The planets must've realigned, or maybe it's just the full moon that loosens the lips of the boy.
He paced around me. Watching closely to gauge what type of mood I'm in.
I catch his eye and see apprehension and resolve flick by for a moment. Then it's gone.
He licks his lips and starts to talk to me.
I tend to be more reactive in general, so I concentrate on, not only listening to him, but hearing him too.
He felt the need to confess. He knew what he did was wrong, and he knew there was a possibility that things could go badly for him in a matter of minutes.
I'm the hard-ass of the parental unit. You, on the other hand, are the marshmallow. I feel we are a matched set in that respect. You need rules and leniency mixed together or life becomes too strict or uncontrolled.
He lays his confession before me. Waiting nervously for my verdict.
I smile and weigh my thoughts.
Yes, what he did was wrong.
Yes, he'll need some kind of discipline, but all-in-all it really was very minor.
I think back to when I was his age and remember the stupid things I did on a regular basis.
I weigh the safety factor of what he said and realized several things.
1. I was up to way scarier shenanigans at that age and he's nowhere near that lunacy.
2. He still craves approval from us. He still wants us to help guide him through this time in his life. Sometime in the near future he'll be on his own and not need us in that way anymore.
3. I'm damn lucky.
He and I agreed that what he did was wrong and that I'd appreciate it if he didn't do that again.
He smiled and hugged me.
At that moment I realized that he wanted me to stop him.
I was his perfect excuse against peer pressure closing in on him.
He's not ready to grow up yet and I'm very ok with that.
