Then: Growing Up Now: Grown up

THEN:  GROWING UP

NOW:  GROWN UP

Some of my fondest childhood memories involve the trips I went on with my parents.  Every winter we went up to Crestline where we tobogganed, ice-skated and drank hot chocolate around the fireplace inside our cozy cabin.  In the summer we went to this place called Highland Springs where we swam in  a big pool and ate in a dining room with all the other families.  But the vacations which occupy most of my memory (what little I have these days) are the ones we took to New York and Hawaii.

In Hawaii, I walked around in white pedal pushers, carrying a large white straw purse (even larger than my mom’s) thinking that all the boys would surely notice me.  Well, if they did it wasn’t as anything but a flat-chested twelve- year-old carrying a purse way too big for her and smiling like a complete dork.
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In New York, I was a bit more sophisticated.   Sort of.   I actually fell in love and had my heart broken all in one night.  This incident caused my father to go into a rage and want to go kill whoever had made his baby girl cry so horribly.  When he found out I was sobbing hysterically because I would never see that boy again, he wanted to kill me!

But no matter what age I was when we traveled, I knew my father would get us to our destination safely.  He would take care of everything (hotels, car rentals, food, souvenirs, fun) while we were on our vacation.  And see to it that we all got back home in one piece.

Well,  a few years ago I went to Mexico with my parents.  And before we left, my father, now ninety years old, the one I always counted on, took my hand, looked me in the eye, and said, “You’ll get us there okay, won’t you?”

As a teenager, I never thought my father would be saying this to me.   It made me cry and at the same time, made me feel good that I could answer “yes.”

And so off to Mexico we went.  My husband, me, my mom (spry at eighty-four) and my father.   I wore my responsibility like a second skin, knowing that I owed it to my parents for all they have done for me.

Now, that’s not to say that I didn’t lose my patience a bit.  Especially  when my father was asking for a cocktail only a few minutes after we had taken our seats on the plane.  But then I couldn’t blame him.  The first class passengers were drinking wine and eating hors d’oeuvres, while the coach passengers were still boarding.  The combined age of those first class passengers was probably only a few years past that of my dad’s.

We arrived safely in Mexico and as I had promised my father, there was a wheelchair waiting to take us through customs.  And as I had also promised there were beautiful sunrises (well, I guess I didn’t have much say in that event) and delicious huevos rancheros  (again not something I prepared)  and many wonderful hours playing cards, drinking margaritas and laughing.  I can take credit for some of those.

Upon returning home safely, my father thanked me.  But then again, he didn’t really have to.

It was difficult at time.  But the truth is- I wish I could do  it all over again.