A few years ago, the magazine I worked for was bought and sold. In the morning we were told who the buyers were; in the afternoon, we were all fired--except for five 20-somethings. The shock of it made our already close staff closer, even in the diaspora. Everyone's resettled now but we have many a mini-reunion. At a recent one--bagel and coffee on a Saturday morning--a former co-worker (and mother of a 28-year-old married daughter) told me she learned something from my blog. (Now that was a good feeling.) More specifically, she was referring to the Notes to Self item, Let them treat you to something.
Last year, before she resettled in her new job--or even knew that there was a job out there for her--she went up to Brooklyn to visit her daughter and son-in-law, staying with them in their small apartment as she usually did. When they went out for dinner in the evening, her daughter grabbed the check. It was the first time. The mother's first reaction was to say "No, I'll take care of it." But the second--and the one that dominated--was to 'Let them treat me to something.'
"It made them feel good," she told me. It made her feel good, too. "I was out of a job so it was especially nice. It was a recognition of their independence. And it also made me realize they could afford it--and that was a very nice feeling, too."
Since then, she and her husband have gone to Brooklyn several times to visit their daughter and they've let their daughter pick up the tab from time to time--for movies, ice cream cones or brunch. It puts everyone on a more adult standing--not to have mom and dad the ever-indulgent parents; letting the grown kids feel grown up. What a tonic. And a treat.
