Is This Mike On?

As I stood out there on the sidewalk glancing at the mail, I finally saw him.

He rode his red bike slowly up the street toward me until he put his feet on the ground to stop himself, like Fred Flintstone taught him to do.

I never saw the blank look in his eyes, only the fact that he was 90 minutes late from school.

“What took you so long,” I asked firmly. “How could it take you an hour-and-a-half to ride home from school?”

I didn’t yell, but there was no mistaking the unhappiness in my voice.

He responded to the lecture with subdued tones, mentioning that he wanted to walk home with a friend. I shook my head in disbelief and finally told my 12-year-old to get in the house where he would get a consequence.

While I worked into a slow boil, Spencer could do nothing right. He didn’t get his homework out fast enough, couldn’t put his coat correctly or breathe the right way. When I corrected him again, he reacted a bit too abruptly for me.

I had enough. With my voice raised, I grabbed Spencer and sent him out to the garage for a timeout.

Walking back in the house, I only lasted a couple of minutes before I returned to the garage where he was sitting on the floor. I sat right down next to him and we talked.

My intent was too explain why he was being punished and why I was right. Until I really looked into his eyes.

They were red with just a hint of water welling up in each one. No trace of a smile on his face.

“What’s wrong with you” I asked, cementing my standing as a candidate for Moronic Dad of the Month.

It turned out he didn’t have a good day. Words were said and feelings were hurt. In fact, it was one of those horrible days that often happens in middle school.

And I had made it worse. Because I didn’t pay attention to the signs and rushed to judgment.

For the next few minutes, we stayed there on the floor and talked. I worked to build him up and even laugh. Soon it was time for dinner and we stood up to walk back in the house.

I put my arm around his shoulder, pulled him close and squeezed.

It was my way of saying sorry.

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