August continued on to week two. For college son and husband, they have yet 1 more week to go before a new academic year begins in full session. Since the ending of the high school era, we have been slacking in taking summer vacation as a family and finally became convicted enough to take remediation on this setback. We had come up with a couple of choices: Pittsburgh or Baltimore. Both seemed doable as far as time frame and budget are concerned, but Baltimore won eventually in its merit of location (closer) and time (shorter).
23 years of parenting and 25 years of marriage later, I have concluded that playing is definitely NOT in our gene pool. Some believe in “practices make perfect”, but I would argue that it may improve but never overcome, let alone perfect. In this family, vacation is work (and vice versa) for parents. For children, it is somewhat a split. The older son would consider a ride on Interstate Highway with his camera in action vacation already, while the younger one merely tags along for the motion only. He seems forevermore detached and neutral with whatever decisions we make: what to do, where to go, McD or Wendy. Vacation to us is a picture of 4 faithful and long suffering pilgrims trapped in the car performing their playing duty.
In the past, the man of the house extended his authority to the domain of the car and thus had always been the designated driver. I might have stepped in a couple of times as the reluctant substitute out of necessity. Unexpectedly, this trip deviated when the younger son popped the question: do you want me to drive? At 20 years old, he has been driving since 17, mostly for errands or agendas of his own but strictly limited to the local routes. Still, I was taken by surprise. The request may sound logical from a young man of his age, but not from one who is anything but logical. Intense and atypical, he has had no social activities such as phone calls, partying, or outing with people of his age throughout his growing years. Nowadays, he has been withdrawing from family trips whenever an option is in place. Even with his presence, it would be at best in the company of a shadow, who with his ear piece on is anywhere but there in the back seat of the car. Outside of the car, the shadow moves away even farther, skirting and dancing 50 feet ahead of us with almost a painful look. An outing with him, as rare as it may be, is no dream vacation that we would get thrilled about. His volunteer to drive to some degree was more disturbing than unexpected for the worrisome mother. The father, however, being a born teacher with the most persevering faith and patience, hesitated no time to turn in the driver’s seat. Baltimore is but a 3+ hour drive. With the route we planned, the proposal seemed harmless and feasible to him. Just like that, another driver was born, I mean, on.
Why do we continue to expect life anything but unexpected when it never fails to surprise us with its unpredictability? Once he was behind that wheel, the shadow took shape and came alive for the first time since forever. In that metal box only big enough to be called “Cross-over” utility, he was not only animated but also engaging, violating all evidences of his 20 years of existence. That Hallmark moment even includes those silly, nonsensical interactions with his Autistic brother. For a little while, we were almost a normal family, taking a trip while we joked and conversed from movies, music, to nothingness. The rest of the first day - the motel that GPS could not locate, a baseball stadium too crammed for comfort, the anticipated attraction, Inner Harbor, jam packed with Saturday crowd on a hot and humid August day – failed in every category to qualify for a fun and relaxing vacation, but somehow it became irrelevant. Like good sports with perseverance, we came, we saw, we conquered.
After we concluded our first day in a brand new, hopeful American family spirit, the next day delivered another surprise when we headed on to Annapolis. The contrast between two worlds – that inside of the car and that outside – became strikingly evident. Once outside, he reversed to that amorphous ghost whose presence was too gloomy to ignore yet too far to reach. The charm by the water with shops, restaurants and blue sky might well have been as invisible as he was. Gone was our normalcy of a typical American family, gone was the bliss and gone was that amiable son. In as little as an hour of chasing after our illusion, we returned to our car and there he was again, alive and well, behind that steering wheel.
On the way back, I couldn’t help wondering if we did or did not have a good trip. Thus far, I was, and still am, uncertain with my conclusion. Somehow, the object of my assessment is no longer the trip but once again the million dollar mystery: the phantom, our son. Trip or son, I would probably wrestle on forevermore. But this I do know: while most parents take drastic measure for the road trip to avoid the dreadful question from the back seat “are we there yet?”, we are definitely spared from this predicament. For us, it is more like: “Thank God, we are NOT there yet”.
23 years of parenting and 25 years of marriage later, I have concluded that playing is definitely NOT in our gene pool. Some believe in “practices make perfect”, but I would argue that it may improve but never overcome, let alone perfect. In this family, vacation is work (and vice versa) for parents. For children, it is somewhat a split. The older son would consider a ride on Interstate Highway with his camera in action vacation already, while the younger one merely tags along for the motion only. He seems forevermore detached and neutral with whatever decisions we make: what to do, where to go, McD or Wendy. Vacation to us is a picture of 4 faithful and long suffering pilgrims trapped in the car performing their playing duty.
In the past, the man of the house extended his authority to the domain of the car and thus had always been the designated driver. I might have stepped in a couple of times as the reluctant substitute out of necessity. Unexpectedly, this trip deviated when the younger son popped the question: do you want me to drive? At 20 years old, he has been driving since 17, mostly for errands or agendas of his own but strictly limited to the local routes. Still, I was taken by surprise. The request may sound logical from a young man of his age, but not from one who is anything but logical. Intense and atypical, he has had no social activities such as phone calls, partying, or outing with people of his age throughout his growing years. Nowadays, he has been withdrawing from family trips whenever an option is in place. Even with his presence, it would be at best in the company of a shadow, who with his ear piece on is anywhere but there in the back seat of the car. Outside of the car, the shadow moves away even farther, skirting and dancing 50 feet ahead of us with almost a painful look. An outing with him, as rare as it may be, is no dream vacation that we would get thrilled about. His volunteer to drive to some degree was more disturbing than unexpected for the worrisome mother. The father, however, being a born teacher with the most persevering faith and patience, hesitated no time to turn in the driver’s seat. Baltimore is but a 3+ hour drive. With the route we planned, the proposal seemed harmless and feasible to him. Just like that, another driver was born, I mean, on.
Why do we continue to expect life anything but unexpected when it never fails to surprise us with its unpredictability? Once he was behind that wheel, the shadow took shape and came alive for the first time since forever. In that metal box only big enough to be called “Cross-over” utility, he was not only animated but also engaging, violating all evidences of his 20 years of existence. That Hallmark moment even includes those silly, nonsensical interactions with his Autistic brother. For a little while, we were almost a normal family, taking a trip while we joked and conversed from movies, music, to nothingness. The rest of the first day - the motel that GPS could not locate, a baseball stadium too crammed for comfort, the anticipated attraction, Inner Harbor, jam packed with Saturday crowd on a hot and humid August day – failed in every category to qualify for a fun and relaxing vacation, but somehow it became irrelevant. Like good sports with perseverance, we came, we saw, we conquered.
After we concluded our first day in a brand new, hopeful American family spirit, the next day delivered another surprise when we headed on to Annapolis. The contrast between two worlds – that inside of the car and that outside – became strikingly evident. Once outside, he reversed to that amorphous ghost whose presence was too gloomy to ignore yet too far to reach. The charm by the water with shops, restaurants and blue sky might well have been as invisible as he was. Gone was our normalcy of a typical American family, gone was the bliss and gone was that amiable son. In as little as an hour of chasing after our illusion, we returned to our car and there he was again, alive and well, behind that steering wheel.
On the way back, I couldn’t help wondering if we did or did not have a good trip. Thus far, I was, and still am, uncertain with my conclusion. Somehow, the object of my assessment is no longer the trip but once again the million dollar mystery: the phantom, our son. Trip or son, I would probably wrestle on forevermore. But this I do know: while most parents take drastic measure for the road trip to avoid the dreadful question from the back seat “are we there yet?”, we are definitely spared from this predicament. For us, it is more like: “Thank God, we are NOT there yet”.
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