We're superstitious in my family. I bet you are too. Not the best trait to pass on to our children. We try to keep it casual, natural. Our goodbyes, for example, whether in person, on the phone, even text, always end with, "I love you." "I love you too." Superstitious, maybe, but also true.

That little goodbye habit is harmless and rather sweet. Still, one night last week my son called me back to make sure I'd heard him say "I love you too" before we hung up. It bothered him that much.

As I said, superstition runs in our family. But so does tradition.

In one case, they blend. I gladly, openly welcome one special mother-son superstition as a cherished tradition. With tears in my eyes and tender mother love in my heart.

The whole thing started with my own mother. I can't thank her enough.

After we'd all grown and started families, Mom and Dad, retired and comfortable, began traveling the world. On an early trip to some foreign land Dad bought Mom a long gold chain hung with a lovely charm.

As they visited countries around the globe, more charms were added to the necklace from exotic locales. Every one unique, reflecting memories, marking occasions, eventually one to represent each of their children. 

Loathe to pack the necklace away, Mom began to wear it every time they traveled, by plane or cruise. She's a veteran traveler, no fear of flying ... or sinking. The simple act of putting the necklace on and taking it off made her departures and returns complete.

And so a superstition evolved around the "travel necklace." It would keep her safe. And soon, a new tradition would be born.

As a small child our son loved that necklace. He'd ask endless questions about the charms, revel in stories of their origins. And more than he knew, celebrate his own origins, and limitless future, the world at his feet. 

No superstition on his horizon yet, just joy at each new discovery.

Then my parents started living in Florida during the winter. They'd come East for holidays, but otherwise we went to them. Mike and I flew down as often as possible. After our very first plane trip, he became a five-year-old on a mission.

A week later he arrived home from school with a special gift. Shiny, multicolored plastic beads strung carefully --and neatly!-- on a long gilded elastic band.

My very own version of Granny's "travel necklace." 

Without the baggage of genuine superstition with its irrational concern for his own safety, he had instinctively assumed the loving, sentimental burden of protecting his mother from harm.

He beamed with delight when I tried it on, held it up to the light, turning this way and that to make it sparkle. My eyes were lit with happy tears, my heart sparkled with pure joy. He helped me cradle it carefully in my jewelry box.

Then came our next trip. Our bags were packed, we were dressed and ready. Almost. He ran upstairs and came back carrying my "travel necklace."

I will never forget the look of pride and excitement on his face as together we draped that beaded treasure around my neck before leaving for the airport.

How I wish I could show you the original necklace, but we don't take photos of departures and returns. We're too busy saying hello and goodbye. And "I love you." "I love you too."

There's another reason I can't show you my necklace. If you're a mother, you already might have guessed.

During the two and a half hour plane rides, my little athlete was oddly relaxed, happy to be on a plane, have quiet time with me. We'd read stories, draw pictures, look out at the clouds and describe their shapes.

And he'd play with my necklace. Hold it to the light, count the beads, slide them through his fingers, twist the stretchy band around my arm, his arm, wherever.

Eventually, inevitably, the necklace broke. We were both devastated. We gathered all the beads we could find, not an easy job in a crowded airplane.

But the dark cloud of loss was soon overcome by my on-the-spot creativity. And his cheery disposition. Together we would create a new tradition.

The "travel bracelet."

Over the years our trips continued. He always made sure I wore the bracelet. But he played with it less and less. As he got older there were other distractions. Let's see ... handmade bead bracelet or Gameboy? No contest.

Still, he'd play with it from time to time. Eventually, inevitably ... the bracelet broke too. When it happened, I was more heartbroken than he. A literal piece of his childhood was lost.

Except... Wait... What if...



Yes, that's the real thing, the last of those "travel necklace" beads have become my "travel ring." I wear it every time I get on a plane. Every. Time.

Our son's 27 now. We don't travel together much any more. I've never been afraid to fly. So why hang on to that small ring of beads? It seems pointless, trivial, downright childish. Not to me. And surprisingly, not to him.*

Call me superstitious, surely call me sentimental. Every time I sit on an airplane and slip that ring on, I turn it slowly around and around, feeling each bead slip through my fingers ... just as his precious childhood years have done.

I'm suffused with memories of our long ago trips, of a little boy's loving gift, his innocent joy and earnest pride in making his mother happy, and safe.

To me that "travel ring" is a priceless jewel. A talisman beyond replacing. My own personal reminder of our family's Circle of Life.

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* I'll tell you a secret. Whenever I travel, we call or text before I take off and he asks, "Do you have it?"

"Yes," I say, "I love you."

"I love you too."
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Here's another secret. I would never travel without it. Never. Or without hearing "I love you too." Superstition or tradition ... I can live with both.

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Photos of beads, necklace and bracelet courtesy of orientaltrading.com.

Photos of "travel ring" courtesy of me, and my son.