My teenage son started buying me expensive gifts I knew he couldn’t afford. Then I found out he was skipping school. I searched his room and found a bag full of cash!
I followed him the next morning, and when I learned where the money was coming from, I almost collapsed.
My 16-year-old son and I lived in a small apartment. I worked back-to-back shifts, wore the same three pairs of trousers until the hems frayed, and made sure Joshua had what he needed.
There wasn’t enough money for luxuries, but I spoiled Joshua when I could.
I thought he deserved it.
I thought I’d raised a good kid.
Then the boxes started appearing.
One day, I shuffled into the kitchen after work and stopped dead.
A cardboard box was sitting on the table.
“What’s this, Josh?” I asked, squinting at the expensive branding on the lid.
Joshua was leaning against the counter. He had a look on his face I couldn’t quite place.
“It’s a gift for you,” he said.
I opened the box.
Inside lay a pair of genuine leather shoes.
He shrugged. “Online sale.”
I stared at him.
Even on sale, I couldn’t imagine how my son could afford designer shoes.
“Don’t look at me like that, Mom. You needed new shoes, so I got you a pair. It’s not that deep.”
I watched him walk down the hall.
My mom senses were telling me that something wasn’t right here.
The gifts didn’t stop.
A week later, a heavy wool jacket appeared on my bed. Then, a pair of gold earrings with tiny diamonds.
Every time I pressed him, he gave me the same vague lines about “deals” and “savings.”
“Okay,” I said one evening, blocking the doorway to his room. “We need to talk about where this is coming from. Seriously, Joshua.
Are you in trouble?”
He leaned against the doorframe. “Don’t worry, Mom. Isn’t it good that we finally have money?”
That word, “finally,” stung a little.
He waved a hand as if brushing away a fly.
“You’ve struggled long enough. Just enjoy it.”
But how could I?
***
A few days later, he bought a brand-new gaming computer and a phone. My anxiety turned into a sharp, constant thrum.
The breaking point came with a phone call on a rainy Thursday afternoon.
It was Joshua’s teacher.
“I’m calling to check in on Joshua. He hasn’t been to class for four days.
Is everything okay at home?”
“He hasn’t been in school?”
I thanked him and hung up. My head was spinning.
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