Most of my life, my dad has worked multiple jobs to provide for his family and give his kids the means to dream big. For me, that largely meant travel.
With my parents’ unwavering support, I pursued journalism and began traveling for work a few years into my career. My dad was thrilled to hear about my trips as he continued to juggle two jobs into his 60s, but as he shared his own travel dreams, it dawned on me how little he’d gotten to check off his list.
Even with my small salary and nonexistent savings, I wanted to provide him with the means to travel, just as he’d given me. Financial restrictions never stopped my parents from giving me the world, literally and figuratively — why should it stop me?
For his birthday eight years ago, I surprised him with a trip to South Dakota, a place he’s always wanted to visit.
We both enjoyed the national parks and historical sites, but it was the hours of conversation in the car and the look on my dad’s face when taking in a view that left the biggest impression on my heart.
Since then, I’ve taken my dad to Bar Harbor, Maine, plus Philadelphia and Gettysburg in Pennsylvania.
Our trips, which happen about every other year, have become one of my favorite traditions. They’ve helped me get to know him — and myself — in an all-new way.
I’ve gotten to know my dad beyond his role as my parent
The moment I pick my dad up to head out on a new expedition, I can sense his giddy energy and clear headspace.
During family vacations, my dad usually takes the figurative backseat while my mom, my sister, and I dominate the conversation. Perhaps he knows that on our father-daughter trips, he doesn’t have to fight for airtime or walk on eggshells if a disagreement is brewing.
My parents live about an hour away from me, and I usually see them every couple of weeks. However, when it’s just my dad and me, exploring a new place, I see another side of him.
Throughout our travels, he’s opened up about topics like his childhood, how deeply he misses his mom, what he wishes he did differently in life, and where he wants to travel next.
We laugh, cry, hug, reminisce, and sometimes, just sit in silence. As a chronic anxious talker, that last part is arguably my favorite.
I realized I’m more like my dad than I ever thought
When I was younger, I didn’t pay much attention to my dad’s love for American history.
However, during our trips, I started to admire how enthusiastic and educated he was about the subject, which shone most whenever we had a tour guide or expert at our disposal. Passion recognizes passion.
During our trip to Gettysburg last summer, we went to the Gettysburg National Military Park and took a private tour of the battlefield. To the naked eye, the grounds are bare, open space, but our guide brought its history to life through vividly describing the Battle of Gettysburg.
I remember feeling a jolt of excitement when our guide brought up the Irish Brigade’s crucial role on the battlefield, since I’m Irish on my dad’s side. Then, I surprised myself: While standing next to my dad, I started getting teary-eyed.
I’m used to my dad getting emotional over US history, but not me. Sure, fatigue could have been part of it (we had been standing in 90-degree weather for hours, after all), but I believe it was something else: an understanding of my dad’s love for learning.
During our father-daughter trips, I’ve seen him become moved countless times, whether it’s the Liberty Bell in Philly or the crystal-blue water at Acadia National Park. And now, regardless of our differing interests, I can’t help but get glossy-eyed right next to him.
These trips gift me something priceless — time together
I started taking these trips to bring my dad places he’s always wanted to visit, but as the years go by, I realize I’ve gotten just as much out of them.
Thanks to my dad, I’ve learned to enjoy long stretches of silence in the car, take in slow mornings without a set agenda, participate in civil political conversations, and stay curious about the world around me, including its history.
My dad and I always reminisce about our trips when we see each other, often sparked by a piece of memorabilia he’s wearing or a photo featured on his phone’s lockscreen.
We revisit our favorite memories, like when we got caught in a hail storm on the drive to South Dakota, or when we took a goofy selfie with George Washington at Valley Forge National Historic Park.
Sometimes, when we’re at a family event, I notice my dad gets quiet and seems to be observing what’s around him, versus participating in it. Then, I remember how he always lights up the minute he gets in the car, ready for our next adventure — and that’s my cue to get to planning again.
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