Friday night. 12:45 a.m.
I'm heading home after a fabulous evening with my best girlfriend. I hop into an Uber, rest my head back, and close my eyes. It's been a long day.
"You have a good night tonight?"
I open my eyes and meet my driver's gaze in the rear-view mirror.
"Amazing," I say. "How about you?"
He must be dying to talk to someone, because within minutes I learn all about him, including the fact that he's a young, exhausted parent with a toddler and an infant waiting at home.
I can't help but giggle as memories of raising children flood into my mind. I could definitely relate.
I told him about the epic temper tantrums, the mulish stubbornness, the loud screams of "NO!" that I can still hear ringing in my ears.
The driver laughs, nods his head.
He tells me it's nice to meet another parent club member. Someone who understands.
He asks how old my kids are.
"Nineteen and 20," I tell him. "Both boys."
He runs his hand through his hair, shaking his head in disbelief. I can see his eyes are wide.
"How... did you get through it?"
My mind flashes back, a lifetime condensed into bullet points.
Hormones. First love. Heartbreak. Marriage. Motherhood. Long talks. Late nights. The good times. The bad.
How did I get through it?
All I can do is laugh. I say, "It won't be easy, but it'll be worth it."
He asks if I have any advice. I can hear something in his voice, almost desperation.
I feel for him. I can remember so clearly what it was like in the beginning. Years of being sleep deprived and overwhelmed, praying the next stage would get easier. I took every bit of advice I could get, ate it up like a starving animal.
As I search my mind for something to say to him, one incredible memory jumps forward, and I decide to share it.
As a parent, one of my biggest fears is that as my children grow into adults, they'll drift away and we'll no longer be close. I was always aware of this, being that I'm not close with my own parents. I never wanted this to be my future. Our future.
When my son was around 13, it was one of the toughest times for me as a mother. Starting puberty and high school, my eldest embraced his new-found maturity and independence with gusto. Peach fuzz above the lip, a deeper voice, and a social life that was free of mom and dad.
One day during exam season, he texted me after school to tell me he was going to hang out with his friend, John, and wouldn't be coming home until later. I texted him back. No. You're not allowed. You need to come home and study. You'll have plenty of time for friends after this is all over.
He quickly responded. I'm not coming home.
I sat and frowned at my phone for a minute. I could feel my insides coming to a boil. Did he honestly just send that?
I collected myself, called him and told him he needed to come home immediately. He disagreed, hung up in my face, and turned off his phone.
In a word, I was livid! How dare he?
Without thinking I grabbed my keys, jumped in my car, and gunned it towards John's house. My ego was in the driver's seat now.
As I clutched the wheel, my knuckles white, I yelled out, "I'm going to kill him. I'm... going... to... kill him." I devised the most thorough punishment my imagination could come up with. No video games, no cell phone, no friends. For a month. No. Two months. No. Six. In their place would be manual labour, solitary confinement, and whatever other misery I could inflict upon him.
By the time this was over, he'd be longing for the light of day
But as I drove towards John's house, a sudden thought popped into my head. It scared me so much that I had to pull over.
My son was drifting away, and if I didn't handle this right I may never get him back. What I feared the most was now right in front of me. I couldn't catch my breath. I started to cry.
I uttered out loud, "Help me, help me... Please give me an answer." I don't know who I was asking. God? The Universe? I don't know. All I knew is that I needed help. I slowed down my breathing, and searched my soul. Suddenly, a calm I'd never felt came over me.
I sat there for another minute, then put the car in drive and continued on my way to John's house. I was driving slower now.
I had no idea what I was going to say when I got there, but for some reason I trusted the words would come when they needed to.
Feeling strangely comfortable, I rang John's doorbell.
Michael was shocked when he saw me. He practically snarled, pushed past me, and stomped to the car with exaggerated anger. We both got in. I still didn't know what I was going to say.
He slammed his door, crossed his arms, and demanded I tell him what his punishment was. Looking defeated, he threw his cellphone into the middle console, knowing from past experience this was usually the first thing to get used against him.
Suddenly, I knew how I was going to handle this. I couldn't believe it.
I looked at Michael and said, "You can have your phone back. I've decided not to punish you."
He looked at me in disbelief. Did he just win the lottery, or had his mother gone completely insane?
"I don't get it," he said.
To this day I still can't believe the words that came out of my mouth.
"You don't know this, Michael, but as a parent we're granted one free pass to give to our children when they screw up. The parent can make this decision any time they see fit. It doesn't matter how big or small the issue is, but when the decision is made we can't take it back. You only get one, though."
I looked at Michael and watched his reaction. His face softened, his shoulders relaxed. He looked incredibly relieved. For a moment, that is. Then his relief turned into panic.
He grabbed my arm and said, "Mom, I can't have my free pass now! I'm only in grade nine and I feel like I am going to screw up a lot worse than this. Please don't use my free pass now!"
To my surprise and delight, he actually started begging for me to punish him.
I couldn't believe what was happening.
In a very calm, even tone I explained to him that I'd made my decision and I couldn't take it back. That's the rule, kid. I decided today was the day, and that was that.
I pulled the car over and looked straight into his eyes. I said, "However, if you ever pull a stunt like that again you don't wanna know what your punishment will be. Enjoy your free pass, Michael."
Whatever that was, I think it worked. My son didn't pull away that day, and over the next few years we grew even closer. There were more difficult patches later on, of course, but our closeness let us navigate those rough waters with ease. To this day, our relationship keeps getting better and better.
Things could have gone very differently that day. I could have let my anger and ego push us apart. I could have punished him, only to perpetually relive the tug o' war with him for years, driving a wedge between us. I'm so thankful I didn't.
The Uber driver pulls up front of my house right as I'm finishing my story.
"Parent with love and not with your ego," I say.
He sighs and turns in his seat to look at me. Then he tells me that his own father had let his anger and ego parent him as a teenager. Now they hardly have a relationship.
Please remember this story I told him. In the very near future you will have a 13-year-old of your own, and you'll be tested just like I was.
Enjoy your free pass. You won't get another.
Have you ever given a free pass? Or been given one yourself? Share your story in the comments or email me at positivepeoplearmy@gmail.com I would love to hear your parenting advice.
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