So, after dinner one night, I casually asked my son, Wesley, to wash his plate, and out of nowhere, he just exploded:
“Why should I? I’m not your slave!”
“Slave?” I sighed, trying to stay calm. “How does helping out make you my slave?”
Wesley, feeling pretty smug, shot back, “You don’t pay me, do you? Work without pay is slavery!”
My husband raised an eyebrow. “We support you, son. We house you, feed you, clothe you, and educate you…” But no matter what we said, it didn’t seem to get through to him.
Finally, Wesley threw down the gauntlet: “If you want me to do things around here, you’d better pay me!”
I was about to lose it, but my husband stepped in and calmly asked Wesley how much he thought his “work” was worth. Wesley named his price, and my husband, with a knowing wink at me, agreed to pay him.
I was angry and thought my husband had let our son disrespect us, but after a couple minutes he took me aside and said “Don’t panic! Our son is about to learn an important lesson!”
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