What childhood rule actually makes sense to you now?

The Price of Rebellion and the Need for Help

One Christmas when I was 12, Matthew brought me a set of expensive colored pencils I’d been wanting for months. Mom wasn’t in the room, and I quickly hid them in my sweater.

That night, when she found them under my pillow during bedtime, she didn’t yell. She just took them away with a disappointed look that made me want to disappear.

I tried to protest, saying they were just colored pencils. She responded simply that rules exist for reasons, and that was the end of the discussion.

At 16, I spent a weekend at Matthew’s house with my cousins. Mom reluctantly agreed after my aunt Joanne insisted it would be good for me.

Matthew lived in a huge house across town, much nicer than our modest apartment. He had a pool and a game room, and gave each cousin $50 spending money for the weekend.

I took the money, breaking Mom’s rule while away from her watchful eye. The weekend was amazing.

I came home wondering why Mom couldn’t just get along with her brother like normal siblings. When I applied for college, the issue of money became unavoidable.

Asher had gotten scholarships, but I wasn’t as academically gifted. One evening, Matthew offered to help with my tuition.

Mom shut down the conversation immediately. They stepped outside, and though I couldn’t hear what they said, I saw Mom pointing at Matthew.

Her posture was rigid with anger. That night, I confronted Mom about refusing help when we clearly needed it.

She told me she’d been saving for my education since I was born. I didn’t need to understand her relationship with Matthew; I just needed to trust her.