Out late

Last evening the lad went out just to have fun for about the first time this entire semester. He’s caught up with all his projects and has put a yeoman’s effort into pulling his grades up to where he wants them to be. He was suddenly faced with a free evening. And he spent some time moping around the house because he couldn’t think of anything fun to do with it.

Then the phone rang at 8:00. One of his buds had just finished up with his National Honor Society induction and wanted to go do something fun. As a matter of fact, he called from out in front of the house. The lad pulled himself together and off they went to a little coffee shop downtown. A local one, not Starbucks.

I kind of expected to see him home around nine-thirty or ten o’clock.

Ten o’clock came and went. Eleven o’clock came and went. And I started getting a little tense.

I paced around the house talking to myself. At eleven thirty, I began to feel some steam coming out my ears. By eleven-forty-five, I wasn’t sure whether I was more furious or frightened—imaging all the worst possible scenarios like cars wrapped around trees. As the clock struck mid-night, I decided I was more frightened. I don’t mind if he’s out late occasionally, but I knew the coffee shop was closed and I had no idea where they were. The lad he was out with is a good kid. He’s responsible and level-headed. But it was a school night and I don’t think being out that late on a school night is appropriate unless cleared before hand.

However, my brain kept reminding me that I don’t want to be the kind of Mom that resorts to calling on the cell phone every hour to find out what he’s up to.

But, my Mom brain argued, “I haven’t called once tonight. But it’s late. Calling seems like a reasonable thing to do.”

So I did. At midnight. “Where the hell are you?”

About a block away, as it turned out. On his way home. Two minutes later he walked through the door and I was simply relieved.

We had a talk in the living room. Comfortably sprawled on the sofas. I told him that no, I don’t mind if he’s out late once in a while. I really don’t because I trust him. He’s earned that trust. But when he doesn’t check in at least once during the evening, especially when he is going to be later than usual, that leads parents to worry. A lot. And I was very worried. Besides which, he is still seventeen and it was a school night. I think eleven o’clock is a reasonable hour to be in on a school night. It’s not a conversation we’ve had before since he has never had the occasion to be out late on a school night.

Turns out that the boys met up with the other boy’s girlfriend at the coffee shop and the young lady with whom the lad is going to the prom. They decided to go to the lad’s prom date’s house to watch a movie. Both parents at home, snacks provided, fun and hilarity shared. A perfectly acceptable evening for the kids. Except...I had no idea where they were after the coffee shop closed.

I didn’t exact any punishments nor did I raise the roof or rant and rave. He acknowledged that he should have called and apologized for not calling. He promised that he would call the next time and I know he will. We also established the eleven o’clock hour for being home unless a phone call and conversation occurs during which I extend the curfew to meet the situation. Before he went upstairs, he hugged me again and said, “I’m really sorry I worried you. I didn’t mean to. I’ll make sure I call next time. But you can also call me. My cell phone is always on.”

“I don’t want to have to do that, sweetie. That’s the point. I know I can call you, but I want you to be responsible for letting me know if there is a change in your plans. Especially if you are going to be late. Just let me know. That’s all.”

“Okay,” he said. “I will do that. I promise.”

And he will. But I still had two new gray hairs this morning.