By Senior Editor Matador network: 10 reasons it’s important to make nature a priority in your family’s life.
As kids: You see potential where nobody else can. If travel is an act of realizing one’s curiosity about a place, then nobody travels like kids. No matter where they go they’ll discover every possibility for play, exploration, mastery. Whereas an adult sees a hillside and a picnic table in their most utilitarian terms, a child creates whole worlds and games out of this simple landscape. This is why children can pick up languages quickly whereas adults struggle: They simply embody wherever they are and whatever conditions are present.
8 portraits of travel before and after having kids. #Sandisk #SanDiskStories
I want to travel with you — just you. I want to explore a new place alongside the woman who raised me, who changed my diapers, who put up with my teenaged angst, and my rebellious college years. I want to see my favorite cities with the lady who taught me essential life lessons, like look both ways before crossing the street, and how to use a glue gun, that it’s not worth sleeping with every guy you meet, and that the most important thing in the world is to help others.
I want you to stop dropping me off at the airport for some trip I’m about to take, and start becoming my seatmate.
When Amma heard that I wasn’t married, she began calling me daughter, which she pronounced doughter. And she insisted that I call her Amma, meaning “Mommy.” She also took it upon herself to make sure I was well fed, shoving food into my mouth whenever I opened it. If I opened my mouth to speak, which happens a lot, Amma would shove half a banana in my mouth.
”…maybe it took moving overseas for me to truly appreciate every moment I spend with them.”
C. Noah Pelletier holds an impromptu pet photoshoot with his parents; family bonding ensues: http://bit.ly/15gpJpD
Our son says to me, “Mamita, I love you so much, como el sol.” I love you so much, like the sun. Every evening for months now, we’ve had to discuss: the sun goes away, but it always comes back. We need the dark so we can rest, so we can see the stars, and the moon reminds us that the sun is still there. Often, we discuss: Mamá has to go to work, and you can be with your friends, and with papito, but mamá always comes back, she’ll always come back for you.
—excerpted from There’s a reality to living off the land in Mexico
"As the mother of a friend remarked,
When my daughter married out of caste, it was a difficult transition for me. But, seeing how happy she is, I learned to view my son-in-law as an individual as opposed to that guy who wasn’t from my community. This has helped me in breaking a lot of mental barriers when it came to people in general.
This is a far cry from that time some years ago when getting approval from parents and family members for love marriages was difficult. Unless one was lucky, discussions, ultimatums, fights, banishment from the family were all a part of the saga, and I personally know couples that ran away from home to get married.
Not so much any more.”
—excerpted from How ‘love marriages’ break social barriers in India
“Don’t fall in love,” you say, like you always do when I skip away another few thousand miles. “If you have your babies far from me, I don’t think my heart could bear it.” And I laugh like I always do, because babies seem so far away. A life with them feels more foreign to me than any kind of physical relocation I could throw myself into right now. And while I can’t promise you that I won’t fall in love in this place, I can promise you that I will never raise a child here. I know for certain that my heart couldn’t bear it.
I sit with a man, flipping through the photo album of his mandatory army service 12 years ago. He had the face of a child, he and his friends all had the faces of children in their uniforms, holding their guns and smiling at the camera. I watch all the 18-year-old boys and girls walking to the bus stop on Sunday mornings, headed back to their posts across the country, as I ride the sherut to my Hebrew class. And I think of myself at 18, all bright-eyed and hopeful and idealistic, rolling in the grass on Farrand Field, a freshman in college. I was still so naïve. And I want that for my yet-unimagined children so fiercely it sets my teeth on edge.
—excerpted from An open letter to my family after moving to Israel
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