I don’t mind traveling, but I surely do hate to pack. Invariably I forget my toothbrush or my hairbrush. Last time we visited Josh, I forgot my tennis shoes and had to buy some. My bad joints demand them if I intend to do any walking at all. On this most recent trip I neglected to pack pajamas so a quick run to Walmart became necessary. I don’t know if everyone has this problem or if I’m just more absentminded than most, but apparently I passed the gene down to my children.
The first time I took students to France, my eldest son Calvin was in the group. I told them all over and over to pack a jacket just in case. We spoke of the importance of keeping up with our passports. I even made lists of necessities and gave them out to my travelers. When we boarded the airplane in Atlanta, the temperature was 98. Upon landing in Paris, the temperature was 56. Guess which student had not packed a jacket. Calvin, of course. We made a run to a store similar to Walmart and spent about 3 times for a light jacket what I would have paid for it here. C’est la vie! I couldn’t in good conscience allow my son to freeze to death for 10 days even if the bad situation was his own fault. He came by it honestly.
Jakey, my middle son, traveled with me on another trip. He knew the stories of the jacket and carefully packed one for himself. That time we didn’t need it. He almost over-packed. Quite style-conscious, he packed 3 pairs of shoes. When we left Paris, he left 2 pairs behind stashed neatly under the bed in his motel room. He was quite perturbed at losing his shoes. When you travel with tour groups, you never go to the same place twice. Those shoes were gone.
Absent-mindedness was not limited to our group though. I worried most about passports and checked them constantly. Every morning I had to see every single one of them. When we left one motel and loaded the bus for our next one, I checked. If anyone lost his passport, he couldn’t leave France when the time came to go home. We did well. However a seasoned chaperone from another group lost his and had a monstrous time trying to replace it. The last time I heard from him, he’d been transported to the American Embassy. I hope he’s home by now.
And right here in the good old USA, Larry and I attended a band competition when Calvin was in high school. We had arrived and settled in to watch the earliest band perform. A small band in neat blue and white uniforms had just taken the field to perform when I heard Wally Shaw’s voice above the band and everyone else.
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