Traveling with Adult Children: What Were We Thinking?

One unexpected upside of the Covid-19 pandemic was the absence of family vacations. You might assume I’d have learned from previous experiences, but as an eternal optimist, I often suggest these trips. For our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary two years back, I told my husband I wanted to visit Europe—with the kids. Having just become empty-nesters with our youngest heading off to college, I thought this might be our last chance for a while to be together as a family. Their school schedules varied, and our eldest preferred spending summers with his girlfriend. I envisioned a fun adventure together. What on earth was I thinking? It turned out to be one of those ideas that sounded much better in my head than it did in reality.

In hindsight, I realize I should have put some thought into planning a detailed itinerary. My husband and I usually embrace a spontaneous approach to travel, content to wander through unfamiliar streets and soak in the sights. We assumed we’d hit the highlights of each city, like the Louvre and Champs Elysees in Paris, or the Prado and Puerta del Sol in Madrid. I didn’t do any research for our trip to Spain and didn’t even realize that Picasso’s masterpieces were housed in the Reina Sofia Museum. We missed seeing Guernica, but we were pleasantly surprised by Hieronymus Bosch. That’s just how we roll; we sometimes overlook certain attractions but stumble upon others.

However, my children were less than impressed with our laid-back sightseeing approach. As it turns out, when faced with no structured plan, each of them took it upon themselves to insist on visiting their chosen spots. Naturally, they couldn’t agree on anything—Isaiah wanted to go to Monaco while Jacob preferred Cannes. Claire craved a meal at Le Petit Bistro, but Isaiah was set on crepes. One wanted the beach, another the castle tour. The only unanimous decision was their desire to shop, which my husband and I opposed, especially since all they wanted were the same Adidas sneakers and Calvin Klein T-shirts they could find back home for a third of the price. Ultimately, the only activity we all participated in was arguing. At one point, the boys, who were sharing a room, actually came to blows over which bed they would sleep in.

As if the constant squabbling wasn’t enough, Jacob, the youngest, insisted that he didn’t sign up for an early morning vacation and would sleep in, meeting us later, wherever we happened to be. My husband would rant about our son’s laziness and how we’d paid for five breakfasts, not four, while I worried about how Jacob would navigate his way through Barcelona, particularly since we could only communicate when we had Wi-Fi, which was almost never. I could barely find our way to the Gaudi museum even with a map. Luckily, Jacob was adept at using Google Maps on his phone and always managed to find us, rendering our worries and frustrations pointless and making us appear unreasonable.

What troubled me most was what all of this revealed about my parenting. How had I raised such entitled and combative children? To argue over a hotel bed? “When I was growing up, all five of us shared the same shower!” I exclaimed. “All five of us!” I tried to sound like we were the Waltons—of the old TV series, not the Walmart heirs. My mother used to recount stories of using an outhouse as a child. Yet here were my kids, squabbling over which bed was closest to the bathroom. Their noisy disputes drew complaints from other guests, leading to a knock on their door from management! Yes, that was what truly upset me. If they had been quieter about their disagreements, it would have seemed less egregious. I felt humiliated. Clearly, I was a terrible mother. Whenever my kids visited friends’ homes, other parents always praised their behavior. It seemed they only let their guard down with us.

My parents never asked my siblings or me our preferences for meals or movies or seating arrangements. They simply told us how it was going to be. While that may have created a smoother experience for them, it also established a distance between us and them. We loved our parents, but we didn’t see them as equals or friends. I call my mother, now a widow, out of love, but also obligation. My daughter, however, calls me just to chat—because we are best friends, her words, not mine. I can’t help but wonder if my parents’ authoritarian approach, as well-meaning as it was, was any better than my own nurturing style, even if my children feel they can express themselves freely with us.

Perhaps that’s just it. They can truly be themselves, flaws and all. Yes, they can be difficult at times, but they are also our companions in life and on trips. Just as my husband and I sometimes miss certain sights while traveling, we also discover unexpected joys. Our kids can be whiny or challenging, without a doubt, but they are our family. So, my husband and I found ourselves spending nearly two hours sipping overpriced Perriers while waiting for our children to finish their beach escapade in Cannes. Because that’s what friends do; they support one another, even if it means holding a drink while someone else dances.

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In summary, traveling with adult children can be a mix of chaos and joy. While disagreements may arise, these experiences often strengthen family bonds and create lasting memories. Embracing the spontaneity of travel, even with its challenges, can lead to unexpected and delightful moments.

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