During a short phone call with my Mother. I admitted to resenting the fact that she, along with her third husband (The One I still consider my stepfather.), left me behind whenever vacationing or traveling beyond our borders. Now granted, I was thirteen or fourteen when they tied the knot. Old enough to fend for myself, too old for a Home Alone scenerio and the perfect age target to base an 80s John Hughes teen flick on. (You know. Parents go on vacation. Teenager throws party for the ages.) Not to deny the fact they might have needed an escape from the constant stress of raising a troublesome teen.
However, not including me in trips to Spain, Puerto Rico, Spain and Hawaii over a four year span is downright neglectful. (Note that I am sitting here with my arms tightly folded and a scowl on my face. Awaiting my overdue tickets and passport.) While I certainly missed out on some amazing adventures and exploration. Their vacations were as much a break from them. Than they were a break from me.
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