I have always wanted a title as a mom, a quick and easy way to identify my parenting style so that people could say, “Oh yeah, me too” or “No way, that’s not for me.’” Things like helicopter mom or lighthouse mom or free-range mom feel like fast and easy ways for potential mom friends to find each other, to figure out if they’re on the same page. Unfortunately nothing ever felt quite right. Until I rewatched The Goonies 40 years after I first watched it as a kid. Clearly that movie made some sort of momentous impact on me at the time, because now I know. I’m a proud Goonies mom. And in the immortal words of Cyndi Lauper, the Goonies are good enough for me.
Now you might be instantly flashing back to the 1985 iconic film and trying to remember a single thing about the parents in the movie. I’m sure you remember the children of the “Goon Docks” in Richard Donner’s seminal adventure film. Sincere Mikey Walsh (Sean Astin), his cool older brother Brandon (Josh Brolin), plus Mikey’s pals: Data the inventor (Ke Huay Quan), smart alec Mouth (Corey Feldman), and lovable goofball Chunk (Jeff Cohen). These are the Goonies, the kids who are in danger of losing their homes to a new golf course, of all things. Fortunately they all convene at the Walsh home and happen to discover a 17th century treasure map left behind by a pirate named One-Eyed Willy. They set off an adventure to find the gold before the dastardly Fratelli family gets it first, which always seemed reasonable to me. The Fratelli brothers, lead by Mama (Anne Ramsay), would definitely waste One-Eyed Willy’s treasure on foolishness, while our altruistic Goonies just wanted to help their parents save their homes. They didn’t even want bigger houses, fancy cars, anything like that. They liked their lives, they liked their parents, and they wanted enough money to keep things the same.
Here is where I will get conceited about our own little group of Goonies. We had not so much in the way of a big house or fine things, but we loved our fine life together. Our small home at the end of a dead end street. That one neighborhood kid who had a trampoline and the kind of parents who let everyone bounce on it always. Trails and rocks and forests and caves for making secret plans and hosting secret meetings with their gangs. This was my kids’ life, our life. Or at least, this was the life going on around me and through me but sort of without me too. And I think this was the point; the point of being a Goonies mom.
Because I think parents hit a stage where we are not supposed to be the point. Like the Goonies parents, Brandon and Mikey’s mom in particular. She is a woman I understand without hearing a word from her. She is distracted, worried. She is moving her family from a home they all love. She has no idea where they are going or what they are going to do or how she will handle any of it at all. And her gift to her kids is that she just lets that exist within her own self. Like Mikey’s mom, I tried to keep the bad stuff to myself. I tried to let my kids have their own adventures, let them live in their own world. Like Mikey’s mom with her big coat and unpacked boxes, I have always been happy to exist on their periphery. Even on the sidelines, I’ve been known to my kids. Just like Mikey’s mom is known to her kids and her kids’ friends as a person in the world, separate from them. Mikey’s mom and I, we get to be characters in our kids’ lives.
For example, when Chunk and the gang break the penis off one of her favorite statues, Mikey groans, “Oh no, that’s my mom’s favorite part!” I loved this. I loved that she was a person to these Goonies independent from her role in their lives. As she’s making her way around the house, gently nagging the gaggle of boys lounging around, she does it with this air of ease. They are all content to exist together. Mrs. Walsh expects things from her sons. She expects Brandon to watch out for his little brother but even more than that, she expects them to be friends. To love each other. Because all of the Goonies love each other.
My kids might not have fought off the Fratellis for One-Eyed Willy, but they would have done it, I think. My oldest son, the suave guy with the good hair and the big arms, he led their little gang in adventures while I was working or cooking or just trying to have a bath. He carried his youngest brother around when his legs got tired. They explored the woods together, they played into the twilight most nights in the summer.
I knew about their adventures. I was somewhere in the background, somewhere in my own middle distance trying to balance my bank account or find a third job or make rent for the month. Like the Goonies, we were always a week or two away from losing our place. Like the Goonies, those boys of mine never blamed me for our life on the edge. They didn’t blame me, I think, because they were happy for what we had.
For long summer days of nothing much. For stories they told each other that became just real enough to give those days a purpose. For pirates and wolves and bad guys and treasure. For friends who rummaged through our fridge and slept over three nights in a row.
I am a Goonies mom, and I regret absolutely nothing.
Jen McGuire is a contributing writer for Romper and Scary Mommy. She lives in Canada with four boys and teaches life writing workshops where someone cries in every class. When she is not traveling as often as possible, she’s trying to organize pie parties and outdoor karaoke with her neighbors. She will sing Cher’s “If I Could Turn Back Time” at least once, but she’s open to requests.
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