It’s humorous, to me anyway, to think about how much pressure I put on myself to expose my children to the world; to all the languages and all the cultures. Well, not all the food because anyone who knows me knows I’m as picky as they come. But point being, I will put myself through the proverbial ringer to expose my children to all I can. I suppose because it’s what shaped me in so many ways and, as life goes, I feel compelled to pass the same onto my own little humans.
I’ve spent countless nights scouring flights to exotic lands. It’s fun to dream. And then more fun to make a dream a reality.
Perhaps this is all digressing because the whole point of this is to say that in my insistence on schlepping our kids all over the place I totally forgot about all the culture embedded in our own backyard. Okay fine, not exactly our backyard, but a feasible drive away. In Venice, on the boardwalk. Where really, anything goes and has for sometime.
Venice: where street performers, skaters, weight lifters, lovers, beach bums, drug dealers, weird birds on the beach that actually let you pet them (we washed and sanitized very well) and a thousand other things come together and make your head turn in every which direction. Doesn’t hurt either to have the company of your very best friend.
All this to say that my hopes for taking the older boys to Asia later this year have all but dissipated but that perhaps staying local and spending more time on the boardwalk may just provide the same opportunity. I’m trying to sell myself on it, anyway.