Family vacations, especially with a family as disfunctional as mine, are double-edged. Am I grateful that I got to see some truly amazing places? Absolutely. Do I like having all those stories in my back pocket? Yes, a thousand times yes. Will I ever recover from the experience of being packed inside one small rental car with that much repressed hostility and desperation? Jury's still out. Good thing the stories in my pocket are so very good.
Fair disclosure - I may have been a bit of a brat on the family trip to England and Scotland we took when I was eight. From my perspective, I was in England and Scotland! Think of the romance! Think of the history! I wasn't going to let my family ruin that!
Prime example: the night we arrived, we stayed at a Bed & Breakfast in London. The jet lag and the excitement were pretty severe, and sleep was impossible. I put on my grandmother's frilly white nightgown and paced the halls. Not romantic enough. I went down a landing and stared out a leaded oval window at the city. Better, but not as good as propping the door to the B&B open with a stack of magazines from the rack in the lobby and sneaking out into the streets of London by night. That was perfect. I didn't get very far, sadly. My mother couldn't sleep either, and she saw me from the window of our room. She was really angry, but it was because she didn't give me enough credit for propping open the door. She thought I wouldn't realize the door would lock, and that I would embarrass her trying to get back in. That's what she yelled about, anyway. I regret nothing.
Another good example: the day we visited a castle above Loch Lomond. They were actually going to get in the car and leave without touching the loch itself. They were going to get back on a plane and fly back across the Atlantic rather than walking a few more feet down to the shore, to brush their hand in the water. The song says "By the bonny bonny banks," people! Running away from them in the parking lot and racing down to the water's edge was not merely the only logical course, it was a moral obligation. I'm sure anyone in my position would have done the same.
Speaking of water, did you know there's a canal that runs by the Westminster Cathedral? I found out like so: my father was talking, and I was ignoring him. This was long before my first pair of headphones, you understand. I didn't need a crutch. I was a master. I could tune out what he was saying, regardless of volume or proximity. As far as I was concerned, nothing he said could possibly be relevant. All I had to do was tough it out until the car stopped, and then we could go see the cathedral. I was all set - I had the first camera of my very own, my favorite Cabbage Patch doll (he wanted to see the cathedral, too), and I was wearing my favorite plaid skirt with the cowl-neck sweater (tres elegant). The car stopped. I opened the door, stepped out, and found myself floating on my back in the canal, watching the clouds float past in a clear blue sky.
It turned out that one of the things my father had been saying was, "Don't get out on the right side of the car, I'm parking next to the canal." Ok, so some things were obviously relevant. I had to change in the parking lot where everyone could see, my doll was soaked, and my camera was ruined. The humiliation somewhat dampened (get it?) my visit to Westminster. Still, my tuning-out policy was good in principle. One exception only proves the rule.
Is there a moral here? Hmm. Of everything we saw on that trip, the best stuff happened when I was being a hellion. Yup. Good moral. So folks, take my advice and keep your priorities straight. The consequences of a little rebellion are worse than the consequences of missing out. Don't crawl under any velvet ropes at the British Museum or anything.... no, that's not a story. Didn't make it there that trip. Got to save something for the next one, when I will be travelling entirely, blissfully, alone.
