We Were Orphaned (For a Whole 4 Minutes) in Miami. And Other Childhood Holiday Dramas

As kids, we were lucky enough to travel with Dad. When he was on leave, he didn’t just take us out for fish and chips he packed up three slightly feral children and took us on proper adventures. Real holidays. Big ones. The kind that leave a mark.

One of my earliest (and most dramatic) memories was a trip to America in 1980. Looking back, I actually think Dad was incredibly brave or mildly unhinged taking three squabbling, competitive kids halfway across the world on his own. We would jump at literally any opportunity to outdo each other, argue over who was Dad’s favourite, and generally turn family outings into gladiator tournaments.

The chaos really kicked off at Miami Airport, where I learned two things:

1. Some lifts don’t go up and down they go sideways.

2. Childhood panic is an Olympic-level sport.

So, we’re all in the airport, and Dad steps into one of these mystery sci-fi lifts. But before the rest of us can get in boom, the doors slide shut. Dad’s gone. Vanished. Swallowed by a sideways-moving metal beast.

Cue my trauma.

I let out a scream that could only be described as “possessed banshee meets air raid siren.” My brother Phillip, in full David Crockett hat and holding a “spare” (don’t ask we never did figure out what the spare actually was), starts jamming the thing into the lift door trying to pry it open like a mini action hero.

It obviously didn’t work. We were convinced we’d just been orphaned. In Miami Airport. Alone. Forever.

Then, after what felt like a lifetime (but was probably 47 seconds), Dad appeared again calm as you like. Meanwhile, he’s greeted by snot, tears, and the sweaty panic of two pre-teen boys trying desperately to appear "manly." He probably sighed, rolled his eyes, and muttered something like, "For crying out loud..." before herding us toward baggage claim.

Another iconic moment?That time we decided it would be hilarious to swap clothes. Me in my brothers’ shorts and T-shirts. Them in my bathing suits and dresses. Let me tell you—I won that round. They looked absolutely ridiculous, and I soaked in every second. A rare victory in a childhood where being the little sister basically meant I was unpaid labour.

You see, my brothers didn’t get the “protective big brother” memo. Oh no. They treated me like a foot tickling, back-scratching servant. They’d bribe me with sweets, send me to the shop to fetch them, and then weigh them when I got back to make sure I hadn’t nicked a single one. Of course, they’d then eat the lot in front of me without sharing. Honestly gaslighting at its finest.

Then there was the time I was “forced” to walk miles across the desert, dehydrated, mouth like a box of sandpaper, probably on the verge of collapse. The reality? A short stroll down a beach while slightly thirsty. But hey, I was famous for over-exaggerating. A gift that really came in handy when grassing on my brothers later.

Another unforgettable trip was to St. Tropez, France, this time with our gran in tow. We were all staying in a caravan together on a campsite. Dad loved his mum, but let’s just say he had a “limited patience threshold” when it came to her. So, holidays with Gran? Always interesting.

But this trip? Gran let loose. She got tipsy one evening and morphed into a Scottish comedy legend. Gone was her usual serious self she became Supergran. She was cracking jokes, putting Dad in his place, even attempting cartwheels. It was pure magic. I adored that version of Betty funny, fearless, and finally getting the upper hand on her son.

Eventually, Dad decided to buy a villa in Denia, Spain, and that became our summer haven. Every year, we’d count down the days until we could head back to that little slice of sunshine and spend proper time with him. We missed him terribly when he was away, so we cherished every second when we were together.

Reflection

I look back on these memories with so much love and laughter (and a bit of therapy). It reminds me why I do what I do. Our childhoods shape us sometimes with joy, sometimes with chaos, and sometimes with sideways lifts that nearly ruin your life.

But every experience adds to the story of who we are. And when we’re given the time and space to reflect, heal, and laugh about it all, we can transform even the wildest moments into something meaningful.

This is the heart of what I offer at KH Bespoke Therapy a safe, personalised space for people to process, reconnect, and rediscover their own story. Whether through hypnosis, past life regression, coaching, counselling, or just a good old emotional spring clean I help people move forward, with humour, heart, and honesty.

Because healing doesn’t have to be heavy all the time. Sometimes, it starts with remembering you once thought you were abandoned forever… in Miami Airport.

With love and laughter,Kirsty Heath

Phillip, Keith & Kirsty