Meet Schylar

The child I grew up with.

I was 17 when I found out I was pregnant with Schylar.

I was terrified.

I was still a child myself, trying to figure out how I was supposed to raise a child. I remember wondering whether I would be good enough at this. Whether I would know what to do. Whether I could raise a child who would grow up to be a good person.

Because let’s be honest for a minute.

We have a tendency to look at children as either “good” or “bad,” as if they arrive in the world knowing which one they’re supposed to be.

But children are learning.

They learn from what they’re shown. They learn from their surroundings. They learn from the people who love them, the people who guide them, and the role models they have available to them.

Schylar’s dad and I were teenagers ourselves.

We didn’t have all the answers.

We grew up, made mistakes, learned, adjusted, and figured things out along the way.

And somewhere in the middle of all of that, I realized something:

I wasn’t just raising Schylar.

I was growing up with him.

And somehow, that scared 17-year-old girl ended up with one of the kindest souls I’ve ever known.

Schylar has always been an old soul.

He has a deep love for music, although you probably won’t hear today’s most popular teenage music blasting from his phone. Give this kid some 70s or 80s music—and occasionally even something from the 60s—and he’s happy.

He does listen to newer music. He’ll even tolerate some country.

But most of the time, if music is coming from his phone, there’s a pretty good chance I know the words too.

He’s played a lot of sports over the years, but about two years ago he found soccer.

And he found his sport.

Regular season soccer wasn’t enough. Now there’s indoor soccer too. He also runs track.

Basically, somewhere along the way my little boy became this ridiculously tall teenager who plays sports, drives, works, and somehow became one of the people I rely on to help keep this entire household moving.

Which is funny, because…

He’s still absolutely a kid.

The teenage contradiction

Schylar is almost 17.

He’s taller than me.

He drives.

He works.

His younger siblings will go to him for an answer when I’m not available because they already know his answer will probably match mine.

He’s basically become my unofficial second-in-command.

And yet I still have to remind him to shower.

Sometimes we’ll be getting ready to leave and I’ll say:

“We have 15 minutes before we need to leave.”

And he’ll say:

“Okay!”

And then…

go take a shower.

My guy.

That was not what I meant.

His socks are another story.

There are hampers throughout this house. Bedrooms. Bathrooms. Places specifically designed for dirty laundry.

But apparently the couch is a perfectly acceptable sock storage facility.

I can almost guarantee that if I sit down on the couch, there will be a Schylar sock somewhere nearby.

If it’s not on the seat, it’s probably inside the couch.

And if you’ve never smelled the socks of a teenage boy who plays sports, count yourself lucky.

Then there are the water bottles.

Everywhere.

I once asked him to clean his room. He came back and told me it was done.

I walked in.

It looked amazing.

I was proud.

Then I pulled his bed away from the wall.

And a wall of water bottles came crashing down.

Apparently, we don’t throw those away.

We just hide them between the bed and the wall.

Because apparently that’s easier.

So that’s Schylar.

The almost-17-year-old who is somehow mature enough to help run the show but still needs reminders about basic hygiene, laundry, and garbage.

And honestly?

I wouldn’t trade that contradiction for anything.

Trust

One of the biggest moments in our relationship happened over something that probably sounds pretty small.

Schylar had his first kiss.

He told me about it.

And then he said:

“Please don’t tell Dad.”

His dad and I had divorced when Schylar and Landon were young, and I am incredibly grateful that we’ve always been able to co-parent well.

But this was one of those moments when I had to decide what kind of relationship I wanted to have with my son as he grew older.

Did I tell his dad everything I knew because I felt like I should?

Or did I keep Schylar’s trust?

I chose Schylar.

Not because I didn’t respect his dad.

Not because I thought parents shouldn’t communicate.

And certainly not because I would ever keep something dangerous or inappropriate from another parent.

But this was a teenager experiencing a completely normal part of growing up.

He wasn’t in danger.

He wasn’t doing something that required intervention.

He was worried that telling his dad would mean getting embarrassed or teased over something that was, frankly, just a first kiss.

So I kept his secret.

I kept his trust.

And that decision has mattered far beyond that one moment.

To this day, Schylar knows he can tell me things.

When talking is hard

Schylar has always had a hard time communicating out loud when he’s upset.

And because being able to communicate our feelings has always been important to me, we found another way.

We started a journal.

It became a place where we could write back and forth to each other.

If he couldn’t say something out loud, he could write it.

If I couldn’t find the right way to say something, I could write it too.

It gave us a way to keep communicating even when speaking felt impossible.

And that’s something we’re still working on.

Especially now that he’s getting older and relationships become more complicated.

He has a hard time saying things like, “I had a rough day and need some space before I can talk.”

He doesn’t want to hurt anyone else’s feelings.

I think, in some ways, he learned that from me.

And now we’re both learning something new together:

Being kind doesn’t mean ignoring your own boundaries.

You can love people.

You can care about their feelings.

You can be a good person.

And you can still say, “I need a minute.”

Apparently, we’re both still figuring that one out.

The kid who helps everyone

Schylar has always had a habit of noticing when other people need something.

Growing up, there were constantly friends at our house.

Sometimes he knew they were struggling.

Sometimes he knew their parents wouldn’t be home for dinner.

And because he knew I would never make it weird, he could simply ask:

“Hey, Mom, do you mind if my friend comes over for dinner?”

The answer was almost always yes.

Not because I always had an endless supply of food or because our house was perfectly organized or because I had everything figured out.

Sometimes I was barely keeping my own head above water.

But my philosophy has always been pretty simple:

If somebody needs help, we help them. We’ll figure out the rest later.

Eventually, Schylar didn’t even need to ask me anymore.

He would tell his friends:

“You can come use the shower at my house if you need to.”

“Go raid my mom’s fridge if you’re hungry.”

And those little invitations mattered.

Because sometimes helping someone isn’t about fixing their entire life.

Sometimes it’s giving them somewhere safe to sit.

A shower.

A meal.

A place where nobody asks uncomfortable questions.

A house where they know they’re welcome.

Schylar learned that.

And then he started giving it to other people.

That makes me incredibly proud.

The boy who can’t lie

There is one thing about Schylar that has always made me laugh.

This boy cannot lie.

I don’t mean he’s bad at it.

I mean he is physically incapable of committing to the lie because he starts giggling.

Every.

Single.

Time.

And honestly, I think I know why.

He knew he never actually had to lie to me.

It didn’t matter what happened.

It didn’t matter what he had done.

He knew he could come to me.

We would take accountability.

We would talk about what happened.

We would figure out how to make it right.

But I wasn’t going to humiliate him.

I wasn’t going to make fun of him.

I wasn’t going to scream at him.

I wasn’t going to make him feel like he was a bad person because he made a bad decision.

We were just going to figure it out.

So now, whenever Schylar attempts to lie…

He gets the giggles.

Which, as his mother, is incredibly convenient.

I will always know the truth.

Although sometimes I do wonder what would happen if this kid ever found himself in a situation where he actually needed to lie to protect himself.

He’d probably start laughing.

We’re still working on that one.

My sidekick

When I look at Schylar now, I don’t see the terrified 17-year-old girl who wondered if she was capable of raising a good human being.

I see a young man who notices when people need help.

A big brother his siblings trust.

A friend who makes room for people who need somewhere to go.

A kid who loves old music, soccer, and track.

A teenager who still leaves socks on my couch and water bottles behind his bed.

A son who knows he can tell me the truth.

And somehow, without either of us really noticing it happening, he’s become my sidekick.

Not because he has everything figured out.

He doesn’t.

Neither do I.

That’s kind of the point.

We are still growing.

Still learning.

Still figuring out how to communicate, how to set boundaries, how to make mistakes, how to apologize, how to help people, and how to become the people we want to be.

I thought becoming Schylar’s mom meant I would have to teach him how to grow up.

I never expected that I would get to grow up with him.

And I wouldn’t change that for the world.

I’m pretty sure 17-year-old me would be incredibly proud of the person he became.

And honestly?

So am I.