Recently, my 10-year-old son, Max, returned home with a report card that showcased impressive As and Bs, with the exception of a glaring F in Social Studies. This caught me off guard, especially since he’d been assuring me nightly that he had no homework. While my parental instincts were on high alert, I had generally trusted Max’s honesty.
When I confronted him about the report card while he was engrossed in a video game, his expression shifted from surprise to concern. His blue eyes darted, and his face turned crimson. He was clearly scrambling for an excuse to dodge my impending disappointment.
I pointed to the F and the zeros next to his assignments. “What’s going on here, buddy? I thought you said you didn’t have any homework?”
Max exhaled dramatically and unleashed a series of excuses: he forgot about the assignments, his teacher didn’t remind him, and he kept leaving his homework at school. His reasoning boiled down to the classic childhood cry of “It wasn’t my fault.”
I couldn’t help but think, “Bullsh*t.”
I reminded him about the planner he fills out after each class and how the teacher writes down assignments on the board. I emphasized that homework is his responsibility. At this, his eyes welled up and he exclaimed, “It’s not a big deal, Dad! Social studies is dumb anyway.”
His face was flushed, and I sensed he was cornered. A wave of sympathy washed over me; after all, outside of his reluctance to clean his room or change his underwear, he’s generally a good kid. Failing a class was a new territory for him.
I faced a series of choices: let it slide and allow him to fail, come down hard and risk damaging our relationship, or strike a balance. I knew he needed to learn this lesson now, but uncertainty loomed large in my mind—an all too familiar feeling in parenting.
After a moment of silence, I shared my own history of struggles at his age. “When I was 10, I failed more than just Social Studies. I was sent home for fighting and other mischief. I wasn’t a bad kid, just a bit of a troublemaker,” I admitted, hoping to connect with him.
Max listened intently, and I could feel him preparing to argue that my past mistakes were worse than his current situation. But I swiftly redirected the conversation. “At your age, my father was absent, and my mom was working multiple jobs. I had no one to hold me accountable, which led to me making my own rules.”
I told him, “I really wish my dad had been there to say, ‘Jamie, it’s time to step up.’ As an adult, I can see that calling me out back then would have been an act of love.”
We sat quietly for a moment, and I added, “I love you enough to help you succeed in school. I love you enough to teach you about responsibility. I love you enough to set expectations for your performance. And yes, I love you enough to impose consequences.”
With that, I informed him that his screen time would be revoked until he could bring his Social Studies grade up.
Naturally, Max was not pleased, and I anticipated weeks of pleading for his iPad. It’s a common feeling among parents that we are being too harsh when we discipline our children. But it’s a necessary part of ensuring they learn and grow, even if it feels like they might resent us for it.
The rest of the day was quiet between us until I checked in on him at bedtime. He was facing away from me.
“Goodnight, champ,” I said. He barely acknowledged me, muttering, “I’ll fix it.”
I smiled in the darkness. “I know you will,” I replied, “and not just for the games, but because you’re a good kid.”
As I left his room, I felt a mix of relief and hope, knowing that he would rise to the occasion.
In summary, holding our children accountable is not just about discipline; it is an essential aspect of parenting that fosters their growth and understanding of responsibility. By setting expectations and consequences, we are ultimately demonstrating our love for them.
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