I’m not always clever enough to comprehend hidden agendas. But a recent incident whacked me over the head. My adult son lived in a different city, and I loved visiting him. He often took me out with his friends for coffee, drinks, or a party. I enjoyed hanging out with his social group; this didn’t happen when I was in my twenties. Would I have taken my mom to a friend’s party? Never. If I’d invited her, she would’ve ridiculed the idea as she replied, “Are you nuts?”
When Jon’s friend, Zach invited Jon and me to have dinner with his mom and stepdad, I was, as always, happy and flattered to be part of my son’s social world. Zach’s parents had just moved into a fancy home in an expensive gated community; a vacation home they planned to visit every couple of months. Zach was a newer friend of Jon’s, and I’d only met him the day before. As I thought about it, the hurried invitation seemed a little unusual, even for Jon’s more inclusive generation. While driving to their new home, I probed.
When I asked Jon if there were covert reasons behind the invitation, Jon chuckled and said, “Yes. Zach messed up badly in high school and had a party when his parents were gone. He trashed the house. Since then, his mom, Luanne, has never allowed him to have friends over when she’s not there. Now that Zach is twenty-six and a successful landlord of ten properties, he’s really jazzed about this gorgeous new house. He wants to entertain some of his business friends in it when it sits empty for two months at a time. But the old high school rule still applies.”
I pondered, confused. “But where do we come in?”
Jon’s broad smile expanded until he laughed. “Zach’s showing his folks he hangs out with classy people now. Us. I’m a nice guy with an MBA who his parents liked when I met them last year. You are a college professor with a Ph.D.”
“Us?” I asked. I’d never heard the word “classy” applied to me. I frowned.
“Wait,” I said. “We are being used!” I felt annoyed that I’d have to act like a sophisticated, smart person all evening, which made me immediately tongue-tied and nervous. My Ph.D. in Art History ranked very low on the academic status stepladder, especially when compared to Luanne’s highly esteemed Ph. D. in cancer research and her husband’s top-tier M.D degree.
I muddled through the evening, trying not to sink into introversion. Luanne proved to be a social climber, the type that chilled my blood. I should have worn my panties printed with the correct day of the week, “Saturday;” they always boosted my confidence. At the end of long hours of Luanne bragging about her tenure and many publications, I couldn’t imagine I’d been much help to Zach’s cause. On the plus side, I didn’t spill food on my clothes. As we strolled toward the front door at the end of the evening, they made new comments that astounded me.
“What do you think, Mom?” Zach asked. “I have very nice friends now, don’t I? Ones that don’t trash houses.”
My mouth fell open, in the fly-catcher position. At that time of night, several moths could have freely come and gone. Right in front of us, Luanne and Zach (his stepfather remained quiet throughout the evening) discussed our success as acceptable guests – or not.
Luanne, her large, whitened teeth flashing like wolf fangs as she looked us over, replied, “Sure, they’re nice. A big improvement. I’ll add Jon’s name to the list of those permitted to enter this house.” She slightly nodded toward me, “And you, too, when you’re in town.” Staring back at her son, she added, “No one else, until I meet and approve of them.”
“Th-thank you,” I stuttered, acting as if I was grateful for her largesse in accepting me as worthy to enter her home in her absence. In reality, I tried not to laugh. Jon smiled with his suave businessman cordiality. Alone with Jon in the car, laughter won out, and we giggled the whole way home. In retrospect, it was refreshing to have a hidden agenda pop to the surface so quickly. No guessing games with Luanne around. And now that we had her official approval, I wouldn’t have to endure Luanne’s scrutiny again.
