It’s not easy to be a parent of a haughty, disrespectful adolescent, and parents use numerous strategies to discipline their kids.
A mother named Heidi Johnson shared a handwritten letter she penned to her son Aaron on Facebook. She had no idea the post would become very popular. She had no intention of making the post public at all. Although it was only intended for her friends to see, she is not sorry that she posted it online.
Johnson chastised her 13-year-old son for treating her like a “roommate” in a letter to him. She continued by giving him an itemized bill totaling more than $700 for food, rent, and other expenses. She would treat him like a roommate if he was going to treat her like that rather than his mother.
Johnson wrote, “Love Mom,” on the note, and she genuinely does adore her son. She wrote a second post in response, giving some more information on the circumstances. “I am not going to put my 13-year-old on the street if he can’t pay his half of the rent,” she promised parents who were condemning her. I don’t want him to make any payment. I want him to value the blessings and gifts we have, and to take pride in his house and surroundings.
She went on to say that she never meant for Aaron to cover the cost. Rather, she desired that him “acquire an understanding of what things cost.” Johnson wanted her kid to know “what life would look like if I was not his ‘parent,’ but rather a ‘roommate,’” so she penned the note. It was from the start a lesson in appreciation and decency.
Johnson added that her son had lied to her before she wrote the note about finishing his homework, and that he had said, “Well, I am making money now,” in response to her warning that she would be limiting his internet access. She clarified that the money he was talking about was a small amount of money he was earning from his YouTube channel, not nearly enough to cover his rent and food expenses.
Johnson’s relationship with her son has not been harmed by the public statement. “He and I still talk as openly as ever,” she clarified. He has expressed regret several times.
Since she sent the note to her kid, Johnson has also been asked for guidance by parents. As she puts it, “People feel comfortable coming to me and asking for advice, venting, or even just having someone bear witness to their experience by listening, opening up, and sharing a piece of myself in return. It seems like my post has opened a door.”
I Felt Disappointed That My Grandfather Left Me Just an Old Apiary, but My Perspective Changed When I Inspected the Beehives
My late grandfather, a master storyteller who spun tales of buried treasure, left me a rather unexpected inheritance: a dusty old apiary. It felt like a cruel joke at first. Who would leave their grandchild a shack swarming with bees? My resentment lingered until the day I finally ventured into the beehives.
One typical morning, Aunt Daphne urged me to pack my bag for school, but I was too busy texting a friend about the upcoming dance and my crush, Scott. When she mentioned my grandfather’s dreams for me, my frustration grew. I had no interest in tending to his bees; I just wanted to enjoy my teenage life.
The next day, Aunt Daphne chastised me for my neglect, threatening to ground me. She insisted that caring for the apiary was part of my responsibility. Despite my protests, I reluctantly agreed to check on the hives. Donning protective gear, I opened the first hive, my heart racing. A bee stung my glove, and for a moment, I considered quitting. But a rush of determination took over, and I pressed on, hoping to show Aunt Daphne I could handle this.
While harvesting honey, I discovered a weathered plastic bag containing a faded map. Excited, I tucked it into my pocket and raced home to grab my bike. Following the map, I pedaled into the woods, recalling my grandfather’s stories that had once enchanted me.
I found myself in a clearing resembling a scene from one of his tales—the old gamekeeper’s house stood before me, decaying but still captivating. Memories flooded back of lazy afternoons spent there, listening to his stories. Touching the gnarled tree nearby, I recalled his playful warnings about the gnomes that supposedly lurked in the woods.
Inside the forgotten cabin, I uncovered a beautifully carved metal box. Inside was a note from Grandpa: “To my dear Robyn, this box contains a treasure for you, but do not open it until your journey’s true end” Though tempted, I knew I had to honor his wishes.
After exploring further, I realized I was lost and panic set in. Remembering Grandpa’s advice to stay calm, I pressed on, searching for a familiar path. Eventually, I stumbled upon the bridge he often spoke of, but it felt further away than I had hoped. Exhausted and disoriented, I collapsed beneath a tree, longing for home.
The next morning, determined to find my way, I recalled Grandpa’s lessons as I navigated through the wilderness. I found a river but was startled when I slipped into the icy water. Fighting against the current, I finally managed to cling to a log, eventually dragging myself to shore.
Soaked and trembling, I rummaged through my backpack, only to find stale crumbs. When I remembered Grandpa’s wisdom, I used healing leaves for my cuts and continued onward, drawn by the sound of rushing water. I finally reached the river again, but the water was treacherous. Desperate, I knelt to drink, but the current swept me away, and I found myself struggling against the powerful flow.
Determined not to give up, I let go of my backpack but clung to the metal box. With sheer will, I fought my way to the bank, finally escaping the icy grasp of the river. I needed shelter, so I built a makeshift one from branches under a sturdy oak tree.
The next morning, I set out once more, the metal box feeling like my only lifeline. Memories of fishing trips with Grandpa warmed me, urging me forward. When I finally spotted the bridge, hope surged within me. But the forest began to close in around me, confusion and despair threatening to overwhelm me. Just when I thought I couldn’t go on, I found a clearing and collapsed, utterly spent.
Then, I heard voices calling my name. I awoke in a hospital bed with Aunt Daphne by my side. Overcome with regret, I apologized for everything. She comforted me, reminding me of Grandpa’s unconditional love and how he always believed in me.
As she reached into her bag, my heart raced when I recognized the familiar blue wrapping paper. It was an Xbox, a gift from Grandpa, meant to be given only when I understood the value of hard work. I realized then that I had learned that lesson, and the desire for the gift faded.
In the following years, I grew into my responsibilities, embracing the lessons my grandfather imparted. Now, as a mother myself, I reflect on those moments with gratitude. The sweet honey from my bees serves as a cherished reminder of the bond I shared with Grandpa, a bond that continues to guide me.
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