I’m sitting in my living room going through a stack of mail when I see another boldface-typed confirmation envelope and hand it over to Ben. It’s an invitation to his school friend Leah’s Bat Mitzvah and right away I see there’s a conflict on the calendar.  That same day our family is invited to my friend Bonnie's daughter's Bat Mitzvah and I explain to Ben that a family Bar or Bat Mitzvah trumps any school friend’s.  

“We’ve been friends with this family since you were both babies. We need to go to this Bat Mitzvah. “

“I won’t know anyone.  It will be awful, she won’t even notice I’m there.” 

He does have a point. I think back to a year ago when I forced Ben to attend my college friend Carol’s son’s Bar Mitzvah.  It was an over-the-top, glitzy affair held at the Crystal Plaza in Livingston, NJ.  With Rob away on a business trip it would be me and Ben fending for ourselves. The invitation stipulated jeans casual, so I chose a pair of dark J Crew blue jeans thinking that would make it fancy, paired with a cotton peasant shirt and an antique sterling silver Star of David necklace.  From the moment I walked in, I felt out of place, like an over-the-hill hippie, a hick from the remotest beachy corner of New Jersey. Though a handful of women were wearing jeans, their heavily sequined jackets and  gold and diamond jewelry made a statement. Their towering spike heels rendered my Dansko’s  a blemish on the face of this lavish affair. At one point a mom approached me, introducing Ben to her son who also knew no one. As we happily watched them walk off together towards the DJ and dancers, I noticed her son veer off in another direction.  She looked at me and shrugged, saying something about his emotional issues.   Later in the evening he had a bit of a nervous breakdown, crying at the adults table, hugging his distressed mom.  I was amazed at how long she lasted, but eventually she succumbed to his pleading and they went home, hours early.  Meanwhile Ben was hanging in there, dutifully jumping up and down to the DJ impresario, being a real chump, but my heart went out to him.  I got a moment alone with him and asked if he wanted to leave early.  “Yes!” he screamed in relief.

     

It doesn’t take long for Ben to bring up Carol’s son’s Bar Mitzvah as a and I’m trying to ignore him. I tell myself this party will be different though for the life of me I can’t think of why.  The family friendships are certainly pretty similar, though I’ve known Carol much longer.  Sydney’s mom Bonnie and I have been friends since the kids were born, but after she moved to the wealthier, whiter, parking-challenged town of Westfield we’ve seen less and less of each other.  And Ben and Sydney were now mostly out of touch save for a few facebook posts here and there. I try to ignore Ben’s sulkiness and resume opening the mail when I see two more invitations.  These two fall on the same day, though one is an afternoon affair and the other during the evening.  I tell Ben we can probably work those two in, until  I give a casual glance to the calendar. It’s the same weekend as our family trip to Washington DC, where Rob is getting his architecture continuing ed credits and I’ve booked Ben and me on tours galore.  The Lincoln cottage, the capital building, a biking tour of the mall. I see I’m in for a struggle. I call over to my college friend Carol, whose son had a Bar Mitzvah just last year which I forced Ben to  go to.  I remember introducing him to another boy at that party who also knew no one. As I happily watched them walk off together towards the DJ and dancers, I noticed that boy veered off somewhere else.   Later in the evening he had a bit of a nervous breakdown, crying at the adults table, hugging his distressed mom.  I was amazed at how long she lasted, but finally she succumbed to his pleading and they went home, hours early.  Meanwhile Ben was hanging in there, dutifully jumping up and down with the dancers, being a real chump, but my heart went out to him.  I got a moment alone with him and asked if he wanted to leave early.