The knock came just about an hour after our arrival. “Room service,” announced the cheerful voice. I didn’t order anything, I wondered, just as Will popped up, “that’s mine, mom.” A frothy drink topped with an orange slice and maraschino cherry was placed into my hand, along with the information that I didn’t have to worry; everything was included, including the tip.
And then came the sticker shock: $26. What? Yes, tiny drink, huge price tag: $16 for the drink itself, $3 and change for the delivery charge, same for tax and surcharge, and same for the tip — indeed, it certainly was included.
“Will, I love you dearly, but please don’t order room service again,” I admonished. “Mom, you should have sent it back,” said my boy. “I had no idea.” The next surprise came after he had slurped down more than half the drink. “This doesn’t taste as good as the pina coladas I usually order,” he declared.
His sister took a sip. “That’s because it’s got alcohol in it,” she laughed. It was light, but it was rum, all right. “Oops, my bad,” said the boy. “Usually when I order it in a restaurant they see me so they know not to put alcohol in it.” His drink was fully loaded — not the virgin pina colada he had been expecting.
Life in general and family vacation specifically can be full of pitfalls, especially with a teenage boy. Compared to some of those perils, room service is fairly innocuous.
When you have an infant who becomes mobile, a whole new universe of trouble waits at your door. This is why child-proofing becomes essential, and installing such items as latches and barricades can ensure his survival and yours.
But you cannot childproof your teenager, especially one who is enthralled with freedom in front of a ready and adoring audience, whether it’s his family or the world in general. “Will, please don’t stick your head so far out the car window; you just might have it knocked off,” I find myself saying. He had rolled down his window with his face in the wind, declaring, “Now I know why dogs love to do this so much, it feels great!”
“You’re not a dog; now get your head back in here.”
My worry is grounded in real life. In my New York reporting days, I actually did a story about a high school boy who died when he stuck his head out a school bus window to flirt with a girl and smacked it against a telephone pole.
How would any parent anticipate that a teenager would decide to walk on his hands into the elevator, or walk toward the ceiling fan the same way, putting his feet just inches from the rotating blade? Or that he would be tempted to join the sea lions lounging on the pier?
“What do you think they would do if I got down there with them,” he asks, while we all respond with horror. “They will tear off your arm,” says his dad. “They will bat you around like a beach ball, bite you, and then throw you into the water,” I tell him. He gets just close enough for the alpha male to thrash towards him with an angry bellow.
“Do you think I could jump into the water from here?” he moves on, in all seriousness.
“No, that’s why the Coast Guard patrol station is right there and you’d be arrested.”
“What if I jumped into the sand?”
“We are 10 feet up; you would break something, please do not do it.”
“How about from here?” he asks, as we walk forward a few feet.
“What are you going to do when we are not with you to tell you not to do crazy things,” we ask him. “What would happen if you were with your (equally impulsive) ‘bros’ and not with us?”
This is exactly our fear, and a recent incident highlights the daredevil propensities of a teenage boy that strike terror in my heart. I had picked up Will and his friend and was driving them home late at night. We were on a dark country road. The road was deserted, and I was doing exactly the speed limit.
“Gun it, Mrs. Brossman, gun it!” exhorted Will’s friend. What? “Gun it,” he commanded again. “No, I am not going to gun it,” I told him. “I might hit a deer. There could be a policeman lurking behind that tree. But most of all, it’s dangerous and against the law. I am not going to gun it and I hope you wouldn’t either.”
This friend lives in Pennsylvania. He will turn 16 this month and will be getting his license all too soon. “And now, young man, how am I supposed to feel about Will being in a car with you when start driving?”
“Oh, I would never gun it myself, Mrs. Brossman,” he assured me. “I only wanted you to do it because I knew you could.”
I have discovered that with a teenage boy, sometimes you just have to anticipate the trouble he might get into and try to nip it in the bud by establishing rules and expectations. But you can’t be there all the time and my imagination is not good enough to conjure all the possibilities.
You can pay for an inadvertent drink and then deal with the consequences when it is spiked; you can stop him from jumping in with the sea lions. You can tell him not to speed on a dark country road, but you can’t be by his side when he’s out with his friends.
Spending down time on vacation is an opportunity to see all the evolving facets of your teenager’s personality. And sometimes that can be just as frightening as it is wonderful.
