“Did you ever think,” I said to my son, halfway through a Backroads trip to Argentina’s Lake District, “that one day you’d be sipping champagne on a private boat in the middle of a lake in Patagonia?”
“This is epic,” came his response.
It wasn’t the only epic moment on that trip. There was the snowcapped Andes, the Southern Cross in the night sky, the wine tasting. How many 22-year-olds, I mused, could speak intelligently about the regions and varieties of Argentinian wines? This is just part of what growing up traveling gave my son.
What Your Children Will Actually Remember
Want to know what your kid will take away from a trip? It’s probably not what you spent the most time planning.
The best part of the White House tour? Seeing Bo, the Obamas’ dog. The best part of New York City? The M&M Store. The best part of the Royal Observatory in Greenwich, England, to see the birthplace of the prime meridian? Nothing, according to Mr. Tired-Hot-and-Grumpy at the time, who was decidedly unimpressed after climbing a hill and standing in line just to take a photo of our feet straddling a brass stripe embedded in the concrete. OK, I thought, not everything can be a hit.
Or so I thought. Skip forward a few years, and one day after school he said: “Remember when you took us to the prime meridian? We learned about that at school today. It’s actually pretty cool, and I could say I’d been there.”
The Elementary School Years: Self-Reliance, Ready or Not
In Paris, there was a charming little bakery on the corner down the street from our Airbnb. I thought it would be a good experience for him to go there, on his own, in the mornings to pick up croissants and his favorite pain au chocolat. “It will be fun for him,” I told myself. “He’ll get to be independent and gain confidence.”
So we rehearsed how to order in French, and he’d go off with a pocketful of euros and bring back our breakfast. And it was fun for him. Until Sunday morning.
When he showed up at the bakery that day, it was closed. But the owner, who happened to be inside and recognized him from coming in all week, gave him directions, in French, to a nearby bakery that would be open. Not understanding French, he tried his best to interpret her hand gestures and set off to find the other bakery.
That child I wanted to be independent and confident was now wandering the streets of Paris, alone. And soon discovered he was lost.
I started pacing when he did not return quickly; as the minutes ticked by, concern started to turn to panic. Was there a long line at the bakery? Did he not have enough money? He was only going to the corner, what could have happened? He had done this all week with no problems. What should I do? At ten years old, he was too young for a cell phone, and AirTags didn’t exist at the time. I had no way of contacting him. At what point should I call the police? Could I even remember what he was wearing? Did he know the name of the street where we were staying to ask someone?
Fortunately for me, he found his way back (sans croissants) before my panic turned into full-blown hysteria. He was completely unfazed. While he didn’t know the address of our Airbnb, he managed to retrace his steps, recognized certain landmarks and found our street.
My palms were sweaty, but much to my surprise, he had done exactly what I hoped he’d do: become independent.
The Teen Years: The Magic of Travel on a Boring Highway
Soccer in Nevada. Water polo in Southern California. As we ran the gamut of sports teams and travel tournaments, we logged a lot of road trip miles. Parenting articles love to tell you how the car is a great place to have conversations with your otherwise apathetic teen. And it is, unless said teen is in the backseat with headphones on for the whole ride, only surfacing long enough to request a cheeseburger stop. Your teen will tell you that it’s because you don’t want to listen to their music (and vice versa). OK, fair enough. We tried different ways to compromise, like swapping control of the audio every other hour or creating “mom-approved” playlists. I was willing to listen to thumping bass and incomprehensible lyrics in exchange for some togetherness, but after a while it would be too much and I would need a break. Then the headphones would go back on and any connection time was over.
We were able to find common ground by listening to something we could both enjoy: podcasts. My son liked either very funny or very scary podcasts. So before every weekend slog down the length of California, I’d search and download several—the longer, the better. There’s nothing like laughing out loud together, or being scared out of your wits together, to relax and ease into conversation.
Was I wide awake at 3 a.m., heart pounding in fear as I rehashed a creepy episode of Spooked? Yes.
Was it worth it? Also yes.
Adulthood: Traveling Side by Side
Backroads trips have given us the space to travel alongside each other as companions, equal adults. It’s not me taking him somewhere. I don’t need to set the wake-up times, organize the activities or decide where we will eat.
This meant that on a foggy morning in the Canadian Rockies, I could relax in my hotel room before heading out to hike on my own. The rest of the group, including my son, were off rafting down the Athabasca River. I’d meet up with them later for lunch and then do some shopping in town while my son headed back to the hotel for a shower and a nap.
On these trips, he not only had peers to hang out with, he had actual adults—not teachers, coaches or friends’ parents—to talk to. At that lake in Argentina, my son and a 72-year-old guest were the only two willing to take a running jump off a large rock into the water. The youngest guest and the oldest guest, who in everyday life may never have crossed paths, bonded over the desire for a thrill and had a blast together while the rest of us—including me—sat back, watched and cheered.
The Payoff
In my birthday card this year, my son wrote:
"I am immensely grateful for everything you do, but especially for bringing me traveling with you."
Now that’s epic.
