The American family road trip is becoming a forgotten pastime. In an effort to preserve the archaic but precious method of family travel, I packed my husband and three kids, ages 3, 5 and 7, into a minivan and headed from Oregon to Mexico. I was not only excited to reach our destination - a Baja beach (yes, we were camping) - but I was challenged by the idea of traveling over two thousand miles in a confined space with three short attention spans and two weeks' worth of living items. In space (and sanity) saving efforts, the Legoes and Polly Pockets were left at home. Each child was allowed one carry-on stuffed friend.
They didn't know where we were going. Or how far. And unbeknownst to the three young adventurers in the back seats, our generous friends had loaned us a small, portable entertainment system. This was inconspicuously placed under the bucket of books on tape, which I'd spent weeks checking out from various libraries. The kids had new journals and thin markers. They had stacks of paperback books from second-hand stores. They had sing-along music. And they had each other.
Determined to postpone our reliance on visual technology, I was an eager entertainer, forced into resourcefulness. I let quiet moments just be. When the passengers grew restless, I'd point out interesting sights. The old Steinbeck settings of miles of agriculture along Highway 99 yielded blessings. I shared my thanks for the farmers who were working on Sunday. I was grateful for their desire to feed America, instead of selling their land to developers. Grateful for the variety of crops. Grateful for the falling rain. Hopeful that the harvest would be abundant this season.
The kids, in turn, found sights to behold. Windmills. Hawks. Swedish architecture in a sea of Spanish billboards. Newness abounded. Contrast was theirs for the making. I cherished their small voices, as they shared scenes they knew would interest each other: John Deere plows for the little one, fields of flowers for the girl, mysteriously fenced sites for the oldest.
In the dark, we thought. We sang, told stories and asked questions. One unexpected miracle was the magazine I had brought for myself - "2004; A Year in Pictures." Each image spawned insightful comments, one photo perceived five different ways.
I realized that a road trip gauges the pulse of a generation. Are we engaged with our families? Do we know their interests? Is it possible to appreciate each other's music? Can we enjoy and evaluate the same stories?
Yes, the concept of travel is ageless. But the method of travel has changed, as has the American family. Gone are the days of parents fostering their children's imaginations. We often take the easy way out of parenting by letting children entertain themselves: with headphones, hand-held video games and portable TVs. These days the thought of driving kids across borders is unbearable. Long. Complicated. Hard. But our parents did it. And their parents did it. In times when resources were scarce. But when family mattered. Adventure mattered. Memories mattered.
If I had brought out the videos, the ride would have been so easy. Effortless, as far as parenting was concerned. But I was determined to preserve the tradition of the great American family road trip. Though my husband had supported my hope to outlast the desire to plug in the adaptor, he could have caved in at any moment. Two hours from home on our return, I debated giving the kids their treat. An animated movie would hush their incessant giggles. But that would have been the easy way. So with newfound enthusiasm, I passed out crackers and launched a discussion about our favorite parts of the trip. And greater than seeing a live stingray for the first time on our vacation, I got to know my children a little bit better along the way. They knew that I found them interesting and valuable. And that is nothing a TV could ever do.
About the Author:
An educator, writer, and editor, Jennie Englund, M.A., resides in charming Ashland, Oregon, with her husband and three
children.
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