Lessons From the Lava Tube

Who's in charge, anyway, on this trip?

If you had asked that a few years ago, we wouldn't have realized what a sly question that really is. As parents, we figured it was our job to pick the destination, cover expenses -- and set the family's overall agenda. We were in charge. Our kids could simply savor their parents' good judgment and appreciate the great experiences that were about to unfold.

Wrong! Wrong!! Wrong!!! The nadir came a few years ago, when we decided that instead of flying or driving to Seattle, we'd do something more imaginative -- and ride the overnight Amtrak train. For us parents, it was a chance to remember long train rides through Europe and India. There was magic for us in the rattling of the car . . . lingering over coffee in the dining car . . . pulling out the bunks at night, etc. For our kids, it was a yucky, confining place without enough toys. They squabbled; we struggled to work out diplomatic compromises, and we all were glad to disembark 24 hours later.

Our big mistake: we hadn't given the kids a chance to feel that it was their trip, too. Even if we still pay the bills and (largely) pick the destination, we've found that things go a lot better if the kids feel that they're in charge for at least a few moments every day.

We got it right a few years later, exploring the lava tubes in Hawaii's Volcanoes National Park. Those tubes are incredible underground passageways, stretching onward more than 1,000 feet. Chambers narrow and widen. Jagged spires leap up from the floor or press outward from the ceiling. Without a flashlight, it's utterly, staggeringly dark. It's exciting and unnerving to press onward, farther and farther from the entrance, not really knowing what comes next.

How far should we go? We let our youngest son make the call. We gave him the brightest flashlight and told him to be our guide. He went first. The rest of us followed. He learned to sweep the flashlight's beam back and forth over especially bumpy passageways, so that everyone could find his or her footing.

We went a l-o-n-g way into that lava tube. We watched other adults turn around, eager to flee the darkness, while we pressed on. We made shadow figures on the wall; we made jokes about people who had been in the tube since last February. It was like being in a real-live ghost story and our boys loved it. We did, too.

So now, when we're trying to make sure that the trip really works for everyone, we let the kids take the flashlight. Or the camera. Or the map. They don't yet get the car keys. But that's probably coming some day, too.