Dad Shares the Idea.

Dad first ‘let me into’ the idea when I was around five or six years old. I wasn't quite sure what made him think of it, but being a person whose always had big ideas, some of them a bit crazy, I wasn’t entirely surprised.  As Dad sat at the table with his double-shot (plus extra shot), no-froth latte it became clear that this wasn’t to be some random idea, which also just so happened to sound like a seriously epic adventure.  There would apparently be huge responsibility linked to this, so with this in mind he began to share, in a manner reserved only for very serious occasions, the significance of the idea. I can always tell when he requires my full attention because he peers over the top of his glasses and leans forward, his faced masked with concentration.

I pressed the palms of my hands together as I did my utmost to look attentive although, in my brilliant five year-old mind, all I could think about was putting tents up, roasting marshmallows over campfires and sharing ghost stories.  I should have known better as Dad has taught my sisters and I from a young age that good only comes with hard work, and to positively embrace life’s struggles.  As he sat across the kitchen table from me, he began to explain rites of passage, which he and Mum had decided were to become family tradition.

These rites of passage would take place at the ages of seven, “The Age of Responsibility”; at thirteen, “The Age of Maturity”; and eighteen, “The Age of Adulthood”.  At that time, I had no idea other children didn't also do these rites.  Since learning it was only our family, I thought it was pretty cool.

Seven is the Age of Responsibility. This determines that we are basically not babies any more and can only rely on our parents for certain things from then onwards. To actually determine our ‘pass or fail’, we would have to give a speech* in front of our family and friends.  In hindsight this was a good idea because at the age of seven I was young enough not to be scared and the experience itself gave me confidence in later years.  Don’t ask me what I said because for the life of me I do not remember.  Not the point though - first rite of passage complete!!!

At thirteen is the Age of Maturity. This marks the start of teenage years, adolescence, taking more responsibility for our own decisions and becoming a young man.  We are really starting to be shown a great deal of trust and loyalty. The challenge for this privilege however is greater than at seven. Instead, the challenge is to do something good in the world. This could be in the form of doing something extremely difficult, and using that platform to raise money for charity.  On the other hand, it could be in the form of working in a monastery or helping to build a school in a Less Economically Developed Country (LEDC), or something along those lines.  Many LEDC’s are around the equator and tropics so building a school in blistering heat is very hard work.

Five years later, when I was eleven, the big day finally came and my dad gave me a book of options to decide from (which I think he's sharing as a blog).  For example, under hiking, my choices included: The Appalachian Trail, The PCT, Camino de Santiago (The Way of St James) and The Haute Pyrenees.  Of course my initial favourite was the PCT and I slightly leaned towards that one from the very start.  At one point, we thought my dad was going to have a pacemaker, which would have meant he couldn't carry a backpack, so we were going to do the The Great Divide Mountain Bike Trail.  Fortunately, no pacemaker.  During that year I did a lot of research at school and at home.

Eventually, when I was twelve I was asked my final decision.  I had completely forgotten (or so I claim) that this was the day I was supposed to choose which adventure I was going to do.  After a crap-load of “Come on! Come on!” from my sisters and even more of “De-de, de-de, de-de, de-de, de-de-de-de-BOOM” (Hint – 30 seconds with Nick Hewer and Rachel Riley) from the whole table, I chose the PCT.  There is going to be much planning, training and preparation ahead and I am looking forward to all of it. To be entirely honest, I didn’t think everything would be that hard at first but that’s a different blog altogether.

The Big Idea's Beginning.

The 'Idea' began back in 2005, on a cold, winter morning, as I searched our London flat for my son’s something.  I was annoyed – he'd recently turned 4, and I thought he ought to know where his some-thing was.   Normally, his mum would know - she'd use her stuff-antennae that all mothers seem to have, but she was out.  It was just the boys at home and he'd never known where his things were before, so I had no right to be annoyed.  I just remember thinking - when does the slog of always-having-to-do-everything stage of parenting end? 

Almost immediately, I realized all parents would go through this.  Little caveman kids would’ve left their things in the back of the cave, almost certainly in the darkest corner of the cave.  I could see cave-dad having to grab a torch and find the tot's whatever in the dark shadows.  THAT would be a slog.

Picturing this, I also realized that industrious do-gooders must have tried some sort of parental solution to this.  Like most parents, I didn’t mind helping my son find things, or any of the mind-numbing duties of those first five years.  I enjoyed those duties as much as any dad in the history of soiled linen.  But I wanted a light at the end of the tunnel – when would it end?

Then the 'Big Idea' hit me – Rites of Passage. 

History is littered with all sorts of rites of passage.  Perhaps the most famous were the Spartans, those swashbuckling sadists, whose children marked their first significant rite of passage by not being thrown off a cliff on day one.   Fortunately, most rites of passage are easier on children, and at more sensible ages, with 7 days, 7 years and 13 years being the most frequent ones. 

My epiphany was that these rites of passage weren’t just for the kids, they were for the parents, too.  Of course, on the child’s part, they do their ‘rite-of-passage’ thing, they become a man, a woman, a Jew, whatever. A very big deal. But what doesn’t get often mentioned is that it’s also an important moment for the parents - once the child performs their Rite, the parents are relieved of accepting their pre-passage behavior forevermore.  The child can be reasonably expected to grow up, and the parents must now recognise that maturity.  

Both parties get a clean slate, because the Rite has decreed it.  Genius.

My only problem was that no part of my culture has rites of passage.  I’m neither Catholic nor Jewish, both of whom regularly practice Rites.  My people just didn’t have them.  

For many of us in the West, we have almost no rites of passage (some may count going to school or getting a driver’s license, but I don’t).

So this blog, and the treks it will describe, is the result of that frustrated winter morning, when Ben was about 4, and I was looking for his something.   It is part of my effort to create some Rites of Passage for my kids.

So this is the 'Big Idea': on their 13th summer, I will take my kids on a Rite of Adventure.  The rules are twofold: it has to be a genuine challenge, and it must take about a month to complete.

To prepare for the Rite of Adventure, the children receive on their 11th birthday a little booklet (which I make), describing a variety of options for their Adventure.  On their 12th birthday, they 'pick their poison'.  And on the 13th summer, we go and do it together.

Ben's booklet included 500km hikes, 1000km bicycle treks and long canoeing trips.  He chose to hike 500km of the Pacific Crest Trail.  We're both very excited.

This blog will be written by both the kids and myself, and will tell the story of their Rite of Adventure.  We’ve been talking about this for a long time.

After next summer, this blog will share the story of Charlotte’s adventure in two years’ time, and Freya’s two years after that.   Each trek will be unique.  

Thanks for sharing in this adventure with us.