Over the past year, my relationship with my 15-year-old son has deteriorated to the extreme. Teenagers… wanting to try everything, explore everything. After a few incidents with questionable companies and websites online, he lost all trust in himself.
My son was involved in mixed martial arts, which I appreciated because, at the very least, he redirected his energy in a positive direction, and joining the club taught him discipline. His training used to start at 6, and he would finish around 8, returning home by metro.
Recently, he got into competitions, training with two groups, putting in 200%. So, he would return home by 10. No, I wasn’t worried; he was a responsible guy, never late, and the competitions motivated him even more to stick to a strict schedule.
One day, my son burst into the house. The word “burst” fits perfectly. He literally burst in. His jacket was torn, one strap of his backpack hanging by a thread. It wasn’t the first time he came home like this. He had been in a fight twice before. I hoped he had changed, matured, but unfortunately not. I was about to start yelling at him, but he began, “Mom, listen to me,” his breath uneven. “A girl… a guy… I hit him like pow…” I helped him take off his jacket, got him some water. He caught his breath and began to tell the story. When he was exiting the metro, he heard a girl’s scream, or more precisely, a squeak. He ran towards the strange sound. The squeaks came from under the entrance of a neglected building. My son probably felt like a movie hero at that moment. A real commotion ensued. My boy saw a man pulling the girl’s jacket, and she struggled but couldn’t free herself. My son, feeling heroic, flew in with a flying kick. Luckily, the man turned out to be drunk and weak. My son quickly subdued him, and the girl, taking advantage of the situation, escaped. My son didn’t know what happened to his opponent. He tried to find the girl to make sure she was okay, but there was no sign of her.
I didn’t believe him immediately, I confess honestly, but I also didn’t yell at my son. He got offended that I didn’t praise his heroic deed – I thought, “he’s telling such a good lie and believes it himself.”
Two days later, a 20-year-old girl and her mother knocked on our door. They came to thank me for having such a brave and kind young man. I didn’t immediately understand, but they were talking about my son. They offered him a substantial sum of money as gratitude since he risked his life and health to save a stranger. My son refused the money and looked at me cunningly. When we were alone, I apologized to him. I felt really embarrassed.
Now I look at my son with completely different eyes. It turns out a real hero lives under the same roof as me, and I accused him of lying. After that, I began to treat my son differently. I ask for his opinion on everything because I now consider him a real adult.
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