Our plan, following a visit to see relatives in central Pennsylvania, had been to drive the four hours north from there and show our kids the beauty and the majesty of Niagara Falls. Upon our arrival, however, the only breathtaking sight was the horde of tourists clamoring for position along the railing.
The holiday weekend had seemingly spawned an amoeba of humanity, its pseudopod arms extending along and clogging the riverfront’s sidewalks and streets and into the overpriced parking garage.
The line for the boat that would have taken us into the mist of the falls was two and a half hours long. We were not prepared for such an arduous wait; the children were tired, hungry, thirsty, and not in the mood for a marathon game of “I Spy.”
Reluctantly, I relinquished our spot in line and, after a fairly brief look over the railing, we returned to the car. What about the beauty, I muttered. What about the majesty?
The kids seemed unbothered by our missed opportunity to witness the full power of one of nature’s wonders. They were all too happy to resume staring at their screens. Years or even months hence, would they even remember that we’d taken this trip?
It’s certainly a challenge to appreciate what nature has to offer when the landscape is overwhelmed with people (thanks Instagram and Facebook). But still, I felt that we’d failed our children somehow. Too many electronics? Too many hours on screens? How could nature compete with the digital universe?
As we headed east on I-90, I silently resolved to revolutionize our family vacations. There would be no more artificial sensory overload of theme parks or water parks or any other parks that weren’t focused on the great outdoors. Our destinations would be national parks and state forests; we would see historical monuments and we’d gawk at natural wonders. We’d go anywhere as long as the name of the destination included the words “heritage” or “memorial” or “conservation.” Either I’d discovered the key to making the kids appreciate the natural world around us, or I’d invented a new kind of torture.
My musings were interrupted as we approached the Rochester area. On advice of our relatives in Pennsylvania, we made time for a stop that proved to be more fun than any heritage park or natural preserve: the National Toy Hall of Fame.
For my wife and me, it was a thrill to see old familiar playthings, from board games and action figures to Cabbage Patch Kids and Super Soaker water guns. The kids loved all of the interactive moments: having their portrait drawn by a giant Etch a Sketch; getting super powers in the comic book exhibit; and playing in a Berenstain Bears tree house. They also could not get enough of the vintage video games on display. I cringed to see Nintendo and Atari consoles perched behind glass like ancient artifacts, but I couldn’t help but smile while beating my daughter at Pong and watching my son struggle to swing over the crocodile-infested swamps in Pitfall.
My joy at seeing old toys — and yes, old video games — at the National Toy Hall of Fame outpaced my disappointment over our truncated visit to Niagara Falls. This was one part of the trip that the kids would certainly remember. Maybe I won’t have to subject them to visiting only nature preserves and natural wonders after all.
