Little Good 2

"So what didja guys do last night?" I asked my older son when he came into my bedroom earlier this afternoon.

"Nuthin," he said. "Just hung out at Paul's."

"Listen," I began, "I want you to think about something."

"What?" he said, immediately defensive.

"You have this unbelievable opportunity ahead of you for a do-over," I said.

"I'm walking away now," he sing-songed and turned around to split.

"Dude, just listen to me!"

"I've heard this all before, Dad."

"I know you've heard it all before," I said and hesitated for a moment before blurting out, "Meanwhile, I smelled pot in your room and in the attic."

"I'm not the only one in this house," he declared in what has become a familiar non-denial denial manner, and walked away.

I followed him into his room. "Dude, that's not fair," I said. "I'm trying to talk to you."

"I know and I don't care," he said, on the verge of anger. "Get out of my room!"

"Don't talk to me like that! I don't talk to you like that."

"Well, I don't like to listen to you saying the same things over and over," he said, staring into his laptop.

"I guess I need to develop some new material."

"Maybe you do," he said, now IMing with a friend.

"I think you know why I keep saying the same things over and over," I said. "You know where I'm coming from, that I'm concerned about you."

"Dad, I keep telling you," he said, looking at me again, "you have nothing to be concerned about!"

"I know, but like I keep telling you, when you're a parent, the concern never ends. I'm always gonna be concerned. No matter how angry you get at me," I told him. "That's just the way it is. Until I die. Someday when you're a dad, you'll find out."

Neither of us said anything for awhile. "I don't have any more words left," I said finally.

"Good," he said and then it was my turn to walk away.