When my daughter, Emma, was turning sixteen we lived in Boston. Her classmates started hosting sweet sixteen parties with elaborate themes such as a “white party” (where each girl had to wear a new white dress) or “brunch at the Top of the Hub” (an expensive restaurant on the top floor of the Prudential Building.) Other’s rented function halls with caterers and invited fifty people. At each one of these parties, Instagram and Snap Chat were popping with photos of all the guests surrounding the birthday girl in a limo, or outside a party bus ready to go to some nearby venue. Captions would read, “Brianna and her besties,” or “this bitch turns sixteen!”
It was an eye opener for me. Ignorantly, I didn’t know this was a thing, the over-the-top sixteenth birthday parties. Both my husband and I had not grown up with our sixteenth being a huge deal. For our three children, we typically hosted small, ‘homestyle’ birthdays where they’d invite a few friends over for a mock-sleepover or, at most, we would rent a party room at a local kid’s paint store. This - the renting banquet halls and party busses - was different.
My kid had a couple of close friends, but not many, and some didn’t go to her school. Needless to say, she didn’t get a lot of invites to these sweet sixteens. She did, however, get to watch them unfold over social media, which served as a constant reminder that she didn’t have a gaggle of girls in her circle. For weeks, I saw a shift in her personality. She was sad, questioning why she wasn’t invited to ‘so and so’s’ party, wondering why she wasn’t good enough to go. It was heartbreaking to watch. High school sucks!
As Emma’s birthday approached, I thought of ways to take the sting away. It was obvious that, even if we were the kind of family to rent out a function hall, she wouldn’t have 50 friends to fill the space. So, we gave her a choice: stay home and have a party, or plan a sixteenth birthday weekend of your choosing. My husband and I put parameters in place: she got to take either a Friday or Monday off school for travel, the destination had to be within a three-hour flight from Boston, she had to stick to a (reasonable) budget which we set, and she got to choose which parent to come on the trip. (I strongly suggested, however, that she pick Mom.)
I knew she’d choose the trip.
Emma has a January birthday and wanted to go somewhere she could lie on the beach and post Instagram photos to make her classmates jealous. We planned a weekend in Puerto Rico. “Oh, I’m not having a party, I’m going to the Caribbean for my birthday,” she wanted to say to anyone who asked.
It turned out to be a magical weekend for my daughter and me. We laughed, talked about her future, explored San Juan, sat on the beach, swam in the pool, and gossiped about high school.
When my second daughter was turning sixteen, she got the same deal and also chose the trip with me. A country music fan, Katie decided she wanted to go to Nashville for the weekend. Again, it was filled with making memories. We bar hopped (she ate, I drank) to listen to live music, took Segways down Broadway, saw a show at the Ryman, and toured the city on a trolley. We chatted about what she wants to be when she grows up and what college she thought might suit her. It was awesome.
This year, my son turned sixteen. Again, same deal and same choice. Joe started playing piano about a year ago and absolutely loves it. He is slightly fascinated with Jazz (no idea where he gets that from) and is drawn to big cities. Joe chose to go to New Orleans. He also chose me to go with him rather than my husband.
*It should be noted that my hubby had attended work conferences in all three of the cities my kids’ decided on. I hadn’t been to any of them - so fair is fair.
The weekend in Louisiana with Joe was very cool. I got to know my boy a little better as I watched him navigate the trolley map, try his first PoBoy, pick out souvenirs for his sisters and talk to the musicians at Preservation Music Hall. We went to the Jazz Museum, toured St. Louis Cemetery No. 1, walked around Bourbon Street, spent a day at the WWII Museum and ate our weight in Beignets. We laughed a lot; talked a lot, and discussed our mutual fear of heights.
Each one of my children was able to increase their knowledge of the world and themselves on their respective sixteenth birthday trips. They were empowered to choose what city they wanted to visit and how it aligned to each of their personalities. They were held accountable for planning the sights they wanted to see while watching the allotted budget. They were able to explore what life would be like in a different place and how freedom might look once they graduated high school.
What started out as an idea to help my high school daughter from crying over social media posts and spare her the embarrassment of not filling a function hall full of high school “friends,” turned out to be the best sixteenth birthday gift we could have given our kids.
My favorite writer, Henry Miller, said, “one’s destination is never a place, but a new way of seeing things.” I wholeheartedly agree.
