My family loves to travel. More specifically, we love road trips. This summer, we piled our girls (ages nine and six) into the car and went on a four-day weekend adventure.
We headed west to Amarillo (where of course we hit up the Big Texan Steak Ranch and Cadillac Ranch), followed by a journey north across the Oklahoma panhandle and, ultimately, to Kansas. There, we were excited to take our girls to Dorothy’s House, a Wizard of Oz-themed, kitschy roadside attraction in Liberal, Kansas.
A $12.50 tour grants you access to a historic farmhouse filled with actual items that Dorothy Gale would have used in her day. Then you’re led through a building that follows her journey from Auntie Em’s house to Munchkinland and Emerald City. Elaborate set designs really make visitors feel like they’ve traveled over the rainbow – for such a small place, it’s beautifully done. My husband and I had been there on a previous road trip nearly 20 years ago and were looking forward to sharing it with our girls.
We paid for the tour and waited excitedly with others for our guide to arrive. About 10 minutes later, a high school girl dressed as Dorothy Gale (ruby slippers and all) came out to meet our group. I waited with bated breath for our girls to have the same charming experience we’d had two decades before.
And then, for the next half-hour, we had the absolute worst tour experience of my life.
Things got off to a rocky start with a rushed introduction and mumbled, scatter-brained script recitation. Our guide then hurried ahead, putting such great distance between us that we almost lost sight of her. Then, she would begin presenting the next portion of the tour before the group had all caught up to her (which didn’t matter too much because, with absolutely zero enunciation, we could only understand about every fifth word she said anyway).
At one point I looked at my husband with an incredulous look on my face (“Is this for real?”), and he muttered through a plastered-on smile and clenched teeth, “Just let it go. We’ll address it later.”
I was dumbfounded. Things went from bad to worse, and though it became almost comical, I was really disappointed -- not just for my girls who weren’t getting the full experience, but also for the family who originally built the exhibit with so much love and attention to detail.
But then, as I exchanged yet another incredulous look with my husband, I noticed something.
My older daughter was studying our faces as we had these silent communications – and I didn’t like what I saw.
In just one glance, I could tell she was looking at us to gauge how SHE should feel about the tour based on how WE were feeling about the tour.
My reaction to the experience was having a greater impact on her than the experience itself.
It was a really pivotal moment for me – not just on that terrible tour, but in motherhood.
Little eyes are always watching. The words we speak; how we care for ourselves; how we treat others -- but also the way we respond to life’s situations. And unknowingly, I was projecting my negative feelings in a way that was destructively shaping her own feelings.
As soon as I realized this, I changed my mindset. I began pointing out the beautiful details in the set designs, sharing trivia I knew about the movie, slowing down and taking our time when the guide was so clearly trying to rush us through to the end.
Just like I didn’t want to let my feelings affect my daughter’s, I couldn’t let the tour guide’s complete disinterest in her job affect our family’s ability to make some really great memories.
When we finally made our way out the exit door, my girls exclaimed, “That was so much fun! I loved it!!”
It was a humbling moment, and I was so grateful that my outward reaction to the experience hadn’t ruined the experience for our girls.
We went on to see some incredible things on that trip – an Old West gunfight in Dodge City; Bricktown in Oklahoma City; a visit to several Route 66 roadside attractions. When we finally made it home two days later, both girls said that “going over the rainbow” was their favorite part of the whole vacation.
And you know something? I think it was mine, too.
