Four days, alone, with the son-in-law? A good time is in the bag

From Truckee, Calif.

When it comes to a holiday, no one writes tearjerkers better than Plaschke.

But I thought I might give it a try this Father’s Day.

I know I cried when the Grocery Store Bagger said he would join me on my golfing getaway to Lake Tahoe.

The Bagger might be in good health and have all his arms and legs, but the Bagger has so much more to overcome.

And talk about a sad story.

I never had a son. Or grandson. Finally got a male dog, but he squats like a female dog. I have six fish in a pond, but in the last five years they have made no attempt to mate. So I know none of them are male.

A son-in-law is probably as close as I’m ever going to get, but I’m sure anyone who has a son-in-law would never dream of spending four days alone with him.

“It’ll be a good chance to bond,” the Bagger says. I recall a time when he was dating my daughter and I did everything I could to keep him from bonding with her before they were married.

Obviously, I know how persistent he can be, so I arranged for him to try the bungee jump outside the Reno Grand Sierra Resort while I watched him plunge to the ground. Something a father doesn’t mind doing with his son-in-law.

As we continued to bond, I suggested a helicopter ride in something no bigger than a Volkswagen so he might tell me about it if he returned.

“You’ll be flying over Emerald Bay with our candidate pilot who has about six hours’ experience,” HeliTahoe owner Claudio Bellotto tells the Bagger before handing him a life jacket.

They inform me folks don’t ordinarily kick and scream as they are loaded into the helicopter.

“I gave him the special takeoff,” pilot Chris Loveless says upon their return. “I just hope he was wearing his Huggies.”

After we stop so the Bagger can change his pants, the son-in-law wants to see the Edgewood Tahoe Golf Course seen on TV every July featuring celebrities such as Dan Quayle, Alfonso Ribeiro and Jack Wagner.

Looks like Anthony Weiner still has a future.

I came here last year to interview Charles Barkley. I’m telling you, that would be one roasted Weiner if forced to play with Charles. They get Brett Favre and Sean Salisbury to play with Weiner, and that’s quite the photo opportunity.

Our time to play golf, the Bagger tees off and his driver lands in the tall trees. That’s his driver, his drive going 3 feet 9 inches, and he says, “This sure is a tough course.”

He wants to talk as we play like we’re chums or something. He says his dream is to be on TV one day. I’m thinking “The Bachelor,” although I have to admit the Bagger was probably born to be on “The Price Is Right.”

This is who is raising my grandchildren; his dream is to spin the big wheel. Tell me that doesn’t tug at your heartstrings more than anything Plaschke might write.

Later we’re eating in The Lodge at Whitehawk Ranch. Someone says GM Janet Canty is also a belly dancer. The son-in-law wants to know if I’m thinking what he’s thinking. No way do I want to know what he’s thinking.

Two days to go, and it’s not like I’m counting the hours, but the Bagger shows me a flier that mentions the “Tour de Manure.” I figure he’s homesick for Arizona.

He says it’s a local bike race across the prairie, we’re going to miss it and in every tearjerker there’s a moment where the sun really does shine.

We continue to Truckee, the Bagger wearing a stocking cap because I presume you just never know when you might get the chance to knock over a liquor store.

We meet Bob Hickam. He’s a big deal in Truckee as he is explaining to me. He oversees a pair of magnificent golf courses, Old Greenwood and Gray’s Crossing. Obviously he must be married to someone who is well off.

Hickam has pro Travis Alley join us. I suppose it could have been worse, but I don’t know if Mike Garrett plays golf. Alley insists on winning, citing local rules that the pro never loses. At one point Alley asks if I have another available daughter. I actually find myself saying “No.”

The Bagger is having so much fun he says he never wants to go home. I’m sure his wife will be interested in hearing that once she gets done changing the twins’ diapers.

The next day, June 6, it snows. The guy who makes his living in frozen foods feels right at home. But I’m thinking I’m going to have to spend an entire day with the son-in-law in front of a fire playing Parcheesi.

He suggests we go and bet Prairie Meadows.

“You know, the horse track in Iowa,” he says.

No, I didn’t, but I’ll betcha the daughter will be thrilled to learn how smart her husband is.

“I just love jockey Jake Barton,” he says, and I’m not sure he could name the vice president of the United States.

The journey over, I stopped to interview Brett Butler.

“You should see me hit a baseball,” the Bagger says.

No time like the present. Former major league pitcher Brady Raggio, working in the Reno Aces front office, agrees to pitch to the Bagger before a game.

I’m thinking, strike one, two and three, because I’m used to watching the Dodgers.

But the Bagger starts swinging and hitting the ball. He nails the foul pole for a homer, another clears the fence and he finishes with a Ruthian shot over the bullpen.

It’s quite the show, and I find myself saying, “That’s my boy, all right.”

Good thing it wasn’t loud enough so anyone heard me.

t.j.simers@latimes.com