With any luck, every parent goes through this. One day, when your kid is old and savvy enough, she will tell you all about a holiday she is planning. She will describe it to you in intricate detail: who she plans to go with, how she hopes to manage her money, the itinerary she wants to follow. She will ask if you think it is a good idea, meaning Do you think I'm ready for this? And you will look at her in all her trusting innocence and picture her out in the large, indifferent world and think Nooo!. She may be ready, but you're not. And yet, that really isn't her problem, is it? What's important is that she is ready and willing -- chomping at the bit, even. So no matter how you feel, if you know that she really is old enough to manage this, you must say Yes.
This happened to us a few months ago. Our eldest and her best friend, who now lives with us, came bursting into our living room, barely able to contain their glee: "We're going to go to Amsterdam!"
We grilled them about their travel plans, and they were amazingly sound. They had contingency plans. They had expectations that were relatively realistic, and they had responsible ways to manage their money. We knew that we could not say No this time; that you protect your kids as long as you can, but in the end, this is really what you're getting them ready for: the big flight. My father-in-law always claimed you knew you'd made it as a parent when your kids were itching to leave home. That when they called you up and told you they were having a blast, you knew your job was complete.
So I guess we've made it.
In another life, I too went to Amsterdam as a young, giddy twenty- something. I found a youth hostel there right in the middle of the red light district in Dam Square. My first week there, I saw an ad written in Japanese tacked to the hostel's bulletin board; a Japanese restaurant was looking for kitchen staff. I called them up, and the next day I had a job washing dishes in this restaurant. After working there a week, I had friends, one square meal a day at lunchtime (leftovers, true, but tasty and nutritious nevertheless), and a place to sleep for free: in the room just over the restaurant where the waitresses changed into their kimonos every evening. There was even a shower there, and a small library of Japanese graphic novels. I learned to read Japanese in America and Japan, but Amsterdam was where I developed my reading fluency. Those were heady days, and if my parents had said No to me way back when, where would I be?
We saw the eldest and her best friend off in Lockerbie at midnight. They were half out of their wits with excitement: two weeks in Amsterdam all by themselves! They had their debit cards tucked into their money belts, carefully-packed duffel bags, travel shampoo and conditioner, and a full complement of traveler's checks, much admired and examined. I resolved that I would not, under any circumstances, embarrass them by admonishing the bus driver to look after them. I would give them a quick, comradely hug; I would remind them to have fun.
It started raining and the bus was late. We didn't have umbrellas, and when a pack of loudmouth drunks hogged the bus shelter, leaving us to get soaked, I felt like shoving them out of the way. I felt like blazing a path before these two kids -- clearing the entire world of all the evil, selfish, hateful, unhelpful people so they could move freely and happily through it. And of course you cannot do that, so instead I gave them bear hugs and sloppy kisses and told them to have a good time for me.
My husband's resolve broke; he told the bus driver to look after them. The bus driver smiled and said he would do his best, and the bus pulled away.
"Well, that's the hardest thing I've ever done in my life," my husband said as we watched the bus tail lights disappear. We drove home through the rain and mist and tried not to be too mournful. Kids are lucky. They live pretty much in the here and now. We parents ought to try doing that more.
We've had lots of phone calls and e-mails. They have found every decent Chinese restaurant in town, but they still haven't been to Anne Frank's house or any of the museums. We have been informed that Amsterdam is awash with hot-looking men. The Heineken Beer Factory (highly recommended by me) is sadly closed for repairs, and yesterday, my daughter gave directions to a young Asian man who bravely asked in English, but could not understand her answer -- until she switched to Japanese.
"I knew he was Japanese as soon as he started talking!" she burbled.
"Was he cute?"
"Yes!"
"Are you having fun?"
"Yes, yes, yes!"
Looks like we've made it.
