“Sir, you need to take your laptop out of your bag,” the TSA officer tells my dad for what feels like the 100th time.
I stand with my younger sister on the other side of security at Albany International Airport, 40 minutes south of our childhood home in upstate New York. She, famously impatient, particularly when it comes to my aging parents, mumbles something unintelligible under her breath. I imagine something to the effect of “Jesus Christ.” My dad, visibly flustered, fumbles back to his bin. Before this he’d forgotten to empty his pockets. Before that, to take off his belt.
The year is 2019, and we’re on our way to Costa Rica — our first family vacation in almost a decade, and first international trip as a family ever. What none of us know yet is that it’s also probably our last.
At the time, my sister and I laughed off the TSA blunders. Our dad was, in the way all good fathers are to their kids, the most capable man in the world. Fast, strong, confident and adventurous. He’s flown solo dozens of times, primarily for reasons having to do with golf. He also spent our whole childhood outdoors, skiing, fishing, camping. To this day, there’s a good chance that, should you find yourself on the islands of Lake George Monday to Friday in the summer months, you’ll run into my dad out on his Boston Whaler.
But what I understand in retrospect is that I was, maybe for the first time, getting a glimpse at who my dad was becoming: still sharp, still himself, just not quite as fast or sure-footed as the man who’d raised me.
Soon to be 75, my dad has since become, undeniably, a homebody. Even a three-hour drive to visit me in Jersey City is a bit of a stretch these days, which has required a fair bit of reckoning on my part. I thought the best adventures were still to come. Chief among them, the pilgrimage to Preston, England, where he was born, a trip I’d been manifesting for the better part of my adult life.
I know now that trip will likely never happen, which comes with its own flavor of grief. But it also comes with clarity — it’s motivated me to stop waiting for the trip and start planning a trip.
If the bucket-list trip you and your dad have been talking about for years is still on the table, book it. Book it now. But if it’s not — if, like mine, your dad has become more introverted, and less keen on the demands of traveling abroad — don’t fret. Plan the trip for the man he is today.
I’ve started to figure out what that actually means in practice, with some help. As Karen Morales, accessibility program lead at Fora, puts it, “Accessibility isn’t a welcome mat.” It means something different for a wheelchair user than it does for someone with a cane, a food allergy or dementia — and something altogether different for a parent who’s simply gotten slower, quick to tire and less interested in the logistical gauntlet of international travel. Fora’s accessibility initiative was built around exactly that expanded definition, and it’s Morales’s job to make it work for families like mine.
“What really matters is understanding the people you are traveling for,” Morales says. “Are you morning people? Do you like a lot of history, or history tied to food? Does he have the stamina for a long guided tour, or would you rather build in breaks?”
The goal, she says, isn’t accommodation, it’s curation. Here are her other tips for traveling with an aging parent.
Dad Didn’t Need a Taskrabbit
My dad fixed his car engine with a Pepsi can, I complain to Claude about my leaky faucet. What happened to men?Pick the destination that actually works for both of you
The dream trip and the right trip aren’t always the same thing. A resort that looks perfect online might have stairs down to the beach, soft sand that’s hard to walk on or a not particularly user-friendly buffet setup. Morales recommends finding out exactly how a place functions day-to-day before booking. “I really think almost everything is doable with the right amount of planning,” she says, though she notes that river cruises can be genuinely tricky if mobility is a factor, since getting on and off boats is rarely straightforward.
Book early, especially if you have specific requests
The earlier you communicate what you need, the better. Accessible rooms aren’t always listed online; if a property only has one room with a walk-in shower and no stairs — “like a castle in Ireland,” Morales notes — you want to be first in line for it. The same goes for tours; a good travel advisor can often swap a walk-up cooking class for a ground-floor one, or secure museum tickets that bypass staircases, but only if there’s time to arrange it.
Pick one “anchor experience” a day
Morales uses this rule for trips with teenagers, and it applies just as well here. One anchor experience per day — a boat tour, a long lunch, an afternoon at a market — with unscheduled time around it. If your dad likes to rest, build in time to rest, she says. A packed itinerary isn’t a better one.
Go private (when you can)
Group tours are rarely built for flexibility. A private guide allows you to slow down when you want, skip what you want and adjust on the fly. It’s also one less thing to coordinate, which matters more than it sounds when you’re trying to actually be present with your dad rather than managing the itinerary. “The goal is not to take away someone’s independence,” Morales says. “The goal is to give them more ways to enjoy the trip.”
Leave room to be surprised
The best moments are usually unplanned. Morales has seen reluctant grandparents refuse an activity — falconry was her example — then change their minds entirely once they were standing in front of it. Build in some breathing room, and let the trip unfold on its own.
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