A few years ago our family was celebrating my father’s birthday on a chilly January afternoon. We were gathered around our parent’s dining room table, full from dinner and birthday cake. Everyone was carrying on and joking around with each other, when my father, with a tear in his eye, asked for everyone’s attention. Immediately, we all turned, shocked that our normally hard as a nail father, was showing such tender emotion. He cleared his throat and made the announcement that we would be receiving our Christmas presents 11 months early this year. We were all stunned and collectively wondered if he was on his deathbed. Yes, that seems morbid, but our father is a man’s man if there ever was one; for him to show sentiment and emotion was something that none of us were even remotely familiar with. Dad went on to say that we would be taking a family trip, spouses and grandkids included, to Grand Cayman the following January and that everyone needed to figure out how to get off from work and get the kids out of school for a week of Caribbean bliss.
A year later, all travel arrangements in place, we were booked on separate planes (just in case something tragic happened someone would be able to return home to take care of the animals) for a week of family fun. Our parents rented two condos on Seven Mile Beach. I arrived with mom and dad a day before everyone else to stock the cupboards and prepare for the herd to arrive. They rented a van to shuttle everyone around for the week and the next day dad was off to the airport to start picking everyone up. We had a total of 14 people to juggle around, and my mom, the travel consultant, was able to do it seamlessly. She managed to coordinate flights from Philadelphia and Newark and was even able to coordinate the Newark flight to pick up my nephew in Miami, who got there via Jacksonville. Everyone arrived in Grand Cayman spaced out enough so dad was able to continuously make the trip back and forth to the airport and no one had to wait for the next “shuttle” to come.
Each night, one of the kids cooked a meal for everyone. We took our parents out as a thank you one night, and much to the surprise of all of us, we enjoyed spending time together as family, with no interruptions from the outside world, for an entire week. The adult kids went out at night together while Gramms and PopPop entertained the grandchildren; some went to the turtle farm, while others explored the island and the locals. Everyday, at some point around happy hour, we all gathered together to enjoy what it means to be a family. Of course, there was the usual sibling bickering, whining child, and spousal disagreement, but none of us remember the details of those events. It had been years since we were able to be together for an extended period of time. After the week ended, all of the kids were shuttled to the airport and my parents enjoyed another week of Caribbean bliss (and I am sure peace and quite) before they returned to the cold Northeast.
As the family has grown, mom and dad have gotten older, and our individual lives have changed in so many ways, every year when we talk about Christmas, someone brings up the hope that we can experience a family vacation again, before the grandkids graduate, and while Gramms and PopPop have the patience and energy to maintain all of us in one place for an extended period of time. Our gift of a family vacation was a bonding moment and a memory that can’t be sold at next summer’s yard sale.