MY SON Wilder’s passport rivals that of even the most seasoned travelers, with stamps from 23 countries on five continents—and he’s only five. Rather than leaving him at home, I often take him with me on the adventures my work as a travel writer requires. We’ve gone on safari in Zambia and swum with sea lions in the Galápagos. While a joy in the moment, our travels often provoke people to ask: “Why take him on these extravagant trips if he won’t remember them when he’s older?”

The question reminds me of my own childhood travels. I have little recollection of some of the places I see in family photos, even if fragmented images of beach days and snippets of a song from a hotel kids’ club in Hawaii do occasionally surface. What is the value of travel for a young mind, when so much disappears with time?