Trips We Never Forget

Isn't it strange those trips you take when you are a child, that are important, but you don't realize until 30 years later that they have changed the course of your life?

I think about it a lot now, because I feel like I am planting the seeds of the future in my boys with every little thing we do. And as I do it, planting seeds intentional and unintentional, I wonder what will stick, what will take root, what will last? Will it be the things I try so hard to set up? Or the spontaneous things I never even meant to teach, that stick in their minds forever?

My father is from California--Coronado to be exact. At least as much as he is from anywhere. He denies it, and has culturally renounced California and all it stands for, but despite that, Coronado is the place that seems to make him the happiest in the world. Except for perhaps Naples, Italy. But this part of him was hidden from us, because we lived on the East Coast and Europe. Coronado, California and Hawaii were only places in bedtime stories, where his most exciting childhood exploits took place.

When I was 11 we finally flew west to California to see my Aunt Judy and her family. We stayed in Coronado. It was June, so the island was fogged in. But I remember every detail. My father leapt into the water and body surfed huge waves, his head sticking out like a lion in the middle of a frothy mane. I had never seen anything like it, nor did I know that my father possessed such magical skills. He would leap out of the water whooping for joy. The waves were huge. I tried it myself and got so tumbled in the waves (they flipped me and pinned me to the bottom) I got a little freaked, but i LOVED it. We ate at Taco Bell. We watched my cousin Kristin swim (she later went onto the Olympic trials and I spent years trying to be like her, begging and begging my mother to let me be on a swim team like Kristin, and with intervention from my aunt, it happened--I joined the Sub Base Barracudas, where they told me, at 11, I was too old to ever be very good, or learn butterfly like my cousin--my dream--but I could do it if I wanted. I did. ) We ate honeycomb for breakfast (no sugar cereals in our house) rode bikes everywhere, and wandered around the castle-like Hotel Del, where my father had once roamed the underground tunnels and stolen dinner plates, which still graced our table at home-- a childhood prize.

...and, my aunt made this unforgettable dessert. It was made of fried tortillas, sprinkled with cinammon sugar, served still hot, with vanilla ice-cream and honey drizzled over the top. I have travelled the world and never had it again. Finally, on the Fourth, I cornered my aunt and quizzed her. What were they? How did you make them?

They are called Bunuelos (imagine an accent waving over the "n"). She couldn't remember exactly, but she told me the basics. I came home and tried it. I fried up my tortillas, sprinkled them with cinnamon sugar, scooped on the ice cream and drizzled. My family was silent. But I was orgasmic. I had waited 30 years and they were as good as I remembered.

And I thought of how that trip changed my life. I live in California, I love the Pacific beaches. I body surf, surf and boogie board with my boys. I eat tacos and burritos several times a week and swimming became a huge part of my life. All from that trip when I was 11 years old.

I guess I spent the next 20 years trying to get back to California. Two out of three of us are here now. And if Ian ever did come back to the United States and renounce his British citizenship, I bet he would end up in California, too.

Is there anywhere better?