Michael is my son. Last month, he turned 22, and I had assumed that we were past the tumultuous adolescence. I had no idea that a storm was building directly beneath my nose.
Michael barged in, his face contorted with annoyance, while I was in the kitchen making lunch.
His tone was extremely serious as he stated, “Mom, we need to talk.”
“Sure, honey, what are you thinking about?” I turned to face him.
Arms folded, he leaned against the counter. “I need a car.”
I stopped, surprised. “A vehicle? How is your part-time work doing? You were accumulating funds for one.
Michael sighed in frustration. “I understand, but saving money is taking a very long time, and I need it badly right now.”
I scowled as I used a kitchen towel to wipe my hands. “Cars are pricey, Michael. You are aware of that. Additionally, you can save a little more because you have a job and—
He interrupted me impatiently, saying, “No, Mom, I can’t wait any longer.” I’m sick of taking the bus or relying on you for rides because all of my pals own vehicles. I must be free.
“Michael, I understand, but we can’t just afford to buy you a car out of the blue,” I said in frustration. It’s not that easy.
His eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened. “Well, then I might just move in with Dad. He’ll purchase an automobile for me.
His remarks were like a ton of bricks to me.
Instead of being a decent father, my ex-husband David always sought to buy Michael’s affection. It was unbelievable to me that Michael would even make such a suggestion.
I tried to remain calm as I added, “Michael, you can’t just threaten to leave because you’re not getting what you want.”
“Why not? Having me would make Dad happy. With a scornful tone, he responded, “He always spoils me.”
Trying to collect my thoughts, I inhaled deeply and said, “This isn’t about your dad. It has to do with accountability. Making responsible decisions is a part of being an adult, and you are now one.
“Yeah, responsible decisions like being the only one among my friends without a car,” he said, rolling his eyes.
The tension persisted even after our chat finished. I was unable to get rid of the dread and disappointment.
The days that followed were tense and full of silent treatments between Michael and me. Arguments erupted each time I attempted to bring up the subject.
We had dinner one evening, and I made the decision to give it another go.
“Michael, may we discuss the car situation once more?” With caution, I asked.
With a sigh, he prodded his food and said, “Mom, what’s there to talk about? I still won’t get one from you.
“Michael, it’s not just about getting you a car. I tried to maintain my composure as I said, “It’s about the way you’re handling this whole situation.”
