When I was 12, my Dad was offered the opportunity to work in Europe. Sounds like an amazing experience, right? I vividly remember the day my parents told us we were moving abroad and how deeply upset I was. It probably sounded something along the lines of, “But Dad, next year is middle school and this is so not fair!” with an exaggerated whine on every single word, or “I’m not leaving my friends!” followed by a dramatic door slam. To my credit, I was at the most egotistical age of my whole being, but still, feel free to laugh at my ridiculousness at any point; I certainly do.
16 years have now passed and I have chosen to move abroad again on my own solo adventure. The first moment I became deeply aware of the lack of appreciation I had for my parents was standing in line at customs. I remember, as a child, waiting in line at customs to then wait in line at baggage to then wait in line to leave the airport. It. Was. Absolute. Torture. My role as an adolescent probably included me asking my father, “how much longer?” a million times or “where is the chocolate?” or anything else I could do to entertain myself. Allow me to paint the full picture of this scene; there was myself, a sassy adolescent, my older sister, a super cool teenager, my two younger brothers exploding in energy and with a gift of getting, albeit accidentally, into mischief. I remember my Dad telling my brothers to “stop swinging on the poles” and “get back here!” as my Mother filled out a thousand forms while my annoyance shadowed everything because no one noticed how fabulous my recently-stolen-from-my-sister’s eyeshadow looked plastered onto my eyelids.
How selfish I was to never notice their efforts, all that they did to allow us the incredible opportunity to live in Europe. Then again, I was just a kid, what did I know?
I know now how tedious the customs process can be, and how much harder traveling can be with a large family. All six of us moved abroad and came home at least once a year. Even typing that I think to myself, “mother of dragons, that must have been so much work for my parents.” I appreciate everything they did for us on a much deeper level, and I’ve only described the customs line let alone renting a house, finding food their picky eating kids would eat in a foreign county, trying to balance embracing a new culture while giving us space to let go of some American tendencies.
The next time there’s a crying baby on a plane or a large family traveling together- maybe cut them some slack. They’re doing the best they can, and I can speak from my own personal experience that the kids are just as frustrating to their parents. So if you are an angry airplane traveler, believe it or not your eyeball rolls with your huffs and puffs do nothing to help the situation. Take a deep breath and appreciate the fact that you’re not responsible for attending to the needs of other, smaller, humans. Give the parents a little credit, because trust me, their children won’t until maybe, they become a little bit older and a little bit wiser.
Type in the words “is travel good for kids” in any search engine and multiple resources appear supporting the idea behind traveling developing kid’s brain development in a multifaceted way. If you choose not to have children, I support your individual choice 100%. However, I am of the mindset that if we want to create a better world, it starts with our youth and it begins with introducing our children to different ways of thinking.
Thank you Mom and Dad for all that you did for me then, and all that you do for all of us now. I love you.
Woods Wanders the World 