Going with your parents is the holiday from hell

You know, of course, that your children love you, but as the years go by, it’s no longer unconditional – it’s a love from a safe distance, because they no longer want to be in the same space as you.

Most of the time they can tolerate being under the same roof, but ideally not in the same room unless there’s football on the telly and there’s no other way of seeing it.

And then there’s their idea of hell – a family holiday where there’s no escape from you night or day. You quickly learn not to take it personally of course, because the sad reality is that you’re the real problem; you embarrass them by wearing shorts, or sandals with socks, or tattered old tee-shirts that urge foreigners to kiss you just because you’re Irish.

And it only seems like yesterday they didn’t seem to mind of this at all, but back then they saw the world through more innocent eyes – and they thought you were great even when you weren’t.

They sang songs with you from the back of the car on long journeys and, when you ran out of tunes or voice or both, they were content to count all the red cars out through the window.

They were also small enough to sleep in the back – but these days they’re blessed with the sort of angular limbs that fold like they’ve fallen off a roof. Anyway the notion of sitting up straight isn’t an option when you can easily slouch instead.

They might still sing songs in the car, but it’s because they’re accompanying the tune on their iPod – so the only version the rest get to hear is the one without all of the words and in a different key.

There may be scenery on either side if you look out the window, but the video or game on their tablet is a better option every time. It’s enough of a sacrifice that you’ve torn them away from their wi-fi connection, but they’re not going any further back into the dark ages by actually making conversation.

Then you look at it from their perspective – and first we’ll deal with the driving holiday.

Parents are old people; they’re not fun and they have no sense of direction. And when they lose their way – as they always do – they fight. It used to be worse, of course, when you had to rely on maps and the only way you could read them was to unfold them and in the process block the entire front window. But even with GPS, it’s no picnic, not least when you have a third party in the row – the guy with the plumy voice on the sat nav who’s sending you in the wrong direction.

Then there’s taste – parents like RTÉ chat shows, kids want music that parents don’t consider music at all. Parents like to stop at tourist attractions – castles, vineyards, churches, museums – while youngsters only want to stop to shop or eat.

If you’re on a flight, they’d prefer not to sit beside you but even more so they’d prefer not to have to sit beside any of their siblings. And they don’t want the nice looking air hostess to know they’re going on holidays with their parents.

If it’s a sun holiday, the hormones enter the equation and any self-respecting teenager’s worst nightmare is to be chatting up a member of the opposite sex only to see their Mammy making a bee-line for them so they can be introduced to ‘your new friend’. The solution – not that it really is one – is to allow them on a long leash.

For more of Dave’s observations on holidays with the family see this week’s Tribune