To look at her, you probably wouldn’t think my Mom is an adventurer.  She favors appliqued sweatshirts, can often be heard curmudgeonly moaning about the cost of just about everything and drinks wine in a box.  As with many things, however, looks can be deceiving.

My mother took me on my first journey when I was 3 weeks old.  My Dad had gotten himself a new job in Houston, Texas, so Mom somehow managed to give birth, pack up the house in Illinois and then take me and a small dog on an airplane to our new home.  And like so many women in the 70′s, she somehow made it all look easy.  Even while wearing polyester.

But, of course, she couldn’t let it go at that.  Texas was a new place to be explored, an adventure in the making.  So within days of arriving in our new home state, we went roadtripping to San Antonio.  Because you can’t go to Texas and not check out the Alamo.  Even when you have a 6-week old baby that gets violently motion sick (guess it’s time to stop blaming my husband’s genes for Chet’s pukey tendencies).

In my first few years of life, there are photos of me all over the country.  Squirming in Muir Woods.  Climbing up a fencepost in Sudbury, Massachusetts.  Chasing crabs on South Padre Island.  And then once my sister came along, the traveling didn’t stop.  We went camping in Big Bend.  Moved away from Texas and then back again.  Roadtripped to Pennsylvania, New England and North Carolina.  Moved a few more times.  I learned early that vacation time was meant for exploring.  And when my parents took the whole family to Hong Kong when I was 9, I thought nothing of it.  Didn’t all kids travel as we did?

Is it weird that it still kind of surprises me that most kids do not?

Those that know us think of my father as the adventurer in our family.  His work took him all over the world and he loved every moment of it.  But it was my mother who gently pushed to make sure that we kids got to get out there, too.  I recently asked her why and she told me, “It was important to me that you got to experience the world.  I only got out of New England once before I was 18.  I wanted it to be different for you girls.”

It was my Mom who encouraged me to take my first transatlantic flight to France solo when I was 12.  It was my Mom who never stopped bugging me to take a semester abroad (I never did and still regret it).  It was my Mom who pushed me to think about traveling more on my own as a single girl.  And it’s my Mom, to this day, who will be the most excited for me when I tell her about my next trip.  She may have been the more quiet of the adventurers in my family but she was definitely the one with the most spirit.

After my father died in 1995, I suppose it’s not too surprising that grief muted that spirit for a while.  She and my Dad had all kinds of incredible trips planned after his retirement and she couldn’t quite fathom going without him.  I soon realized that the two of them had a bit of a travel yin and yang going on – he encouraged her to try things out of her comfort zone and she, well, managed everything else.  I knew I had to do something to revive that spirit.  And so it became time for the student to teach the master.  I had some pushing of my own to do.

And so we traveled together.  Once a year, sometimes more, to places near and far.  To Japan, where I made her ride the world’s largest ferris wheel (at the time) despite her horrible fear of heights.  In a lightning storm, no less.  (And for the record, she enjoyed it.  And don’t believe her when she tells you I threatened to leave her in the middle of Osaka if she didn’t go.  She’s not lying, exactly, but there was more to the story than that).

To Curacao, where we snorkeled the reefs.  To Mexico, where we managed to stay with my sister and her son in the smallest condo ever.  And to Belize, where our local guide and I helped to make sure that Mom was accosted by as many Manta Rays as possible by dropping bits of bait by her shoulders while visiting Shark Alley.  To this day, some of my favorite travel memories involve just me and my Mom, seeing what kind of trouble we might get into next.

And now that I’m a mother, our travels haven’t stopped.  She comes to Europe quite often and, each time, we find a new place to explore.  I’m still trying to push her limits (or is that buttons?) and she repays me with free babysitting.  It’s what we in the travel savvy mom business call a win-win situation.

Mommy, thank you for teaching me what it means to be an explorer.  I don’t think I can ever let you know how much I appreciate it.  I only hope that I can manage half as well with Chet.  But I’m not too worried.  I know that you’re here to make sure I do.

And for our next trip, what do you think about maybe doing some hang gliding?

This post is part of our Before We Were Moms Mother’s Day series. Did your mom influence you as a traveler? We’d love to read about it here or at your blog. Please leave your comments and links below.

Read about Jamie’s mom in Opportunity Knocks Down the Door.
Read about Jane’s mom in Diving In.
Read about Rebecca’s mom in Words To Travel By.
Read about Sascha’s mom in This Campsite is Juuuust Right.

May 7th, 2009 | by Kayt Sukel 11 comments