A (Jewish) mother on a trip with her grown son– a concept outlandish and outrageous enough to make a movie about it.
The instant I saw the preview of Guilt Trip, I was guilty— of doing exactly what Barbra Streisand does to Seth Rogen in the movie. I immediately texted my own grown-up son— to say we had to see this movie together.
He lives in a different city; and I never did get to see Guilt Trip with him; but I got something way better. A real trip with him. Just us.
There was absolutely no guilt involved in convincing him to come on a last minute short trip to a resort in Mexico a few weeks ago during winter break.
I don’t care how old he is—for a mother, having time alone with your son is paradise. Especially when you’re in paradise.
Depending on family finances and family dynamics, it can be challenging; but even a short trip alone with one of your children (at any age) makes a memorable experience.
When I was around 7, my dad took me along on a one-day business trip; and it was so special I never forgot it. So I’ve tried to do that for my own kids.
Shared experiences create unique bonds and special memories— away from other family members and friends, you get to see some different and maybe even surprising sides of each other.
That’s what happened a few years ago when my son and I found ourselves in beautiful Queensland, New Zealand, which bills itself the adventure capital of the world.
My concept of adventure typically runs towards trying a new ethnic restaurant.
My son, 16 at the time, had other ideas.
When he suggested skydiving, I said I ‘d think about it.
And I did. For at least 3 seconds.
But Daniel really wanted the chance to challenge himself.
Oy. For me the challenge was a little different.
Wasn’t it my job as a mom to protect him? Was I really ready to let him take such a leap—on his own?
The way I saw it– this situation presented only one very obvious choice.
Somehow it seemed more scary to wait and worry on the ground, helpless; and more sensible to be with him—equally helpless.
Besides, I wanted our trip to be a shared experience.
So our mother/son adventure wasn’t about guilt-—-but about guts.
Secretly I was hoping the weather wouldn’t cooperate; but suddenly there we were, all suited up. (Love the photo bomb.)
I think the national motto in New Zealand is No Worries. And honestly, I really didn’t have (m)any.
When you’ve had cancer, as I did, jumping out of a plane, especially attached to a handsome (and hopefully experienced) stranger, offered far better odds of survival.
I was so engaged in the moment; and it all happened fast —I didn’t have time to worry about Daniel, either. I mostly felt proud of him for challenging himself. And I have a feeling I rose a little higher in his estimation, too.
What a view! What an experience! What a story for Daniel to tell my grandchildren someday when he has his own family.
So next time you wonder how far a Jewish mother will go for her son—the answer is: 15 thousand feet.