Like all great experiments, this one started with a premise that, while plausible, seemed highly improbable: that two harried working parents could take a Caribbean vacation that was relaxing - possibly even romantic - while accompanied by two sub-school-age children.
Getting paid to take a family vacation on a sun-drenched Caribbean island may sound like a dream assignment for any freelance writer. Apparently it was not. Writer after writer turned us down. The last time I took my kids with me on assignment they tricked me into playing hide-and-seek in poison ivy was one of the more polite excuses. After six months of begging writers to take their kids - please - it became clear that I would have to emulate Louis Pasteur.
So it was, I found myself loading six suitcases and two sleeping children into a minivan at 5 a.m. By 7:30 we were eating breakfast over Miami, and I was beginning to think our contributing writers were all wimps.
In the age of Polly Klaas and JonBenet Ramsey, it seems at best irresponsible, if not morally reprehensible, to leave one's children with complete strangers in order to lie peacefully under a palm tree, twirling a paper umbrella in a piqa colada. But tens of thousands of parents are doing just that. Children's programs are booming in the Caribbean. They offer parents time off from the grind of entertaining youngsters in a foreign location (without any of their favorite toys, videos or games). The best programs, like our destination, the Westin Resort St. John and the Westin Kids Club, are much more than glorified babysitting services, unless your babysitters routinely take the kids on iguana hunts.
We get a lot of families here, says Lisa Novy Wikowski, director of sales and marketing for the Westin St. John. They want to know that their kids are going to be taken care of as well as they'd take care of them at home. We try to do that so mom and dad can relax and not worry.
Sure, that's what I figured they'd say. But actually relinquish my flesh and blood to a total stranger in a new and foreign place? I was nervous. I stayed nervous right up to the moment we walked into the Kids Club and met one of those professionals.
Karen Jarvis is the director of the Kids Club at the Westin Resort St. John. Before we could start asking questions, the boys were already disassembling the toy cabinet. Not only didn't Karen stop them, but she suggested there was a game cabinet they might want to dismember while they were at it. This was cool. The kids were happy, we weren't doing any clean-up and the only remaining issue was trusting Karen to keep the good vibe going. As it happens, Karen has a degree in education and her own daughter, Chloe, is a frequent visitor at the club. After watching her with our kids for a half-hour, we knew they were safe. Piqa coladas dead ahead.
As a Floridian, I grew up on the beach: running, playing, surfing, just lolling around. For the past six years, at no time have my beach visits included lolling. Chasing after, stopping sand fights, giving swim lessons, shagging paddleballs - yes. Lolling, no. I was lost. I paced. Lisa was lost, too. Nine o'clock slowly segued into 10, which crawled onward to 11, which melted smoothly into noon. Pretty soon I was doing a burger and a beer next to the pool and thinking about what a lovely day it was.
A couple of beers and hours later, we decided to call it a day. We thought the kids were probably worried and needed to be picked up.
Right.
When we got to the Kids Club, they were eating ice cream, coloring and were stubbornly uninterested in going back to the room with Mom and Dad.
Our plan was evidently working a little too well. We originally thought we'd have the kids at the club only on alternate mornings during our stay. That would give us afternoons and evenings and days in between to spend together. Our first adventure outing, to St. Thomas, was scheduled for the next morning. We did get them to agree to the trip, but only after some major bribery. They were determined to get back to the Kids Club as soon as possible.
And so it went. There were iguana hunts, swimming on the beach, sand-castle building, game playing, story time and arts and crafts. One of the counselors who goes by the name of Doug the Bug captivated their attention. Frankly, we parents were too boring to compete.
By day four, we found ourselves at Chateau Bordeaux, way up at the top of Bordeaux Mountain, watching the sun slide slowly behind Little Thatch Island in the BVIs. Austin and Chandler were in the Kids Club again this time for the nighttime program that starts at 7 p.m. and ends at 10. Our concern had hit a feverish crescendo:
"Do you think I should have the fish or the pork?"
"I don't know, but whatever he's cooking back there smells incredible."
"Do you need another beer?"
"Sure. I think I'm going for the pork."
Sunday came. It was Easter Sunday and we had planned a family day - maybe hook over to Cinnamon Bay and do some snorkeling. Uh-uh. The Kids Club was in full swing, with a color-your-own-bag contest, an egg hunt and a guest appearance by the Easter Bunny. We retired to our beach cabana and let them have at it. After all, this was their vacation, too. We found things to talk about other than shoe size and who was picking up whom after school.
Evenings after the program, Austin and Chandler were terrific. They chattered about Doug the Bug, the iguana hunt and stuff they'd found on the beach (including a pocketful of empty snail shells and an immature coconut - which we discovered by having to clean them out of the washing machine after we got home).
On the flight back, I reflected on the success of our experiment. No one was kidnapped. No one got hurt. The worst bruising was to our egos when we found the kids were just a little too eager to hang out with the camp counselors. Still, there was plenty of family time in the evenings. And we did finally make our trek around St. John together to ooh and aah over the stunningly crenellated shoreline of that tropical gem.
The final analysis, however, belongs to Austin and Chandler. Just this morning, as I was dropping them off at school, Chandler looked soulfully into my eyes, conveying silently his devotion to dear old Dad, and said, So, when are we going back to kids' camp?
Soon. Trust me. Very soon.
Posted online 07/01/01.
