“Do you have both your diplomatic and regular passports ready?” I asked my son the night before his departure.
“Mom, seriously,” sighed my 15-year-old, rolling his eyes. “I’ve done this before, you know?”
Tomorrow, he’s off to Romania with his school’s baseball team, flying out from Moscow where we currently reside.
He’s right—he has certainly traveled extensively. Since starting sixth grade, he’s been crossing borders without me, visiting places from Dubai to Singapore without my constant oversight. Intellectually, I understand he’s more than capable of managing his own travel arrangements. But emotionally, it’s hard to accept that my little boy can navigate the world without me.
I recall my first flight as a college student at the age of 20, when my parents could walk me right to the gate at LAX. In contrast, my son, the oldest of four, has known a different upbringing. As the child of a diplomat, he holds two passports: one for foreign travel and another for trips back home to the United States. He boarded his first plane at just 5 weeks old, and I’ve lost count of how many countries he has visited—maybe 15? Perhaps 20? Yet, I still find it challenging to send him off alone, as it shatters the illusion of my ability to keep him safe.
Unique Experiences of Diplomat Kids
Diplomat kids are unique. They can read body language in ways most typical children cannot, a skill honed through constant transitions and friendships with kids from diverse backgrounds. They possess a remarkable understanding of global issues; my children can pinpoint Palestine on a map and articulate why it might be absent from others. They navigate the Moscow subway independently and can order falafel in Arabic in places like Amman or Jerusalem. I often marvel at their capabilities—things that sometimes frighten me, their more cautious mother.
However, there are simpler experiences they miss out on. They can’t mark their height on a bedroom wall year after year. They don’t have a best friend they’ve known for a decade because their friendships are often fleeting, shifting with each summer rotation. Sleepovers with grandparents and cousins are a rarity, and outdoor activities like skateboarding are limited, either due to lack of sidewalks or security concerns.
Is the Lifestyle Worth the Sacrifices?
As I witness my four children growing up, I wonder: Is this lifestyle worth the sacrifices? Sure, they’ve walked the Great Wall of China and dipped their toes in the Mediterranean and Red Seas. They’ve ridden camels, explored glaciers, and admired the stunning ceiling of the Hagia Sophia. They’ve even met presidents and secretaries of state.
Yet, they have also experienced fear. They’ve huddled in a safe space during embassy alarms and cried as friends left for good. They’ve watched their father, a special agent with the State Department’s Diplomatic Security Service, confront intruders at our embassy. They’ve faced hostility in school from peers who don’t like Americans, and they’ve seen their dad board planes heading to places like Iraq, wondering if he’d return.
Is the trade-off truly worth it? When they grow older, will they appreciate the unique experiences, or will they lament the absence of a “normal” childhood?
There’s no definitive answer. I see I’m raising intelligent, confident children who will thrive in complex, multicultural settings as adults. They don’t hesitate to fly to Kuwait for a baseball game. But I also recognize they carry scars; nightmares about losing their father to violence and an early understanding of heartbreak.
Now, he’s off—my eldest son, only 15, leaving me behind while I can’t intervene should something go awry. Sometimes, it feels like this foreign service lifestyle has rendered me unnecessary. Not long ago, he flew to Kazakhstan with a Thomas the Tank Engine carry-on; today, he packed his own suitcase and stepped out the door solo, heading to the airport.
Just as I was pacing the empty house, my cell buzzed.
“Mom,” the text read, “did I use my diplomatic passport or my regular one?”
I guess he still needs me after all.
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In summary, parenting as a Foreign Service family presents unique challenges and rewards. The journey shapes resilient, worldly children but also raises questions about the emotional impact of their unconventional upbringing.
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