Family Vacations

It is August and many of you are on vacation, have just returned from vacation, or, are a bit upset because you didn't get a vacation this year.

As for myself, I have very mixed feelings about vacations. On one hand, they are an opportunity to actually read that book I have been planning on perusing since Christmas. On the other hand, current vacations bring up memories of past vacations that would make even Chevy Chase shake his head in disbelief.

One of my first memories of a vacation comes from a trip with my parents and sisters to Colorado where we camped in a canvas tent that smelled like it had been used in WWII. I was of an age when "wetting the sleeping bag" was not an unknown experience. Somehow, the smell of wet canvas still brings out the worst in me. Because of my weak bladder, I was placed by the entryway of the tent. Theoretically this provided me with an easy escape from our sleeping arrangements. It also exposed me to the dangers of the wilderness.

Or, maybe it exposed the wilderness to the danger of a seven-year old boy.

My tent position would not have been all that bad, but while we were in the Rockies a convict escaped from one of Colorado's nearby state prisons. My mother was frightened enough by the radio news reports to sleep with an ax beneath her own bedding the entire night. I can still imagine how it would have played out. The bandido would have stepped into our tent prepared to steal our worldly wealth. Instead, he would have stepped on my soggy sleeping bag. This early warning system of a badman howling with disgust would have allowed my mother to quickly respond by swinging the full-sized ax directly into... Well, that is where my imagination fortunately breaks down. In a dark tent she could have gotten anyone, even her moist son.

I do not remember too many vacations in the tent. My father, a real craftsman with wood and mechanical things, decided to build us a pop-up camper. It was an incredible design. It had a small kitchen, a table that could be moved into the down position to become a bed, and a bunk bed that kind of resembled a side by side jungle hammock. It certainly smelled better than the tent.

The first night out in our newly christened camper the hammock broke and my sisters fell on my parents. Fortunately (for me), I was still assigned to sleeping space by the door. I believe my sisters spent the rest of the night in the car. I know my father spent most of his vacation in hardware stores and welding shops trying to fix all the little things he didn't like in the camper.

Come to think of it, that would have probably been my father's favorite vacation. Hardware stores were more interesting to him than Wall Drug or the Corn Palace.

Of course, tents and home-made campers were both better than the alternative: staying with relatives. I am not talking about uncles or aunts. In my family you qualified as a relative, and therefore a place to stay, if you were a cousin twice removed. Other people stayed in motels and hotels. I stayed with Lucille "I-forget-how-she-is-actually-related". You have never really had a family vacation until you find yourself in western Nebraska with people you don't know, trying to make small conversation about relatives neither of you really remember.

As an adult and father I have not experienced the same successes my parents had in providing vacations for the family.

When we lived in Bolivia we occasionally vacationed in the Yungas, a mountainous region about five hours from La Paz. The road we traveled to get there was a real adventure. In fact, recently someone pointed out a short video on the internet identifying this section of road as the “Highway of Death”. They only exaggerate slightly.

During one of our first family get-aways in Bolivia I became very ill. This was not an uncommon experience during our early years in South America. While Susan nursed me to health and took care of baby Krista in a cheap hotel in Cochabamba, a revolution took place outside our window. A revolution with very real bullets.

After a day of this relaxing vacation, I began to feel a little better and we decided we needed to get back to our team in La Paz. The only problem was we did not have all the correct paperwork for Krista. We were new parents and didn’t realize you needed government approval in Bolivia to travel with your children from the equivalent of one state to another.

We finally came up with a plan that involved traveling separately back to La Paz. Susan carried the slightly illegal Krista in her arms. Our hope was that if Susan was arrested with her cargo I could make it back to La Paz and convince someone to give us the proper document. I would then return and try to get my women out of jail.

Fortunately, the soldiers checking paperwork were more concerned with the revolution than they were with baby documents. We all made it back to our home in La Paz. If I remember correctly, we and our team did not leave that house for almost two weeks. No television, no radio, almost no food and we had already read all the books. It was an “interesting” vacation.

When we rejoined International Teams in 1993, I somehow forgot to take a vacation for three years. Who could blame me? Still, my supervisor in those years threatened to “let me go” if I did not take one. I laughed at him with my normal bravado in the face of danger.

However, I did start to look for travel deals.

We ended up going to Washington, D.C. This was great because a young lady in the process of becoming a missionary with IT was then working as an administrative assistant for a well-known senator. She promised to try to obtain VIP passes to the White House.

As it turned out, the passes were harder to get than she thought. I called her again and again. Finally, she said if I came to the Senate Office building immediately she could give them to me.

I should explain that it was a hot day and there was only 30 minutes until closing time. I was dressed in red Converse All-Stars and a Mickey Mouse t-shirt. I am not making this up. After running for several blocks I found myself in the executive elevator with two men in power suits who I recognized from the television news. For some reason they identified me as a visitor in the city and asked me if I was enjoying my vacation.

Sometimes it is better to not say anything if you can’t say something good.