After that first Disney trip in 2008, I learned an important lesson. Every vacation we took after that included access to a swimming pool. Whether we were traveling to Aruba, Europe, Walt Disney World again, Pigeon Forge, Dollywood, or even on a cruise, I always made sure there was a pool. More importantly, I intentionally built time into our schedule for my son to enjoy it.

I also learned how to enjoy that time myself. I would bring a stack of books, settle into a lounge chair by the pool, and read while he spent hours swimming. Once I had reached my limit in the water, he could keep having fun while I relaxed nearby. It became part of the rhythm of our vacations together.

Then, in October 2017, nine years after that first Disney trip, my son graduated from high school. I had promised him that when he graduated, I would take him anywhere in the world he wanted to go as a graduation gift.

He chose Cancun.

It took me a little while to realize one of the reasons he picked it. The drinking age in Mexico is eighteen, and he was nineteen. I suspect that may have influenced his decision.

When I asked him what he wanted to do while we were there, his answer was simple.

“I just want to sit by the beach and the pool.”

Since this was his graduation trip, I happily agreed. We booked a beautiful resort with two large pools. When we arrived, we were unexpectedly upgraded to a ground-floor oceanfront suite. We could literally open the patio doors and look out at the beach and the Caribbean Sea. It was spectacular.

After unpacking, we changed into our swimsuits, walked down to the beach, put our feet in the water, and enjoyed the moment. Then we moved over to one of the pools. I settled into a lounge chair while my son wandered around exploring the resort. By this point he was nineteen, so I wasn’t worried about him heading off on his own.

About twenty minutes later he came back with a big smile on his face.

“Dad,” he said, “I found the activities desk. There are all kinds of things we can do while we’re here.”

I laughed.

“I thought you just wanted to sit by the pool.”

“No,” he said. “I want to do the activities.”

So we walked over to the activities desk. We discovered that if we booked several excursions together, we could get a substantial discount. Before arriving, we had only planned one excursion: a full-day trip to Chichén Itzá. That was the one thing I had hoped to do on the trip.

By the time we walked away from the activities desk, we had booked something for almost every day we were in Cancun: parasailing, swimming with dolphins, boat excursions, snorkeling, scuba diving. Practically every free day had been filled.

I remember looking at the itinerary and asking, “When are we going to spend time at the beach?”

“Oh,” he replied, “we’ll make time.”

As it turned out, we never really did.

We enjoyed the pools throughout the week, but despite staying only steps away from one of the most beautiful beaches in the world, we hardly spent any time on it after that first afternoon.

The excursions, however, were incredible. We had an amazing week together, and eventually the day arrived for our trip to Chichén Itzá. Walking among the ancient pyramids and learning about the history of the Mayan civilization was everything I had hoped it would be.

On the flight home, my son turned to me and asked, “Dad, what was your favorite part of the trip?”

I thought about it for a moment before answering.

“I really enjoyed everything,” I said, “but I think Chichén Itzá was my favorite.”

He smiled.

“Mine too.”

I couldn’t help but smile.

As I thought about it, I realized how funny the whole week had been. We had traveled to Cancun because my son wanted to spend five days at the beach, yet we had barely been there. Instead, we had filled our week with one adventure after another. And somehow, the one excursion I had quietly hoped we would take together had become his favorite memory of the trip.

Somewhere along the way, our roles had changed. Years earlier, I had been the one trying to convince him to leave the swimming pool and experience something new. Now he had become the one filling our schedule with adventures. As I sat on that airplane, I realized that the lesson I had learned years earlier had quietly changed the way we vacationed together. For nearly a decade, every trip had included time at a swimming pool because I knew that mattered to him. I hadn’t noticed that something else had changed as well. The little boy who once wanted nothing more than a hotel pool had grown into a young man who genuinely wanted to explore the world.

Looking back, I don’t think that transformation happened by accident. For years, I had intentionally built our vacations around the things that brought him joy. I stopped trying to convince him that my way of experiencing a vacation was the right way and instead learned to enjoy vacations through his eyes as well. Somewhere during those years, something quietly shifted. The little boy who once wanted nothing more than a hotel swimming pool had become a young man eager to explore history, try new adventures, and discover that some of the things I loved were worth experiencing too.

I think relationships often work this way. We spend a lot of time trying to convince people to enjoy the things we enjoy, but influence rarely works that way. When people know they are accepted for who they are, they become much more willing to step into someone else’s world. I didn’t have to convince my son to appreciate history or adventure. I simply had to make room for the things that mattered to him. In time, he became curious about the things that mattered to me.

Looking back, Cancun wasn’t really about beaches or pyramids. It was another reminder that relationships aren’t built by convincing someone to become more like us. They’re built by loving people well enough that both people slowly grow toward one another.

Click below to see our scrapbook from our Cancun Vacation: