Made in Brooklyn

Bob, the kids, and I have a special way of determining spring break destinations. (Assuming we all have spring break, a little budget, and a working vehicle. These factors haven't all been in our favor in recent years but let's say they are.) They say families are supposed to plan vacations together as a team, giving everyone -- even the ragamuffins -- a voice and ownership. Our unique decision-making collaboration that goes something like this:

"Let's go to Chicago," one of us will say, for example.

Or it may be the Twin Cities, the Wisconsin Dells, California, Denver, Grand Canyon, Yellowstone, Black Hills, Florida, anyplace with a beach. Anywhere we haven't been. A place free from the daily routine. A change in scenery. Someplace new. In our dreams, the destination is France or Argentina or any episode of House Hunters International. Kid A says she doesn't like nature so that simplifies the choices (even though I crave nature). We choose a destination and spend weeks looking to the said destination, searching websites, travel deals, hotels, and road routes.

And then  it happens.

Every year the same thing.

Out of the blue just one of us, could be any of us, me, Bob, Kid A, Kid B. One of us offers an alternative idea. The suggestion always comes softly with little fanfare.

"How about we go to Brooklyn instead?" one of us will say.

That outer borough where three of us were made, and one of us did the making. That place past Newark Airport, past IKEA, hugging the Manhattan skyline, to the Goethels Bridge, departing New Jersey and entering Staten Island. At that bridge I always feel like we should pause and put our deep sea diving gear because we are going in, in, into the inner city, and we are not coming out for a week. (And I don't mean not coming out of New York City, I mean we barely make it out of Brooklyn itself even if its to get our butts over to Broadway or another tourist site which we hardly ever do.) Over the Goethal's Bridge, and straight east through Staten Island. And then East again crossing over the harbor via the Verazzano Bridge (think Golden Gate Bridge in terms of size and stature), connecting Staten Island with Brooklyn. At that point we just close our eyes and drive auto pilot to 45th Street. It's almost like we never left, like we merge right back into the life.

It's just a suggestion.

Poof.

The potential new destination goes away. That's all it takes for everyone to immediately agree to drop all other plans and collectively say, "Ok!"

That's pretty much our process for determining family vacations. We'll never make it in the creative family vacation lists.You?

Thanks for stopping by my blog.

Yours truly,

Natural Born Bleeding Heart