Going Places

“Remember to take your water bottles!” I reminded my exuberant kids as they all popped out of the car. Heshy and Duvy ducked their heads back into the car and pulled out their camping bags.

“Where are the bikes, Tatty?” Heshy asked eagerly, his freckled eightyear-old face alive with enthusiasm.

“Right here,” I pointed to the faded wooden sign stuck into the earth. Just like the rest of New Hampshire, this bike rental was quaint and old-fashioned. Perry, at the wise old age of ten years old, gave a ladylike snort.

“It looks so old, Tatty. You think they have good bikes?”

All her doubts quickly disappeared when we saw the shiny new mountain bikes that were available for rent. The bike rental manager helped Duvy and Heshy find appropriate-sized bikes.

“Perfect,” I said, showing the guy a thumbs-up as he brought over two bright-red bicycles. “Thanks for all your help!”

When he brought over a pink bike for Perry, Perry blushed. “Thank you,” she said in a small voice, looking at me for confirmation. I smiled.

“I see you’ve got lots of experience,” I said to the rental manager. He smiled back.

Perry watched our interaction carefully.

Duvy and Heshy were fairly hopping with excitement, strapping on their helmets without a single protest so they could get onto their bikes as quickly as possible.

“Looks like this is one of the most exciting trips so far,” my wife Dini remarked with a smile.

“After three days, you would think that anything would be boring already,” I agreed. But no, these kids were enjoying every second of our family vacation.

We set off on the mountain biking trail, all the members of the family

BY: CHAYA BLUSTEIN

seated on bikes that were appropriate for their age. I had brought along the child seat for my own mountain bike, and Layala, the 2-year-old, was secured in its harness.

Even in the middle of this busy summer season, the trail we had picked was quiet and deserted. The only other signs of life aside from the boys’ whooping were the flapping of birds’ wings through the trees and the sound of animals stepping on branches.

I took up the forward position, leading the way up the mountain, while Dini walked behind the group so that she could keep an eye on the younger ones. This bike trail to the mountain summit was only supposed to take an hour, but I was pretty certain our time would be at least double that, with the little kids we were riding with.

“Look at that!” I whispered to Perry, who, as a matter of pride, was trying to keep pace with me at the front. Just past the first line of trees was the outline of a large animal. It was a moose with the longest, widest antlers I had ever seen.

Perry gave a little gasp. “Eek!” she said, driving up close to me for safety.

Heshy, who was next in line, had no such compunctions. “Tatty, what is it?” he yelled.

“Is it a deer?”

The noise of his voice made the huge, but probably shy, animal disappear immediately.

“It’s a type of deer, Heshy,” I said. “This kind of deer is called a moose. If you keep looking out, you might see more of them.”

“Wow! Did you see it, Duvy? Did you see the deer?” Heshy turned to his little brother to share his excitement.

“No, I wanted to see it,” Duvy pouted. “You’re going too slow,” Perry said with a slight sneer. “Next time come faster.”

“Maybe we’ll see another one,” I said, closing the discussion by picking up speed, which left the kids scrambling to keep up.

“Tatty,” Heshy panted, “are there also bears in the forest?”

“I’m not sure,” I said carefully, conscious of Perry at my side. I didn’t think my oldest daughter would appreciate hearing about the possibility of meeting a black bear up close.

For the next little stretch, as the trail got steeper, there was only the sound of heavy breathing as the kids pedaled vigorously to climb the mountain. I hadn’t realized just how much of a workout it would be for them.

As soon as we reached the top of that little incline, Dini passed a message through the kids that she wanted to stop for a photo and snack break. We could already see some gorgeous views from this point on the mountain, and she wanted to get the pictures in before the kids were too sweaty and their hair too messed up for the pictures to look nice.

“Say cheese!” she instructed as she snapped, adjusting the settings to take advantage of the natural sunlight.

She studied the pictures with satisfaction. “Stunning,” she proclaimed.

“Now let’s do a pose with the entire family,” Perry called. “Mommy, put the camera on the picnic basket on top of Layala’s seat, and then you can come into the picture.”

“That’s a good idea,” Dini agreed.

Finally, after all the pictures were finished, Dini pulled out the snack bags and chocolates she’d packed and handed them out to all the kids.

Watching the kids happily devour the snacks, I felt a glow of satisfaction. This trip was undoubtedly an unqualified success.

I’d been worried about dealing with Heshy’s behavioral issues that gave his rebbeim a run for their money, but here in the relaxed atmosphere, he seemed more calmer than ever before. And Perry, who could be whiny and bossy, had remained cheerful almost throughout the entire trip. If she’d given her opinions a little too loudly to the boys sometimes, having both me and Dini around to immediately put her in place had worked wonders to prevent fights.

In fact, any kind of kvetching or fighting had been so much easier to rein in when all our attention was completely focused on the kids. It was amazing to see how much my kids thrived on the megadose of parental attention they were getting. I only regretted that both of us worked too hard at our jobs all year to give them the same kind of presence.

Dini must have seen the wistful look in my eye, because she immediately understood what I was thinking.

“When was the last time we went so long without a fight or a tantrum?” she murmured.

“I can’t believe we have such good kids!”

I chuckled as she continued chewing thoughtfully, watching the kids sitting on the grass and eating their snacks contentedly.

“Do you think they would be like this all the time if we were only able to give them more attention?”

I shook my head. “It would definitely make a difference, but don’t forget that we’re on vacation now. The kids are having the time of their life, getting treated left and right to all their dreams. When do you ever give them chocolate and chips for no good reason without them even asking? It’s not only that we’re around, you know.”

Dini nodded, the thoughtful look still on her face.

After our snack break, the trail only got more intense, as we began reaching the very top of the mountain. I went as slowly as possible so the kids could keep up.

“My feet kill,” Perry complained after a difficult stretch of mountain

“Do you want to join Layala in the seat?” I suggested humorously.

“Ta! I’m a big girl!” she protested. To prove her point, she sped up, overtaking me. Smiling, I outraced her easily, keeping in front of her. Luckily, it wasn’t too long after that that we reached the top of the mountain, where there was a small picnic area set up. Dini, who’d been planning this trip to perfection for a month already, brought over the cooler basket.

Cut-up fresh fruit and yogurts came out first, along with some baguettes and bagels. The spreads and vegetables were neatly packed in small containers to make it easy for each of us to choose our sandwich.

“I want tuna, Mommy, kay?” Duvy said, a slightly worried look in his eye as he saw the small container of tuna Dini took out.

“I also want tuna!” Heshy chimed in immediately.

“Tuna!” Layala said emphatically, with typical two-year-old confidence.

“Eww,” Perry said as exaggeratedly as she could. “Why do you all want tuna?”

She scrutinized the offerings. “Cream cheese is much better,” she declared.

“Everyone can have some yummy watermelon and mango first,” Dini deflected the argument expertly. While the kids helped themselves, getting their faces and shirts smeared with watermelon juice, she quickly constructed a couple of tuna sandwiches.

“Let’s go already,” Perry said impatiently as soon as she was finished eating.

“Not so fast,” Dini said, looking at the mess our family’s picnic had created. “First we need to clean up.”

Perry wrinkled her nose. “Look, there’s a cleaner guy there cleaning up,” she said, pointing. “Let him do it!”

Meanwhile, Heshy and Duvy started having races to the trees, while still chewing their sandwiches. Dini met my eyes.

I inclined my head slightly, and she understood my reference. I didn’t want to be too heavy on the kids now.

Instead, I took a garbage bag and filled it up with all the plates and empty containers, while Dini repacked all the uneaten food carefully. Perry watched me bend down to the grass to pick up stray spoons and other litter with wide eyes. Seeing her tall Tatty kneeling in the muddy grass was obviously making an impression on her.

“Here, Tatty, the wind blew this away,” she said as she brought over a dirty plate she’d found a bit further away in the grass. I concealed a smile. Without one word of reproach, my prim little princess was now helping to clean up.

I finished the cleanup quickly. Before we left, though, I made sure to go over to the cleaner and tell him how much we appreciated his efforts.

“What a clean place you have here!” I told him, giving him a slap on the back. “Keep up the great work!”

I could feel Perry’s eyes on me, but I didn’t say anything to her.

Soon, we were back on the trail, this time downhill. It was much easier than the uphill trek, although I made sure to show each child how to work the brake on his bike to keep from going too fast down the mountain.

“Tatty,” Perry asked as she once again kept pace with me, “why did you clean up and then still say thank-you to the goy who was cleaning up? We didn’t even leave a mess for him, and anyway, he was just a goy.”

“What do you think?” I threw the question back at her. “Why do you think we needed to clean up and say thank you?”

“Because it’s a kiddush Hashem?” she asked. “Yes, but also because doing nice things makes us become nice people,” I said. “Saying thank you to someone makes that person feel good, and making other people feel good doesn’t just make us nice people, it also makes us feel good.”

Perry turned that over in her mind. I wasn’t sure if it was too philosophical for her, but the very fact that she’d asked the question was out of character. Apparently, there was more depth to my daughter than I thought, behind the appearance of complete selfcenteredness.

It was wonderful to be able to teach my daughter by example instead of having to discipline her for being snobby. There had been a lot of opportunities for that on this trip. I remembered the day before, when the canoe we’d reserved for our boating trip had been given away before we arrived. Although I could have legitimately berated the inept rental guy who’d left us without our boat, I accepted the kayaks he offered instead with thanks and a smile.

Later, when we’d returned the kayaks, he’d offered us a motorboat that had just been returned to the dock. We only had it for a short time, until its next reservation came to pick it up, but Dini had made sure to point out to the kids that if we hadn’t accepted the loss of our canoe gratefully, we would never have gotten the motorboat.

Then there was the story with the car bumper sticker. After climbing Mt. Washington in our car, the kids were thrilled to display the sticker, “This car climbed Mt. Washington.” But we’d cautioned them that we would be taking off the sticker before we returned home.

“Not everyone gets to go on such fun trips,” I gently explained to them.

“We don’t want to make our neighbors feel bad,” Dini added. The kids hadn’t been happy about it, but they understood the point.

Now I could see Perry actually thinking about and internalizing the lesson, which had prompted her question to begin with.

But I didn’t realize just how much she’d “gotten” it then.

We returned home from New Hampshire that night, the kids in high spirits despite their exhaustion. Day camp was finishing already, and soon school started.

When the phone call came from Perry’s teacher, none of us were expecting it. But it gave us the sweetest feeling a parent can ever have.

Perry’s teacher spoke to Dini, but Dini told me exactly what she’d said.

“She said there was this girl, Kaila, who was trying to become part of Perry’s group of friends. She sounds like a kid who has a hard time socially, which meant that Perry and her friends weren’t really interested in having her join the group.”

I nodded, thinking about my confident daughter and her disdain for “nebs.” It wouldn’t be the first time a teacher had complained that Perry wasn’t being nice to another girl, unfortunately.

“But Perry has been really nice to her, letting her join the group and making her feel good.”

I sat up at that unexpected statement. Dini nodded, her eyes alight.

“And wait till you hear the rest. Yesterday, her teacher overheard one of the other girls asking Perry why she’s being so nice to the nebby girl.”

I listened eagerly. “What did Perry say?” I prompted.

“She said, ‘When you’re nice to someone then you become a nice person. If you’re mean, then you’re just a snob.’ And the other girl, of course, listened to her, because Perry’s the leader. The teacher was amazed at how mature Perry is.”

The memory of Perry’s question on the bike trail came into sharp focus, and I realized that the lesson she’d absorbed that day had obviously struck very, very deep. •