I’m in awe, seeing my teenage kids mature. After all, we must be doing something right as parents. I think I know what it is.

This story is a bit of a self-praise, but it’s not trivial.

The shit we’ve been through…

I have four kids. Two teenagers (17 and 15) and our twins are ten years old. The twins are easy. They’re sweet. I’m sure they’ll go through their own difficult stretches and they’re already showing their characters, but they’re easy, overall.

Our two older boys though… The stuff you see in coming-of-age movies — we’ve been through it all and worse and it was never cute. It was ugly. “I fucking hate you” in your face. Running away by climbing down from the balcony of the second floor of our house. Disrupting and walking away from sporting competitions, while smashing equipment, and shouting profanities. Scary, embarrassing, and depressing for us, parents.

Once we had a bad day, reconciled and agreed to go to the movies. Then the younger teenager said, “No, you’re making me go. I’m not going.” That led to another round of arguing. But we agreed… And you don’t keep your promises…Let’s just go. But you can’t make me go to the movies… And so on. So I tell my wife — let’s go. He can stay at home.

We drive to a local cinema. I’m all upset. I wanted our son to join us. I text him and scold him. Then I see him... He hid in the trunk of the car. Pranking me made him happy.