all along the Panhandle, and every now and then a friend and his family would invite me down. By high school I was working, and I worked through college, too, so spring break was rarely a break. While friends headed south, I usually picked up extra shifts.

Then came 1983.

I moved down here to work for a friend in his restaurant. I was 21, drinking heavily, using drugs, making bad decisions, and heading in the wrong direction at a fairly rapid pace. I eventually got fired, and in May of that year I went into rehab. I have been clean and sober ever since.

Those were rough months, but in the overall scheme of my life they turned out to be extremely important.

Four years later I came back. I was sober, living on the beach, and waiting tables at Harbor Docks in Destin. I was young, single, didn’t have much money, and didn’t need much. I walked the beach in the mornings, waited tables at night, and spent most of my free time thinking about opening a restaurant of my own.

I hoped Harbor Docks would be the last place I ever worked as a server. It was. So far. A few months later I moved back to Hattiesburg and started putting together the plans for the Purple Parrot Café.

Harbor Docks is still here. I ate lunch there yesterday with my son and thought about that 26-year-old version of me walking into the building to work a shift. He had no clue what was ahead. He just wanted to own a restaurant. I wish I could go back and have a five-minute conversation with him. Actually, I probably wouldn’t tell him much. It might ruin the surprise.

Eventually I got married, and my wife and I reached a point where we could afford to rent our own condo at the beach. Then the kids came along, and the Panhandle took on an entirely different role. We started spending a week every summer in the WaterColor area and have continued that tradition ever since.

I work most mornings while I’m here. I don’t say that looking for a pat on the back. I just like to work. Sitting at a table near the Gulf with a few projects spread out in front of me is relaxing. I also eat. That is where I put in the real vacation work.

I make restaurant reservations several weeks before we come down. Some people plan golf tee times. I plan meals. There are old favorites, places the kids insist we return to, and a few new restaurants I want to try. Every morning, I go out for breakfast by myself. It gives me time to think before the rest of the world creeps in.

This year’s vacation is different. Last year our family grew by one when my daughter got married and her husband became part of the annual beach trip. This year we are adding another, though that person isn’t here just yet.

My daughter is pregnant. I am going to be a grandfather!

It doesn’t seem that long ago that I was bringing her down here as a little girl. Now she is going to bring a little boy of her own. I can look at her today and see the grown woman she has become, married and about to be a mother, and still see the little girl who came down here with us all those summers ago.

I have loved being a father. It is the most important job I’ve ever had and the most rewarding thing I have ever done. I had no frame of reference of fatherhood. My father never got to see my brother and me become adults. He never met our wives or knew his grandchildren. He never had the chance to become the grandfather I am about to become.

Next summer there will be a baby in the beach house. There will be a stroller, car seat, bottles, toys, naps, and all the other things I have conveniently forgotten about raising small children. Restaurant reservations may become a little more complicated. I’ll happily adjust.

Maybe that’s why I’ve been thinking about the Culpeppers this week.

Almost 60 years ago, shortly after our father died, my brother and I climbed into a car and headed to Florida with another family. We didn’t know our mother probably couldn’t afford a vacation. We didn’t know another family was quietly doing something kind for their friend’s widow and her two boys.

We just knew we were going to the beach.

All these years later, that may be the part of the story that means the most to me. The first time I came here, another family quietly made room for ours. Next summer, God willing, our family will make room for one more.

That seems like a pretty good way to measure 60 years.

I can’t wait.

Onward.

Breakfast Casserole Number 3

1 lb                  Spicy Andouille Sausage, cut into 1/2 inch dice

3 /4 cup           Onion, diced

1 /4 cup           Green bell pepper, sliced

1 /4 cup           Red bell pepper, sliced

1 tsp                Garlic

1 tsp                Creole Seasoning 

1 tsp                Cayenne pepper

10                    Eggs, beaten

1 cup               Half and Half

1 tsp                Dry mustard

5                      Croissants

1 /4 cup           Soft butter

1 cup               Smoked cheddar cheese, shredded

1 cup               Pepper jack cheese, shredded

1 tsp.               Hot Sauce

Preheat oven to 325 degrees. 

Brown sausage in a large skillet and drain most of the fat. Add vegetables, garlic and seasoning and cook five minutes. Set aside. 

Combine the eggs, half and half, and dry mustard in a mixing bowl. Using the softened butter, butter both sides of each croissant. Cut the croissants into small cubes. Fold the bread, cheeses and sausage mixture into the eggs. Mix well and place in a buttered two-quart baking dish.

 Bake for 35-45 minutes. Allow to rest for 15 minutes before serving. 

Yield: 8-10 servings