The weekend was a parent’s nightmare… and the youngster still does not comprehend. All I can think is that one day he might, one day when he has a teenager or two of his own.

Friday evening went according to plan. The young lad dressed up in his fashionable best to go “clubbing” in town with a friend, the other youngster picking him up in one of those vehicles that you hear coming from several hundred metres away. It misfires on most of it’s cylinders, it backfires quite rudely as well, and the boombox inside booms loudly outside - there is really no need for a horn. There is no need to get out and knock on the door. We know he’s arrived at the gate. And kiddo emerges fresh and clean from his shower, dressed spiffingly smart for the date. “Bye Mom” he shouts, flinging open the door, “I’ll stay over somewhere, I’m bound to be late” he calls out as he heads down the path. A car door slams shut, the engine is revved, and with a bang and a splutter departs. The roar up the hill is the last that I hear with the beat from the boombox left to repeat in my ear.

Saturday dawns and is peaceful all day - no teenager din, no mess left around, no fast food demands, no anything else untoward. But the day wears on and I do need to know if he’ll be gracing us with his presence for dinner. Talking to kids is best done by phone - they hear with their eyes, not their ears, and read acronyms rather than words. I text him a message and one comes straight back, deciphered to say not really but to keep him a meal anyway, later.

The hands of the clock move steadily round, and soon it is half past eleven. I know its a while since it was my turn as a teen, but 11.30 pm still strikes me as “later” enough. Time for a text ’cause I do want to know - are you going to sleep here tonight? And again at two in the morning, but his phone is turned off. And at 3.30 am - I am quite unable to sleep. The youngster is known for his brave encounters with danger, for silly stuff that wise folk avoid. He will walk lonely streets where others plan not to be, except those who are out for no good. Memories of the incident where he hid terrified for several hours in a bush while being hunted down by a knife weilding manaical meth-head did not help me at all.

The sunrise on Sunday gave a golden red glow to a sky saying farewell to the night, and the birds in the trees woke up singing their praises for a new day full of promise and grace. No response to my messages, nothing at all - and definitely not like him one bit. I call some of his friends but they haven’t a clue - they’ve not seen him nor know where he is. If only teenagers knew why their parents grow old, what makes them so anxious and weary… What was he doing? Just having fun, or lying robbed, beaten and bleeding or worse somewhere out there on his own?

By late afternoon we have a plan. First hubby goes searching the track. From the end of it’s length he calls me to say at least there is no sign of him there. I print off some photos. We are about to call the Police when my cell phone gives one of it’s beeps. “Im cumin hom Mum”

The youngster turns up and comes through the door, amazed that anything’s wrong. What’s all the fuss, he wonders non-plussed - of course he is fine, and has had a good time, and it was just that his phone battery went flat. So what’s wrong with a land line, a friend’s battery, a friend’s cell phone? I never did get an answer. I’m just a silly old moo of a Mom and it has really been a great weekend.

But not for me.

A message of encouragement for parents…

The behaviour of our children is not necessarily a judgement of our abilities as parents. We can do the best we possibly can with the resources that are available to us, and still not everything works out as we would wish. It is not an ideal world and people are not perfect.
It is a good thing to remember that God our Father, who can hardly be faulted in any respect, has a whole worldful of children - namely, ourselves.
And we all know that many of them can be quite badly behaved, by their own doing, over and over again.