RSS 2.0 FeedRoad Trip
“Let’s go on a road trip” I announced to my parents. “It’ll be fun! You guys, me and the kids. We’ll do three weeks.” Did my enthusiasm overwhelm them? Did they think, hope this was like the time when, as an eight-year-old, I planned outlandish adventures only to find I wouldn’t be able to use the metal in my backyard jungle gym to build a boat? Or perhaps, given their age, they didn’t hear me clearly as they quickly agreed.
I planned obsessively, used the Internet, lined up hotels, identified sites, had the car tuned and accumulated more movies for my son and daughter to watch than I have ever allowed. On D-Day, all of us cozy in my minivan, my parents were quite laid back. As I started the engine, my mother, looking over the agenda, exclaimed pleasantly, “Oh, we’re going to Asheville. How nice! I‘ve always wanted to go there.”
This is what we experienced.
Number of times we were lost: 0
We loved the GPS navigation system so much that my Dad bestowed upon ours a name and personality. “Carmen didn’t like that turn back there. She’s angry.” “Carmen is challenging us; I hope we live up to her expectations” She was not a machine from 2001: A Space Odyssey but rather Rosie from the Jetsons – a computer with a heart who wanted us to reach our final destination. Even when we did not listen carefully and took the wrong turn or exit, she did not cuss us out but merely said politely, “Recalculating” and redirected us without any of the bitterness or resentment a typical navigator would foist upon the driver.
Number of times we laughed at each other’s jokes: 50
The camaraderie and closeness of a minivan lowers your humor standard so that an eight-year-old-boy’s humor becomes funny. Who doesn’t enjoy bodily function jokes? Even the senior mother smirked when he launched into a parody of the Star Wars theme: “Soooome oneeee, someone faaaarted, and it smelled bad, and then we all barfed.” My joke that only I found funny: When is the best time to use the washroom? If you’re a senior, it is when everyone is in the car ready to go. If you’re a child, it is ten minutes after being in the car.
Number of times we satisfied all food preferences at one food location: 5
I lay prostrate before all parenting publications and admit, “I have created two exceptionally picky eaters.” We all paid for my grievous fault; Subway was the only commonly acceptable diner plus one. One night in a one-horse town, my children gnawing on cardboard, I recalled a Subway at a gas station down the road; we were not too proud for gas station Subway. Upon arrival there was a group cry of pure anguish as the sign in the window read, “Lost our Lease.” Curse you, Recession!
A shout out to the senior mother and her amazing long-term memory. While in Washington, D.C., she remembered that when she had visited there with us as children over twenty-five years ago, the food court in the Capitol was terrific, and we would all find food we enjoyed. She was right, and that was one of the five meals.
Number of items we lost: 3ish
Three items we truly lost and are gone. The “ish” is when my Dad thought he lost his wallet. We drove back to all of the places we had been the day before to see if it had been found. When we had no luck at that, Dad cancelled his credit cards. Only after this did he find it next to his luggage. I found this much more amusing than my mother did.
Number days I sweated entirely through my clothing: 21
I knew we were traveling in the summer, and I packed appropriately, but I did think I would be able to re-wear shorts and shirts at least twice. I still don’t know what kind of voodoo god my parents prayed to, but they always looked good at the end of the day or at least a lot better than I. My mom kept offering to do laundry on the trip, and I know why. Self-preservation. No one wanted to sit next to a sweaty woman in yesterday’s clothes. We were all grateful for the air-conditioned activities. If loving that HCFC fluorocarbon-producing earth killer is wrong, then we didn’t want to be right.
Number of times my parents said nothing about my parenting skills: 200
I believe there were times a dribble of blood escaped from the side of my father’s mouth, but he quickly turned away so I can’t be sure. I had a real sense of “What wonderful multigenerational experiences I am giving my children” and, to an extent, I did. But children are an ungrateful bunch, and mine are no exception. However, I was determined to over-stimulate them with “FUN, exciting, educational opportunities.” My parents never said a word. My children were rude, selfish and ill-mannered, and still they did nothing but smile. It was such a relief to know they were in my corner, especially when it was a corner that I had backed myself into.
Number of times I snapped at strangers and embarrassed my parents: 3
One time my daughter pitched a temper tantrum so large she drew looks. I turned to the amassing crowd and shouted, “She’s fine; she’s just in a time out” Goood times, good times.
This is what I learned.
About half way through the trip, my mother and I were recounting the family vacations she and my father had taken with my sisters and me. And I realized I must have behaved just as my children were behaving now. Delightful when they were having their needs and desires met and ungrateful the moment they ceased to have fun. It occurred to me that perhaps my parents hadn’t been so ingenuous when they agreed to the road trip. They knew how children can be on vacation and were ready to observe and enjoy a titch of revenge for my youthful bad behavior. They will never admit to it, but I imagine that watching me deal with my myopically-focused-on-their-own-good time children gave them that warm glow of satisfaction that only Grandparents can have. I don’t begrudge them this. Frankly, if they can find joy in buying my son a hot dog only to have him push it away because it “looked wrong,” more power to them.
In the end the trip I prepared for others was for me a healthy dose of humility and gratitude wrapped up in beautiful vistas and sandy beaches. We believe that we improve upon the previous generation’s parenting style, and my parents are nice enough not to dispel me of that delusion. They want for me now what they wanted then, to be happy and fulfilled. They wanted to give me wonderful, eye-opening experiences as a child just as I want that for my own children. Yet they understand how difficult it is to do this and are gentle with me as I figure it out. This road trip was more about me appreciating them than my children appreciating me, about saying a pure and real thank you to them for all of the family vacations they planned and executed. For not leaving me on the roadside when I was a kid. Seriously, how did they manage without DVD players? My parents love my kids but they love me more, and I am grateful for it.