The Carrier of Uncertainty…
The Boy is an able traveler.
He is accustomed to the lift-offs and landings, the terminal dashes and loopy scheduling. He carries a book, some games, and the security of experience; We’ve lost count of how many times he’s flown somewhere with us.
He is also accustomed to traveling with his mother, who comes prepared with maps showing the location, and likely the GPS coordinates, of the bus stop for the shuttle to the Amtrak station. She will also have in her backpack a print-out of the schedules for both the shuttle and the train, auxiliary information on alternate means of transportation, coupons for local restaurants, and for all I know the home numbers of various hoteliers.
Hard copies of everything there is to know about the destination, options for entertainment, schedules of theaters, reviews of plays/movies/tours; All of these travel with The Wife, along with EPA gas mileage estimates for rental cars, schedules and fudge factors, tidal charts- if applicable-, and a score of other bits and bobs to ease the oddity of being outside the comfort of home.
Traveling with his dad- yr humbl svt- is different. I have a camera bag on my back, and in my pocket I carry flight numbers and wherever we’re supposed to sleep that night, written on the back of an ATM receipt with a highlighter.
It is an adventure, I tell him. Plus, it makes your mother really nervous. Bonus.
And this is my role, the Carrier of Uncertainty. (Not to be confused, by the way, with Delta Air Lines, the Air Carrier of Uncertainty.) Traveling with me is counterpoint to his mother’s total preparation, an enjoyable art of not knowing.
Home is knowing. It is the same seat and the same tv shows, the same meals and the same math homework, the same views from the same windows, the same corrugated rippling of the same wind blowing through the tyvek in the construction on the hill.
Travel is, or should be, not knowing. It is awakening from a routine-induced coma, a sudden decrease in the white noise of the mundane, a slight quickening of the pulse as we realize we’re sitting at the wrong gate, but laughing as we trot to where we’re supposed to be.
He takes it, both literally and figuratively, in stride, his eyes seeking out the ticket machines and the metro maps, wondering if we take this or that train, and are we on time, and can we have a snack, and do I have time to get out my book? He sits on my legs on the overcrowded bus and watches the sun-washed new pass the windows, and remember when we got that minivan you hated, Dad?
I did, and I do. Just like I remember his first time in the surf, and when the change in air pressure made him cry, and us running from the mosquitoes, and the ten thousand games of air hockey while we waited for Mom, and I remember the pressure of his head against my shoulder at the end of a long day of flights and rides and not knowing.
But when we’ve finished our trip, what I will hold most dearly, more than the miles and the steam engines and the little planes and the ferries, more than the gallops through the nameless crowds, the bumpy flights and the silly games to make the lines more tolerable, even more than being the carrier of uncertainty, is that I was blessed to have The Boy along with me.
In: I'm the Dad, Travel, life · Tagged with: adventure, life, The Boy, Travel, uncertainty
on April 9, 2008 at 8:13 am
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Very lovely.
Your wife gives me a strong Maris vibe.
on April 10, 2008 at 6:22 am
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thanks, Jen.
does that make me Miles? I don’t think I’m that priss…um, urbane.
on April 10, 2008 at 11:26 pm
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eh, that would be Niles.
must learn to type
on April 15, 2008 at 12:05 pm
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Thanks, Cog.
on April 15, 2008 at 6:20 pm
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sure thing. absolutely. glad to do it. anytime.
um, what did I do?