Tell the Truth or Else
When Matt was young, I gave him one basic rule: Do not lie to me.
If you’ve done something wrong, or are about to do something you know I won’t approve of, be honest, and I’ll work with you. If I disagree, I’ll listen to your reasoning, and chances are, I’ll give you the go-ahead.
One night, I overheard Matt talking on the phone in his room. It was nearly midnight, long past his bedtime. He was old enough to drive but still expected to be in bed at a decent hour. His voice sounded tense, so I called him into our room.
He was hesitant to share what was going on. I gave him the mom look, the one that reminded him of our rule. He got it.
Matt told me he had been at a classmate’s party with one of his guy friends. Earlier that night, a female friend had called and asked him to pick her and another girl up and bring them to the party. He had agreed.
He came home around 10:30 PM, but now, close to midnight, the same girl was calling again. She and her friend had been drinking. No one at the party wanted to drive them home, and she felt stranded. She lived way out in the country.
Matt said he felt responsible since he’d brought them to the party, so he told them he’d come and get them.
I nodded, threw on jeans and a sweatshirt, and told him I was coming with.
He looked horrified. “What are you doing?” he asked.
“I’m going with you,” I said. “If that’s okay, we’ll get them home safely.”
He protested, mortified. I stood firm: “It’s my way or not at all.”
On the way, he told me more: the girls were only fifteen.
Inside, I wanted to scream, but I bit my tongue and told him I wouldn’t say anything about the drinking. I explained the reason I was coming: a 16-year-old boy driving two intoxicated underage girls after curfew? Not a good look. Having a parent in the car was the safest and smartest option.
We arrived at the pickup spot—behind a church. The girls had no place to go and were hiding in the bushes. As we pulled up, we saw the bushes rustle. They dashed to the car and jumped in the back seat. The smell of alcohol was unmistakable.
“Captain Morgan and Coke”, Matt whispered.
I turned and asked, “Are you two alright?”
They nodded, eyes wide and tearful, thanking me again and again.
“We just wanted to make sure you were safe,” I said. The rest of the ride was quiet.
When we arrived, I asked if their parents were home.
They said no, just that they had permission to spend the night together.
They thanked us again and disappeared into the house.
On the way home, Matt and I were both exhausted. But I was proud, so proud of how he handled it. He followed our rule. He was honest. He helped his friends, and no one got hurt.
As we got out of the car, I said, “Sleep well.”
He gave me a look, surprised.
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
We didn’t need to say anything more.
He knew what I expected.
He had earned my trust.
Thank goodness for Mama Rules.
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