So, guess what happened… We went to visit our son, and he put us up in a hotel. I just don’t get this modern idea of “hospitality.”
Some might call me old-fashioned. Fine, let them. But I was raised differently—with warmth, kindness, and respect for elders. My husband and I have a big house on the outskirts of Manchester. We’ve always been open-hearted—there’s always room for guests. Someone in the spare room, someone in our bed—we’d take the sofa if needed. The important thing was making people feel welcome. That’s how we’ve always lived.
We’ve got three grown kids. Our eldest, Emily, lives nearby—married, has a flat, a car, and her husband often helps us out. Our youngest, Sophie, is still at uni in another city, staying in halls, says marriage can wait until she’s got her career sorted. But then there’s our son, Oliver. He’s been living just outside London for years now. Stayed after uni, started a business, bought a two-bed flat, got married, and now they’ve got a little boy—our grandson. He’s seven now.
Now, his wife, Charlotte… let’s just say we don’t exactly warm to each other. We’re too different, and with the distance, we hardly see them. Charlotte never fancies coming up north. A few years back, they stayed with us for a week—decided to skip the seaside and visit instead. But Charlotte wasn’t happy—said it was boring, nothing to do, nowhere to go. Since then, it’s just Oliver who visits, either alone or with our grandson.
A couple of months ago, my husband took some time off and said, “Let’s go see Oliver. Just us.” I was thrilled. We’d never actually been to his place—never seen his flat or how he lives. We booked train tickets, gave him plenty of notice, told him we’d stay a week. He didn’t object.
When we arrived, Oliver picked us up from the station in his car, and Charlotte had dinner ready—really thoughtful. We talked, ate, and by evening, knackered from the journey, we were ready to turn in. Then out of nowhere, Charlotte drops this on us:
“Oh, we’ve booked you a hotel room. For the whole week. A taxi’s on its way—it’s all paid for.”
At first, I thought she was joking. We came to see them! We weren’t fussed about luxury—we’d have slept on the floor, the kitchen, anywhere. Our grandson even begged his mum to let us stay—promised Grandad would tell him a bedtime story. But Charlotte had already called the taxi.
“Just pop over in the morning—it’s only ten minutes away,” she said flatly.
Oliver stayed quiet. Wouldn’t even look us in the eye. We went to the hotel—he dropped us off. Not a word the whole ride.
The room was basic: a bed, two nightstands, an old telly, and a tiny shower. Woke up starving—no kitchen, so breakfast meant a café, and extra expenses. We had to get a taxi back to theirs every morning. Same routine every day.
Charlotte went to work early, Oliver too. Just our grandson stayed home—they let him skip school that week. We spent the days with him, had dinner together, then back to the hotel. We paid for all the taxis ourselves. Ended up spending way more than we’d planned.
By day five, we couldn’t take it anymore. Made up some excuse about urgent business, booked early tickets, and left. On the train home, I nearly cried—not from anger, just helplessness. I couldn’t understand how our own son could do this.
Back home, I told our Emily everything. She blew up, rang Oliver straight away, gave him an earful. Since then, we barely talk to him—just calls about practical things. It hurts. All my friends are shocked. But Maureen next door said,
“Oh, that’s just how it is now. More convenient, comfortable for everyone. Don’t take it hard—maybe they really don’t have space.”
But I can’t wrap my head around it—is this really normal now? Parents visiting their son and sleeping in a hotel? We used to sleep on floors, on sofa beds, squashed in one room—no one complained. We didn’t care about comfort, just being together.
Now? I can’t even bring myself to talk to him. It’s too painful. Maybe I am old-fashioned. But this isn’t just hurt—it’s disrespect. And my heart breaks that my own son, the one I raised with so much love, is the one pushing us away.