“Does anyone know what a Banana Republic is?” I asked as I lumbered down the sidewalk of the Branson, Missouri, outlet malls with my two sons. Landon replied, “It’s a clothing store, but I assume you’re referring to a type of government.” He wasn’t wrong, although we were passing the former as I asked the question.

Before I could go into detail about the similarities between a failing democracy and our Christmas vacation, our attention shifted to “The Fudgery.” There’s just something about candied apples and processed fudge that makes you forget you’re walking through the threshold of hell.

So, I spared our innocent boys the time-tested stories they will one day learn for themselves and we made our way to the fudge shop so I could complain about how expensive everything was.

Generally speaking, our home and nuclear family dynamic is a democracy. Opinions are welcomed and considered, and complex decisions are settled with a family vote. Only one of our leaders has veto power. I won’t say who, but she is about 5-foot-5 and occasionally forgets that we are not a dictatorship.

Our ruling body rarely faces mutiny except twice a year: summer and winter family vacation. The moment we load the last suitcase, turn on the GPS, and cross interstate lines, our faction shares a namesake with an overpriced clothing store in an outlet mall.
Alliances are formed and allegiances are broken. It’s every man for himself, and the next bathroom break isn’t for hours.

After all, if our democracy remained intact on those vacations, I wouldn’t have been walking around the very same, identical, carbon-copied outlet mall I walk through every Memorial Day weekend in a completely different part of the country.

There is hope, though, amidst this power struggle fueled by endless hunger, fatigue, and constipation. It’s found in diplomacy. Vacations are a give-and-take dynamic. You can please some of the people all the time and all of the people some of the time, and… well, you know the rest.

What good is it to resist participating in an undesired event? By playing along, the penance can later be used as leverage for a different agenda.

For every hour I spent at the outlet mall, I was able to leverage it into choosing dinner locations for the remainder of the trip. If one of the kids suffered through hours in the very back seat on the way to our vacation destination, they could later bask in the comfort of the middle-row captain’s chairs for the entirety of our stay.

There is an “I” in family, but there’s also a “Y.” Of course, our journeys of forced fun are littered with “I”: I want this, I don’t want that. But should we expect anything else when we’re with the people who make us feel most comfortable? That’s “why” it’s natural to be a little selfish in our safe space. Who cares if the household rules are left behind with the family dog? The “why” is what makes it all worthwhile.

Have you ever been on a group trip with a bunch of strangers? I have. Those moments of “I” are few and far between. That’s why we love family vacations. We can be ourselves. Common yet unwelcome traits – selfishness, bad moods, resentment – are accepted and forgiven by those who love us. But try pouting over a dinner location on an EF tour and let me know how far that gets you.

We spend so much of our everyday lives being what the world wants us to be. It’s refreshing to take our real emotions out for a walk, especially at the nexus of family and vacation.

My kids are aging out of these trips. I’m not sure how much longer we can cram them into an overpacked minivan and convince them it’s fun. Lately, our vacation starts like a hostage situation with an itinerary, my wife and I being the captors, of course.

But once we arrive wherever we may be going, a blissful harmony is unpacked, like the 163 outfits my wife brings in her suitcase. Time stands still, and our children become our kids again. No one scoffs at playing board games or singing along to Christmas music. For a small, fleeting moment – if only for a week – we’re reminded of “why.”

They may not always remember everything we’ve done, but they will certainly remember how we’ve done it. With a little joy, pain, patience, and diplomacy, all crammed into a minivan full of love.

Clay Bowen is a Columbus native who cooked professionally as a chef in fine dining for 12 years and appeared on the third season of Top Chef. He is also a licensed landscape horticulturist. Email him at [email protected].

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