My spouse Helen and I recently returned from a trip to Iceland with Olivia Travel, a company catering to LGBTQ women. Our previous trip with them was when our son was six months old. He’s now in his second year of college. I’ve therefore been reflecting on lessons about family and parenting that I’ve learned from each of those voyages.
The earlier cruise was a big step. For the first six months of our son’s life, either Helen or I was with him during his every waking hour, even when we would rather have been asleep. Tired as we were, though, the idea of ever being apart from him felt strange. Still, we knew we needed a break, and my parents were more than willing to watch their only grandchild for a week. They were happy, he was spoiled, and we got to unwind and come back refreshed. I also think it helped him start learning how to be in different environments and to be apart from us (in the care of other responsible adults) without worry—healthy skills to develop.
The trip also helped Helen and I remind ourselves that our parenting had to be built on a solid relationship between us. While we did have to change some things about our lives when we became parents (it was harder to dash off and travel without some serious planning, for example), we didn’t want to completely give up the things we enjoyed doing as individuals or as a couple. We tried to make time for them, even if our parental responsibilities had to come first.
As our son grew older, we found ways of sharing our love of travel with him as well. I heartily recommend early travel with kids, if possible, to get them used to different routines and places, whether it be in a grandparent or other relative’s home, a hotel, or a camping tent. Yes, traveling with young ones can be a hassle (with different hassles at different ages), but it offers them invaluable lessons about adaptability, meeting new people, and experiencing different ways of doing things.
We therefore traveled a lot as a family as our son was growing up. Occasionally, he would again stay with my parents while Helen and I went out for a day or an evening, but really, we enjoyed traveling with him so much that all our longer trips were as a trio. Some of them were with other queer families, which offered an immediate sense of community and comfort; others were to places full of many types of families—amusement parks and national parks, museums, historic sites, campgrounds, and more, near and far.
Then, suddenly, our son was off at college and Helen and I were on our own once again. Some friends were going on the Olivia cruise and invited us along. We said yes without hesitation.
It was different planning our itinerary around just the two of us and not having to consider what our son would like to do. Not that I resented doing so when he was with us—but there was a certain kind of flexibility now that we were going somewhere as only a duo.
I also hadn’t realized how much I’d missed the company of queer women after two years of pandemic isolation. Yes, I am connected with many online, but being on a boat with 300 of them was even more glorious. On this trip, most of the travelers were over 50; our previous cruise (to the Caribbean) had skewed younger, but we were younger then, too. Unsurprisingly, there were other parents (and grandparents) among our current shipmates, and we swapped stories of family creation and child raising. The entertainers on board celebrated our queer lives, made hilarious yet affirming in-jokes, and underscored that despite the many challenges our community still faces, there is also joy and laughter and song.
Even as we reveled in our couple time, however, I found myself thinking about how much our son would enjoy some aspects of the trip. Not so much the part about being with a bunch of older queer women (Helen and I are enough for him)—but the sights we saw and the food we ate. I missed his observations about what we encountered and his excitement about exploring new things, and looked forward to showing him our travel photos.
Being a parent means always having part of one’s brain dedicated to thinking about one’s child(ren), though, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Additionally, having grown kids means the sweet tension of being happy that our kids are making lives for themselves, even as we long for the days of our family adventures. The two are not mutually exclusive, of course, though family times are more often confined to holidays and bound by scheduling complications.
This was the first big trip Helen and I had taken since our son left home, so perhaps I was feeling particularly nostalgic. We were hardly the only ones with grown children on the cruise, though, which was a comfort—and reminded me of just how long we queer families have existed. When our children have flown, we can find community among other parents also tending their rainbow nests—which are never really empty, but full of memories and love.
Originally published as my Mombian newspaper column.
