I often worry about my kids. I know that’s something that all parents say, and while I join rank with these parents in the traditional sense of worrying (will they get picked on, how will they do in school, will they be happy, etc.), my worry at times stems from our choice of living abroad. I honestly believe that they are experiencing a life full of discovery and exploration where they count waves and stars instead of logged computer hours. I am inspired by my daughter’s love for water and swimming – that I suspect comes from living on an island – and by my son’s silky dance bounce moves when he hears music, especially latin beats. I am proud of their genius brains at work when they seamlessly navigate between their Spanish brain and their English brain depending on who they are talking to. The other day, when leaving a friend’s home, I encouraged my daughter to say Gracias. She turned and said Thank you instead, knowing our hosts were English speakers. These are a few of the things that living abroad has given us, yet I still worry. I still ask the universal parent question but with an expat twist – am I screwing up my kids… by living abroad?
Do other moms feel the same way?
I have this conversation with other moms endlessly, tirelessly. Most feel the same way and I think it is because most of us grew up the same way: surrounded by our families, growing up in the same home, on the same block, in the same town, with the same friends. We grew up running home after school to throw down our book bags and head outside to play tag with our buddies. We weren’t called to come home on our phones because we knew it was time to come home when it was getting dark out. We waited for the summer because that meant that “dark out” was a little later than the rest of the year. We caught fireflies and explored the woods behind our house and rode bikes down the street to find who else was playing in the yard. We all look back at our childhoods with such fondness so, I wonder, what are we doing here? Why are we not giving our kids that life? And worst of all, I think, are our kids missing out? But I come back to the same conclusion: our kids are missing out on our childhoods but they are building their own. Just because it’s different doesn’t mean it’s worse… or better.
Do what parents choose predict what kids will choose?
Are we better off providing a house on the same block or one that travels the world? There are so many combinations of roots and vines that I’m not sure there is a right answer here. I was a rooted kid who lived in the same town, on the same street, in the same house my whole life. In fact, my parents were looking to move once so that my sister and I would each have our own room and we begged them to stay. The thought of moving from that home seemed abysmally sad. Yet, here I am… abroad. I vined. Others I’ve spoken to that were vines growing up could think of nothing they wanted more than to plant roots and stay rooted later in life. Their traveling parents didn’t predict their lifestyle anymore than my rooted parents predicted mine.
How will living abroad foster friendships?
Living in the same town or in the same state makes it easier to maintain meaningful friendships but it certainly doesn’t guarantee it. I had lots of friends growing up that were out of my life long before our move abroad. And I would add that moving abroad has strengthened the ones I still have. As for our kids, when we go back to New Jersey for breaks, my kids are incredibly excited to see their pals; the children of our friends, and they waste no time picking up where they left off. Friendship is made through shared memories and intimate moments and our kids are provided those opportunities if only for a few months out of the year. The time we spend together is time we use building relationships. We make count what we have.
How will the kids know where home is?
I struggle with this. In the 4 years we’ve been in Santo Domingo we’ve had 3 apartments. Both of our kids came home from the hospital to two different apartments – same building – but different apartments. And both of those apartments are different than the one we live in now. Every summer we leave our apartment and live out of my parents’ house for two months. That’s right, our whole family of four + two dogs move into a different home – Grandma’s – for 2 months. And what of the day we leave Santo Domingo? Where do we call home then? The only answer I’ve got is this: home is wherever we put up the tree. And to be honest, I don’t think that answer is half bad. Home to our family is like what bodies are for our souls; a vehicle, a physical space to hold beautiful memories but our home doesn’t make our family – our family makes the home, and that can be made anywhere; no matter where in the world we are, no matter where in the world we put up our tree, there is home.
So what’s the verdict? Am I screwing up our kids or what? The truth is, I don’t know. Do any of us know? Like all moms, I’m doing the best I can from where I am with what I’ve got. At the moment, our kids aren’t school aged so Husband and I have a bit more time to think about these questions but soon enough (and it seems that every year passes more and more quickly) our daughter will start school – and then our son – and we will have to seek out answers. In the meanwhile, I’ll do what I do best as a mother and worry… but I’ll do it on the beaches of Dominican Republic.