My family always took the kind of vacations that Chevy Chase makes movies about. Hours in the back of a station wagon with the dog hanging out the window and my mother critiquing my father's driving. We never went anywhere interesting. It was either Panama City or Myrtle Beach, because my mother was afraid to fly and we could only be in the car so long without killing each other. Once there, we had to stay in a trailer park, because my mother was afraid of heights and wouldn't stay in a hotel unless we were on the ground floor.
It was my personal definition of hell.
The last trip we ever took was my senior year in high school. I talked them into hitting Williamsburg. They took the same approach your parents apparently did: there it is. We've been here 2 hours. Time to go. The drive was so long that my father apparently lost his mind and stopped at a town where the only available room was on the 7th floor. My father insisted we were staying. My mom entered the room, burst into tears, and proceeded to pitch a fit for 30 minutes until my Dad agreed to leave. As we were standing in the lobby to check out, I looked at my dad and in my snarkiest 17 year old voice told him "I am NEVER going anywhere with the 2 of you again." He just stared at me and replied "I don't blame you."
And it was the last time. Three years later he would be dead of cancer.
My only desire now in life is to travel. I've still never been to Europe. Other than Cancun, I've never left the US. And I might not ever make it because I've got health problems and mobility issues. People who have the opportunity to do all these things are so fortunate. Most of them don't even have the good sense to realize it.
"I hate hate hate crowds, and for some reason they are even more annoying when surrounded by natural beauty. It just seems like a waste of a potentially spiritual experience."
That makes sense.
My husband and I haven't visited the American West since we had kids (now ages 3-7), but, before kids, when we did, we needed to be mostly where the crowds weren't. And, while we pulled ambitious stunts fairly often (like hiking at 4am to watch sunrise at a destination), we couldn't do it on a strict pre-set schedule. Weather happens. Life happens.
Sometimes, we did damn fool things, one leaving us scrambling during a cloudburst to avoid drowning in a flash flood. Obviously not something you should do with kids! But, anyhow, there we were, stranded on an overlook with two other hikers, one some kind of hobo half-mad for food and water, the other wondering what fools we were to give so much of our food and water to Random Desert Hobo. (We weren't fools about that, just well-provisioned.)
But keeping a tight schedule? No, we couldn't. My husband was pretty clever, too, about planning trips for off-season to avoid big crowds. (Winter in the high desert is magical if you can take the cold – especially at dawn, which is early (though not as early as summer dawn!), and REALLY cold!) If we weren't off-season, choosing odd times of day (dawn, then napping through noon) or odd, less-known places gave us space for wonder.
We made it a rule not to do whirlwind tours, or to be disappointed by changing our plans. If we planned a trip from A to B, and decided stuff around A was too interesting, we might spend our whole time in A. Or if we thought A was too crowded, we'd zip to B early. I don't know how to recreate that kind of spontaneity with kids in tow. Quite likely, it's impossible. Maybe we'd hafta rent an RV?...
I don't know if we can share the magic that captivated us with our kids. We have a few more years to figure it out, but I worry. I took to motherhood like a duck to an oil slick – a coating of sludge that, despite its thickness, wrecks your insulation. I'm often not enchanting my kids.
Between my being a bit medically weird and my husband's actuarial certification, serious mountain climbing is off our to-do list. Not worth the risk – a risk both of us can at least in theory estimate.
If I ever achieve badassery, it's rather carefully-chosen badassery.
I was a backup singer in a theater production about Everest once. I think the lead tenor died, which is a nice, dramatic thing for a tenor to do :-)
Family trips when I was growing up in San Antonio usually involved trips to Landa Park, 35 miles away in New Braunfels. Until, that is, the Eighth Wonder of the World, the Astrodome, opened in all its air-conditioned splendor. Then it was to Houston every summer. My dad, with the ingenuity of the rocket scientists just down the road, would calculate the maximum number of games that Astros would play during a home stand, and off we went.
I absolutely love this piece. Growing up, I had exactly one family summer vacation, visiting my aunt and uncle on the west coast before we all moved here. It turned into a big family reunion road-trip from Seattle to Vegas with 14 people crammed in a Dodge van with kids sitting on the floor. Since that was the one and only vacation before age 18, had to train myself thinking it was special even though it had been insane.
I think you’ve hit on something here--the expectations around these trips are always too high. We’ve been blessed to have so many but yes. Not all “a special time “
I’ve possibly said this before, but if I haven’t, well, you write like an angel. Thanks for sharing your story.
Omg 😭
My family always took the kind of vacations that Chevy Chase makes movies about. Hours in the back of a station wagon with the dog hanging out the window and my mother critiquing my father's driving. We never went anywhere interesting. It was either Panama City or Myrtle Beach, because my mother was afraid to fly and we could only be in the car so long without killing each other. Once there, we had to stay in a trailer park, because my mother was afraid of heights and wouldn't stay in a hotel unless we were on the ground floor.
It was my personal definition of hell.
The last trip we ever took was my senior year in high school. I talked them into hitting Williamsburg. They took the same approach your parents apparently did: there it is. We've been here 2 hours. Time to go. The drive was so long that my father apparently lost his mind and stopped at a town where the only available room was on the 7th floor. My father insisted we were staying. My mom entered the room, burst into tears, and proceeded to pitch a fit for 30 minutes until my Dad agreed to leave. As we were standing in the lobby to check out, I looked at my dad and in my snarkiest 17 year old voice told him "I am NEVER going anywhere with the 2 of you again." He just stared at me and replied "I don't blame you."
And it was the last time. Three years later he would be dead of cancer.
My only desire now in life is to travel. I've still never been to Europe. Other than Cancun, I've never left the US. And I might not ever make it because I've got health problems and mobility issues. People who have the opportunity to do all these things are so fortunate. Most of them don't even have the good sense to realize it.
"I hate hate hate crowds, and for some reason they are even more annoying when surrounded by natural beauty. It just seems like a waste of a potentially spiritual experience."
That makes sense.
My husband and I haven't visited the American West since we had kids (now ages 3-7), but, before kids, when we did, we needed to be mostly where the crowds weren't. And, while we pulled ambitious stunts fairly often (like hiking at 4am to watch sunrise at a destination), we couldn't do it on a strict pre-set schedule. Weather happens. Life happens.
Sometimes, we did damn fool things, one leaving us scrambling during a cloudburst to avoid drowning in a flash flood. Obviously not something you should do with kids! But, anyhow, there we were, stranded on an overlook with two other hikers, one some kind of hobo half-mad for food and water, the other wondering what fools we were to give so much of our food and water to Random Desert Hobo. (We weren't fools about that, just well-provisioned.)
But keeping a tight schedule? No, we couldn't. My husband was pretty clever, too, about planning trips for off-season to avoid big crowds. (Winter in the high desert is magical if you can take the cold – especially at dawn, which is early (though not as early as summer dawn!), and REALLY cold!) If we weren't off-season, choosing odd times of day (dawn, then napping through noon) or odd, less-known places gave us space for wonder.
We made it a rule not to do whirlwind tours, or to be disappointed by changing our plans. If we planned a trip from A to B, and decided stuff around A was too interesting, we might spend our whole time in A. Or if we thought A was too crowded, we'd zip to B early. I don't know how to recreate that kind of spontaneity with kids in tow. Quite likely, it's impossible. Maybe we'd hafta rent an RV?...
I don't know if we can share the magic that captivated us with our kids. We have a few more years to figure it out, but I worry. I took to motherhood like a duck to an oil slick – a coating of sludge that, despite its thickness, wrecks your insulation. I'm often not enchanting my kids.
Sometimes, there are moments, though...
Amazing! I don’t know you guys sound so adventurous you could probably climb everest with a baby in a backpack or something 😂
Haha!
Between my being a bit medically weird and my husband's actuarial certification, serious mountain climbing is off our to-do list. Not worth the risk – a risk both of us can at least in theory estimate.
If I ever achieve badassery, it's rather carefully-chosen badassery.
I was a backup singer in a theater production about Everest once. I think the lead tenor died, which is a nice, dramatic thing for a tenor to do :-)
Family trips when I was growing up in San Antonio usually involved trips to Landa Park, 35 miles away in New Braunfels. Until, that is, the Eighth Wonder of the World, the Astrodome, opened in all its air-conditioned splendor. Then it was to Houston every summer. My dad, with the ingenuity of the rocket scientists just down the road, would calculate the maximum number of games that Astros would play during a home stand, and off we went.
By the way, this is marvelous.
I absolutely love this piece. Growing up, I had exactly one family summer vacation, visiting my aunt and uncle on the west coast before we all moved here. It turned into a big family reunion road-trip from Seattle to Vegas with 14 people crammed in a Dodge van with kids sitting on the floor. Since that was the one and only vacation before age 18, had to train myself thinking it was special even though it had been insane.
I think you’ve hit on something here--the expectations around these trips are always too high. We’ve been blessed to have so many but yes. Not all “a special time “
Wow that is such a sad story! I’m so sorry. I have been so blessed to see so much and my kids are too but yes don’t know it.