Cruise

We looked forward to our family holidays. It was time well spent together, a chance to travel, experience new things, push the boundaries a little, rest, relax and laugh. Always we anticipated that memories would be made and stored up, for us to share with our children as they grew up and we grew old. There would always be common ground between us because of these adventures.

Our idea of a leisurely cruise on a large, luxurious ocean liner appealed very much to all of the family, except one. Our youngest. After many short conversations, with us and with her siblings, she remained adamant that she would not go. None of us really understood why as she was always keen on sailing trips on our small family yacht. Clearly it was not about being at sea, or about being on a boat. 

Everyone was mystified about her attitude but there was no swaying her. The cruise was put off. We went skiing instead.

The next year the idea of us all going on a cruise was again suggested. Again the youngest said she would not go. We asked all the questions again but she refused to explain her reticence. The more we pressed her the more she dug-in and held firm. We went skiing again instead. 

The following year we proposed a trip to an island off the mainland. We had a choice of flying or taking the ferry. We assumed that the youngest would only fly and so we booked the aeroplane tickets. 

‘Sounds great guys but what a shame we are flying, the ferry would have been so much fun.’ The comment came from the youngest, to our near disbelief. We all stared at her, incredulous. We cancelled the return flights and all came back on the ferry. Perfect, but a bit annoying.

Still puzzled about the youngest preferring the ferry the previous year, but certain that her objections had waned, we went ahead with booking a cruise - a surprise holiday for everyone. We reserved adjoining cabins, planned the shore excursions and paid the deposit. And then we cancelled it. She wouldn’t go. We went to an eco-wilderness retreat that year.

From then on it was difficult to get us all together. Only the youngest was still at home, our older children were consumed with studies, partners and life. Only we, as in the two of us, went away that year. The youngest stayed home, preferring to look after the dog rather than come with us.

Our trip was everything we had hoped for but we missed our children. Our photographs were ours alone, not communal, they were for showing not sharing. When we got home we were determined to get the entire family away together again, before they completely grew out of the habit of spending such times together. But the complexity of getting all the family together made it impossible really. Only the dog seemed to have time for us.

We had always had the beach house, the shack, much loved and much used in the earlier days for short breaks, before we could afford bigger vacations. It now stood vacant for long periods, waiting patiently, until the youngest went on an unannounced mission to occupy the beach house at every opportunity. None of us complained, especially the dog because she took him too, but there was a bad case of envy afoot.

We began to come together more often for long weekends and the other significant holidays. It miraculously seemed easier to find dates that suited everyone. The commitment was less onerous, shorter and perhaps sweeter, easier to accomodate and incorporate our new family members.  

Old board games, and new ones, drew us in just as they had always done. Our chatter around the fire in the evenings connected us. We recounted past holidays and adventures, revisiting the embarrassments and thrills. We watched much loved movies from another time, seen differently through older eyes. 

We were well into a weeklong stay at the beach house. The afternoon was wet and dismal but we were cosy, fire going and blankets over knees, ready for a movie. We wholeheartedly agreed on watching Titanic, a trusted family favourite.

We settled in for the long haul, because Titanic is nothing if not a long haul. Blocks of chocolate, bowls of chips and a box of tissues were at the ready. All were banned from making any sort of commentary. Only short, involuntary verbal signs of emotion were acceptable but any culprit must expect to have a cushion thrown at them. The rules were clear - Kate and Leo had our undivided attention.

At the end of the film we sat there, drained but satisfied. Reflective. Then someone asked, meaning for no one in particular to answer, a question.  

‘Why is it that we never ended up going on a cruise?’ As one we turned to look, not at the speaker but at the youngest.

‘Seriously?’ She said with a dismissive shake of her head. ‘Unbelievable, am I really the only one that’s ever watched this film? 

We still gather regularly at the beach house, with grandchildren and yet more dogs afoot. We still sail, still ski. None of us will probably ever go on a cruise.