My son, a sophomore, spent the last year and a half talking about going to Panama City, Fla., with his buddies, all high school seniors, for spring break.

I think he honestly thought my wife and I were going to let him go to Florida on his own with a bunch other teenagers. I, on the other hand, always thought the trip would never happen.

As the Friday for spring break neared, however, it became obvious that my son’s friends were on the ball and trip was going to happen.

The only problem was none of the parents showed a willingness to go.

That’s where I entered the picture because I told my son that he wasn’t going unless an adult (someone with a little more life experience than a bunch of boys with raging hormones) was going.

Can you guess who that person wound up being? That’s right, it was me.

I was more than little surprised that my wife was so willing to let me go off with a bunch of boys and spend a lot of money going to Florida without her.

I should have known something was wrong with the whole picture and there was.

For one thing, no one had a vehicle big enough or in good enough shape to haul seven people to Panama City so we decided to rent a van. That, however, meant I was the only one old enough to drive.

So I wound up driving the 700-plus miles to Panama City and the 700-plus miles back seven days later. That was an adventure on its own and better saved for another time.

We left in the early morning hours of the Friday before spring break, which was just the first of eight days I would spend with a group of teenage boys who had just one thing on their mind — meeting girls.

At 51, I have not forgotten what it’s like to spend most of my time thinking about thinking about the opposite sex because I’m not dead and buried yet. I have, however, forgotten what it’s like to spend all my time and energy chasing girls (I put that one in there for my wife).

Our first full day in Panama City, I managed to hook the boys up with some girls from Bloomfield. I don’t think they thought I actually knew how to “talk the talk” anymore, but I showed them how it’s done.

I spent my mornings in Florida relaxing because none of the boys, especially my own son, woke up very early. I spent my afternoons in Florida sitting next to the pool, drinking a cold one, reading a book and getting a little sun because they were all off on some adventure on the beach.

I spent my early evenings wishing they would leave our condo so I could have some peace and quiet. And I spent the late night hours wishing they would come back so I could make sure I brought all six of them back home.

We started the week with a plan to purchase food jointly and share it across the board. That was my idea, but it wasn’t a very good one because if you teenage boys you know how much they can eat. By the end of the week, I was finding food hidden all over the condo including my bedroom. Talk about a bunch of hoarders.

I did managed to find a couple of other adults from home to talk with and that help eased some of my apprehensions about what the boys might be getting themselves into during their never-ending search for the next girl or party or wet T-shirt contest. I even spent one day watching a friend from Brownstown try his hand at catching some fish.

It was a memorable week. We eventually made it back in one piece although the remnants of my run in with a jellyfish in the 68-degree waters of the gulf can still be seen on my right arm.

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