My mom was born in 1943 in a small town in western Washington to loving parents of modest means.  Her father worked as a custodian for a bank; her mother (who had to leave school after 8th grade because the family had eight children and no money for books) was a homemaker. My mom married my dad (her high school sweetheart) during his third year of college.

My dad’s transfer to Richland, Washington (where I was born) probably didn’t strike my mom as an opportunity at the time.  My parents had one car, and my father took it to work every day leaving her alone with the tumbleweeds and rattlesnakes.

Next we moved to Russellville, Arkansas—by now, my mom had her own car.  One day, not long after my sister was born, she ventured out with the two of us.  She followed a handpainted sign advertising U-Pick strawberries to a shack at the end of long dirt driveway where we were met by a woman wearing hip waders and pointing a shotgun at us.

It wasn’t quite Paris, France, but it wasn’t the small town she grew up in either.

Many more moves followed.  Back to Washington (this time right across the Columbia River from Oregon).  The San Francisco Bay Area.  Taipei, Taiwan.   Berwick, Pennsylvania.  Then back to California again.

Moving was stressful for my mom, but she thrived on exploring each new place (some more than others).  My dad, however, never saw the upside of all that change; he would have been much happier staying put.

My parents divorced when I was 14—we were living in California at the time.  When the dust settled, my mom found herself with a car payment, a house payment, a part-time job, and not as many child-support checks as she would have liked.

Still, she managed to take my sister and me on a few trips throughout our adolescence.  We traveled by car and slept in our Coleman pop-up camper, but we traveled.  When I was a freshman in college (and my sister a freshman in high school), my mom found enough money for a family trip to Puerto Vallarta.

I was the first person on my mother’s side of the family to graduate from college.  To celebrate, I cashed in 22 years worth of savings bonds my mother had stockpiled for me and went backpacking around Europe.  I don’t remember that this was her dream, but in retrospect it must have been.

On her secretary’s salary, my mom helped two daughters through college, paid off her car, and began to save.  Unsurprisingly, one of the first things she bought herself was a trip to Cozumel.  Next she went to Egypt.  After that to Kauai.  Then to Baja Mexico.  Then to Fiji.  Then all over Europe.  Then to Guatemala.

She is traveling still.

Opportunity is a funny thing.  Not everyone has it, and not everyone takes it.  Sometimes it’s easy to recognize, like a windfall or a scholarship.  Other times, it looks more like a series of stressful moves or an unwanted divorce.  You never can tell.

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 Jane’s mum in Diving In.
Read about Rebecca’s mom in Words To Travel By.
Read about Sascha’s mom in This Campsite is Juuuust Right.
Read about Kayt’s mom in Just a Little Push.

May 3rd, 2009 | by Jamie Pearson 15 comments