GIVE ME A BREAK:THE FIVE OF US hadn't had a family holiday together in three years. Each of us had travelled individually, or in pairs, threes and fours for work, to visit family and friends and on school tours, but we five hadn't had to coordinate ourselves to get to a plane on time etc, since the kids were aged 8, 11 and 14.
Now they are aged 11, 14 and 17 and what a difference three years makes. On the plus side, they carry their own bags, are less likely to lose things and provide a running commentary of witty off-the-cuff remarks. On the minus side, their witty off-the-cuff remarks are frequently directed towards one another.
Travel challenges families in so many ways – which gate are we? Where’s gate A13? Left or right? Does anybody know their left from their right? When Mom reads the monitor to see what gate we are and actually has a pretty good idea of where A13 is, why does everybody else have to read the monitor just make sure she’s right? Why won’t they just follow like ducklings? And on the plane, there’s more stress – who gets the window seats? Who has to sit in the middle?
There was a moment, when we arrived at our hotel with its four double beds in two interconnecting rooms that we all looked at each other as if to say, “Hello, have I met you somewhere before?”
Travelling together throws family dynamics into sharp relief. After last weekend’s intensive two-night holiday experience, I reckon the choice is between the Osbournes (let it all hang out), the Simpsons (let Lisa fix it), Family Guy (ignore Dad), Malcolm (precociousness leads to mishaps) and the Waltons (everyone gets along in the end having escaped the carnivorous bear).
Three years ago in our family, Mom and Dad were still nominally in charge – well, Mom was in charge and Dad drove. Three years later, the dynamic had changed so completely in our family that all Mom could do was insist on holding on for dear life to the wallet containing five sets of passports, tickets, passes and vouchers in some vague attempt to cling onto power. Dad just gave up completely after getting us as far as the long-term carpark at Dublin airport. His approach proved the wiser.
It took Mom longer to figure it out. You see, Mom knew without error and with what appeared to be minimal effort where we should all be going at any particular time on the schedule in order to achieve the result that was for the common good. What Mom didn’t know was that her sole purpose was actually to arrange transportation and accommodation, to produce required documentation at appropriate times and to have money in her wallet. Bag-carrying and hanging onto extra raingear that nobody wanted but would surely be required were also part of her remit. Sherpa duty, in other words. Apart from these bold strokes, it was not Mom’s job to be suggesting any sort of nano-itinerary regarding activities, meals, where to go next and how to get there, even when she knew precisely how to get there.
We are five feisty individuals and each of us is right. Upon allowing her ducklings to lose their way, Mom indulged herself once or twice (okay, maybe three times) by saying: “I told you I knew where it was. Nobody ever listens to me.” This I-told-you-so approach was counterproductive, to say the least.
Twenty-four hours into the 48-hour “holiday” (ha!) Mom realised that she was not modelling constructive behaviour. Mom’s three Musketeers are of the “all for one, one for all” variety. Divided they fall, left to their own devices and allowed to negotiate amongst themselves for the best choice, they band together and conquer.
Dad remarked, as he and I walked a respectful 20 paces behind our offspring, that getting lost was part of the adventure and perhaps even the entire point. Shouldn’t we just be enjoying them enjoying themselves because – after all – at ages 11, 14 and 17 they’re not going to be taking that many more holidays with their parents, are they?
That’s not to say that Mom was a doormat. Once Mom realised that the three musketeers, accompanied by bodyguard Dad walking behind at the aforementioned respectful distance, were well capable of handling themselves, she went back to the hotel for late afternoon swim, sauna and nap. Bliss. That night, the restaurant that Mom said would be fabulous WAS fabulous (sorry, had to get that in) and we partied and danced in the street (literally).
Well and truly bonded by day three, and with six hours left before the bus back to the airport, Mom noticed that by surrendering leadership (but not passports, tickets and money) she heard far fewer arguments (sorry, not arguments, witty remarks).
The emergent natural leader was the 17-year-old, considerate at all times with a manner that her younger brother and sister adore. I realised what this trip was really about: the next generation entering adulthood and learning to find their own way, so that when I am gone, there will be someone there to play Mom (and Dad).
