I thought I was trying to figure out what had happened to my son during his trip, but I didn’t realize I was about to uncover something that would change both our lives forever
I used to think raising a 15-year-old boy meant teenage attitude, loud arguments, slamming doors, rebellion, and eye rolls that said more than words ever could.
I was ready for that, but I wasn’t ready for silence.
That’s what came home with my son last Friday.
I was ready for that.
***
Leo, my teenage son, had been counting down to that five-day Paris school trip for months. He talked about it at dinner, in the car, even while brushing his teeth. He had lists, actual handwritten ones, of things he wanted to see and souvenirs he wanted to buy.
Leo had been saving money relentlessly, skipping snacks at school just to keep a few extra dollars.
So when I picked him up at the airport, I expected stories. Energy. Something.
Instead, he walked toward me as if he’d forgotten where he was.
Leo had been saving money relentlessly.
My son gave me a quick hug, then tossed his bag into the trunk without a word. He stared blankly out the window the entire ride home.
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I tried, but he only gave one-word answers.
