Growing Up

When my mom called last summer and asked me if I would accompany her on a business trip to
New Orleans, I was excited. I had heard her rave about the place since I was kid. She had been
there some years back and was dying to go again. I felt as if I was being let in on my mother's
secret vacation get-away. The thought of spending time with my mother sounded great. I hadn't
seen her in about six months. Yet, I also felt kind of strange about going on a vacation with my
mother, especially to a place like New Orleans.

We arrived mid-afternoon and it was hot, not like anything I had ever felt in California. The air
was thick and wet. The sun seemed very big and very angry. I wondered how these people lived
in this sauna, and why. We wandered around the French Quarter for awhile, stopping to listen to
jazz bands and watch street performers. We talked about what we had been up to, and she told
me how much things had changed since the last time she was there. We strolled through the art
galleries, pointing out the pieces we liked and making fun of the ones we didn't. She would point
out what she thought would be a good photograph and then it was my job to make it into a piece
of art. She thinks I am some sort of master photographer. I teased her for looking for Beanie
Babies in the souvenir shops. She bought me an ice cream and we walked along the Mississippi
River. There was a light breeze, and in the air you could feel the sincerity of the town. It seemed
to take us over. I felt like we had something in common with New Orleans. It has fought its
battles and done its growing up, and now it was there to be enjoyed.

When I was growing up with my mother, I always thought of her as just my mother. Even though
we always got along great and she was always there for me, I never considered her my friend;
she was Mom. We weren't on the same level; it was parent-to-child not person-to-person. I am
not blaming her for this. It is just the way it was. I didn't see her as a working woman or as a
person who had friends. I didn't think she had opinions or ever had fun. Through my eyes she
was only my mom. She made dinner, took me to the beach, gave me an allowance, that sort of
thing. And these were her primary responsibilities. My mind somehow separated her from other
people. There was never a lack of love or respect; I always gave her the utmost respect. But for
some reason there was a wall that wouldn't allow me to see past "Mom."

The next day was just as hot and sticky. We decided that the coolest place would be on the
water. So, we booked a lunch tour on one of the steamboats that cruise up and down the
Mississippi River. My mom was excited because there was going to be a Dixieland Jazz band on
board. I was anxious to get on the famous Mississippi. I have always been fascinated by history,
and the Mississippi is like the epicenter of recent American history. Thoughts of Huckleberry
Finn and Mark Twain flew around my mind as we drifted down the muddy river. Lunch was a
buffet and the lady who served it up didn't seem to understand our California accent. Neither of
us ended up with what we wanted. But it gave us a good laugh and the jazz band made up for it.
My mom couldn't stop saying how much she loved New Orleans jazz. We found a little table in
the shade and talked about how I liked college and what my teachers were like. Two attractive
girls my age walked by, both smoking cigarettes. I said what a shame that was and she agreed.
She asked me if I would ever go out with a girl who smokes and I said I didn't think so. On our
way back, we passed the field where the Battle of New Orleans took place during the War of
1812. It looked like any other field. You never could have guessed so many people died there.
We got off the original steamboat and were both glad we had gone.

I moved to Santa Cruz, away from my mom and hometown, about a year ago, This was the first
time living away from my mom. I think it forced a change in her view of me and in my view of
her. She was no longer taking care of me, so she started to see me more as an adult. And I was
no longer depending on her, so I began to see her more as a friend and a person, not just my
mom. We have a completely new relationship now that we are on the same level and it is much
easier to be friends. I think we see each other in a whole new way.

After the steamboat, we headed back towards the French Quarter for dinner. We were lucky
enough to get a table on the balcony. It was so pretty, the cast iron balcony was lined with lights
and fern plants, and overlooked the crowded corner below. While we waited for our meals, we
watched the crazy people in the streets. They all looked so happy and relaxed. In my twisted
Californian mind I felt like I was in the New Orleans Square at Disneyland. My mom's chicken
and my shrimp gumbo arrived and we started to talk about how she ended up where she is, and
what I wanted to do after college. It was interesting to hear about my mother's past and how she
felt about it. I had never thought about her life before me, and it kind of surprised me to hear her
talk about it. She was a teenager just like me once and had a lot of the same views I do. She
could relate to me not knowing what I wanted to do with my life. And she made me feel that it
was okay. My mom had been there and found her way through and I could, too.

We had iced coffee for dessert and decided to go to Bourbon St. Wow, I had never seen anything like it! The streets where packed with people. Everyone was carrying plastic cups full of alcohol. On every comer there was a bar with a live band, and in between were countless souvenir shops and strip joints. As we came to one corner, it was so packed we couldn't even walk through. The street was full of college guys throwing beads and screaming “Show your tits!" to the girls on the balconies above. Every time a girl would catch some beads she would show everyone her breasts. The crowd was going crazy. I couldn't believe I was there with my mother! But she was totally cool about it; she actually seemed to be having fun. It was the first time I had seen that side of my mother. We grew tired quickly and laughed as we walked back to the hotel.

On the plane back to Santa Cruz, I thought a lot about my mom. It was the first time I realized
how much our relationship had changed over the past year, how much it had grown, how much I
have grown. I guess in my mind I was still my mom's little boy, even though I had tried so hard
not to be her little boy anymore and wanted so badly to move on. When I would think of myself
in terms of my mother, I was still a kid. But this trip made me realize that I wasn't. I had
accomplished what I wanted to. I had grown up. I think my mom realized it even more than I
did. Our vacation to New Orleans meant a lot to me. It is like it was one last thing my mom
wanted to share with me before I turned into a complete adult. I also see it as the beginning of
our new relationship. While she will always be my mom and I will always be her son, we can
now be friends too.

Joey
Fall 1998