A dad learns that sometimes what you’re paying for isn’t what you’re buying—it’s what you’re offering.
The last night, my wife got a text that’s been stuck in my mind ever since. It was prom night. Liz was in the girls’ suite with other moms, helping them settle in, and I was back in our room, just few doors away.
She walked in with her phone and this look, like she’d just seen something that cut a little too deep.
The text was from another mom:
“What did I pay $65 for?”
After two decades of marriage and raising kids, sometimes words aren’t needed. I could see the hurt in Liz’s eyes, the kind that comes when your best efforts are measured by someone else’s spreadsheet.
Here’s what happened: We’d wanted to get a two-bedroom suite for all the girls going to prom. It was prom weekend, next door to Disneyland and on Memorial Day weekend, and everything was booked up.
We did our best, and ended up with a one-bedroom suite with two beds and a sofa bed. Not fancy, but close enough to the venue to skip the late-night drive.
If there was confusion, that’s on me.
But the purpose of it all was clear: no 1 a.m. drives home, no exhausted teens behind the wheel, no sketchy parking lots in the dark. Just a safe place to land, so the only worry that night was whether their makeup would survive the dance floor.
“It’s not the Ritz, but very nice,” I remember saying to Liz when I booked it. “But it’s better than worrying if they’ll make it home in one piece.”
Now, just a few hours into what should’ve been a night of memories, plans were shifting. Couple of the girls were talking about leaving. And one parent was stuck on the price tag.
What $65 Really Buys
I looked at Liz and said, “She doesn’t get it.”
“Get what?” she asked.
“That the $65 wasn’t about buying a bed. It was about buying something that doesn’t have a receipt.”
In today’s world, $65 is a tank of gas. A half-decent dinner. A new pair of shoes that’ll last a few months. Or it’s the chance to know your kid isn’t out there driving tired and wired after prom.
I remembered Bella telling me weeks ago, “Dad, we can get room it’s just too far to drive so late.”
“I agreed” I told her. “Let’s get you guys room so can just enjoy prom.”
The Emptying Nest
This phase of parenting feels different. We’re not the keepers of every scraped knee or late-night worry anymore. We’re becoming the people who quietly build safety nets, even if they’re never used.
The point isn’t whether they needed the room, it’s that they had it if they did.
I thought about what that $65 actually bought:
No white-knuckle drives at 2 a.m.
No scramble to find a couch somewhere else.
No pressure to stay at a party that didn’t feel right.
No calling us to come get them from an hour away.
Just a place. Four walls, a locked door, and the freedom to choose.
The Things They’ll Remember
Liz said it best later, as we listened to the girls’ laughing, getting ready and just having a great time.
“It’s not about the beds,” she said. “It’s about them.
One last night together before life starts pulling them in different directions and across the country”
And she was right. That hotel suite wasn’t about thread count or luxury.
It was about those final teenage memories, barefoot in fancy dresses, secrets whispered in the dark, laughter that’ll echo long after they all go their separate ways.
I thought about the girls who chose to go somewhere else that night. What memories did they trade for comfort? What last chapter did they rewrite? We hope they had the beautiful night they deserved.
The Final Check-In
Bella stopped by our room before she headed off—yellow dress, nervous smile. “You look beautiful,” I told her, feeling that familiar lump in my throat. How did eighteen years pass in a blink?
Later, she she check-in. All accounted for. All safe.
And that’s when it hit me. This was never about us getting it perfect. It wasn’t about the room or the beds. It was about them knowing they had a place if they needed it. It was about giving them the freedom to choose.
For the Parents Counting the Cost
To the mom who wondered what she paid $65 for, I get it. I really do. If there was confusion, that’s on me.
But maybe what you bought wasn’t just a bed for the night. Maybe it was a message to your kid that says: “I trust you. I’ve got you. No matter what.”
Seems like a pretty good deal.
As we stand here, learning to let go, I’m realizing that the best investments we make in our kids are the ones they might never even use. The hotel rooms. The backup plans. The unspoken promise that even if they don’t need it, they’re never alone.
That’s what we’re really buying. And if you ask me? It’s worth every penny.
Wisdom for the Journey
- The best gifts we give our kids are the ones they never have to use.
- This chapter isn’t about controlling their choices. It’s about giving them the freedom to make them, knowing they’re safe.
- Letting go doesn’t mean you’re not needed—it means you trust that they’re ready, but they’ll still come back when they want to.
This is the investment you’ll never regret.
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