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One unexpected silver lining of the Covid-19 pandemic has been the absence of family vacations. You’d think I would have learned from past experiences, but I remain ever the optimist, as these trips are always my suggestion. For our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary two years ago, I told my husband that I wanted to travel to Europe—with the kids. We had just become empty nesters, with our youngest starting college, and I thought this might be one of the last opportunities we’d have to be together for a while. Their school schedules were mismatched, and our eldest preferred spending his summers with his girlfriend. I figured this would be a rare chance before they began settling down and possibly moving away for good. “It’ll be fun,” I assured him. What was I thinking? Sometimes ideas are better in theory than in execution.
In hindsight, I realize I should have organized a detailed itinerary or a tourist schedule. My husband and I typically enjoy a more spontaneous travel style, opting to wander through foreign streets and soak in the sights. We assumed we would catch the iconic spots of a city, like the Eiffel Tower in Paris or the Sagrada Familia in Barcelona. Unfortunately, I didn’t do my homework for that trip to Spain and missed that Picasso’s masterpieces were housed in the Reina Sofia Museum. We ended up admiring Hieronymus Bosch instead, which was a nice surprise. That’s how it goes with us; sometimes we miss out on certain experiences but stumble upon others.
My children, however, were not impressed with our relaxed approach to sightseeing. In the absence of a structured plan, they each took it upon themselves to dictate what we should see, leading to endless disagreements. If Ethan wanted to visit Monaco, then Jacob insisted on Cannes. Claire was set on dining at Le Petit Bistro, while Ethan preferred crepes. One child wanted to go to the beach while another desired to tour a castle. The only thing they could agree on was shopping—something my husband and I were firmly against, especially since they wanted the same overpriced Adidas sneakers and Calvin Klein T-shirts they could have gotten back home for a fraction of the cost. So instead, we found ourselves engaging in a different shared activity: arguing. At one point, the boys even came to blows over which bed they would sleep in.
As if the constant bickering wasn’t enough, Jacob, the youngest, declared that he didn’t come on vacation to wake up at the crack of dawn. He insisted on sleeping in and meeting us later wherever we ended up. My husband would complain about our son’s laziness, emphasizing that we had paid for five breakfasts, not four. Meanwhile, I worried about how Jacob would be able to find us in the maze of Barcelona, especially since we could only communicate when we had Wi-Fi, which was scarce. I struggled with a map, while Jacob effortlessly navigated using his cell phone’s Google Maps. He always managed to locate us, making our fretting seem unwarranted and making us appear unreasonable.
What troubled me most was what this all said about my parenting. How had I raised such combative and spoiled children? To argue over a hotel bed? “When I was growing up, all five of us shared the same shower!” I exclaimed. “All five of us!” I made it sound like we were the Waltons. My mother used to tell stories about using an outhouse as a child. And here were my kids fighting over which bed was closer to the bathroom. They were so loud that someone from management had to knock on their door! That was what truly upset me. If they had just been a little quieter about their disputes, it might have been less embarrassing. I felt humiliated. I was failing as a mother. At least when they visited others, other parents always praised my children’s behavior. It seemed they only unleashed their wild side with us.
My parents never asked me and my siblings where we wanted to eat or what movie we wanted to see. They simply told us what we would be doing. Sure, that made things easier for them, but it also created a distance between us. We loved them, but we didn’t view them as equals or friends. I call my mother, who is now widowed, out of love and duty. But my daughter calls me just because—we are best friends, her words, not mine. I’m not sure if my parents’ authoritative approach was any better than my own nurturing style, even if it meant my kids felt they could be themselves around me.
Then again, perhaps that openness is the point. They can express themselves, flaws and all. Yes, sometimes they can be difficult, but they are also our companions, both on trips and in life. As I mentioned about our travel philosophy, we may miss a few things, but we also discover new experiences. Our kids can be whiny companions at times, but they’re our companions nonetheless. That’s why my husband and I spent nearly two hours nursing overpriced Perriers while we waited for our kids to finish bathing at the crowded beach in Cannes. Because that’s what friends do—they support you, even when it’s inconvenient.
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In summary, traveling with adult children can lead to unexpected challenges and insights into family dynamics. While our approach to parenting may differ from previous generations, the essence of companionship remains. The journey may be filled with disagreements, but it also offers opportunities for bonding and shared experiences.
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