Charlie and I are back with another post in King’s Gaming & Streaming Teen/ Parent Series. We missed sharing Wednesday’s post because we were in Hobart, Oklahoma drooping C off at Mikalya’s. Which is how this story came to be⭐ when your teen takes their Business on the road: C’s story, Told by Mom
My family and all of our friends online and offline knew for weeks that C was leaving, but knowing didn’t make it easier. If anything, it made the house feel like it was shrinking. One minute we were laughing about something stupid he said, and the next minute we were arguing over food left in the restroom waiting to be taken downstairs or whether he really needed to take three hoodies to Oklahoma. It was like every emotion in the world was living in our house at the same time, and none of us knew what to do with it.
C kept saying he’d pack “tomorrow,” and tomorrow kept coming and going. I’d walk past his room and see the same pile of clothes, the same cords, the same controller he swore he needed, and I’d think, Lord, this boy is going to pack the morning we leave. And of course, that’s exactly what happened. Last minute. Clothes flying. Trash bags being used as suitcases. Me trying to keep my mouth shut because if I said one thing wrong, we’d be right back to butting heads.
Charlie ordered things for her — things I didn’t even know about —until Bradley told me and even said Charlie ordered a game for him and Charlie left with more money than he should have. I didn’t have the energy to fight about it. Sometimes you just let the moment pass because you know the goodbye is coming, and you’re trying to hold yourself together long enough to get through it.
The morning, we left, it was raining off and on. Of course it was. We were loading electronics into the back of a small truck with a trash bag over them like that was going to protect anything. David was trying to tie things down, C was tossing things in like he was late for a flight, and I was standing there thinking, this is not how I pictured this moment. But life doesn’t wait for perfect weather or perfect timing. It just keeps moving.
We stopped on the way, at a Gas Station and C bought them rings. I didn’t say anything, but inside I felt that twist only moms understand — the one that says, He’s really doing this. He’s choosing this life. He’s choosing her. And I’m proud of him, I am, but pride and heartbreak can sit in the same chest, and that’s where mine was sitting.
When we got there, he proposed. Her mom was in the room even though Mikalya said she didn’t want anyone there so C left us in the car to go wake her up. Daid saw he had the rings but we didn’t say anything. They come outside and C says look. Instead of looking I let Charlie know I don’t want to see the ring.
.There’s no picture. No moment captured. Nothing to hold onto. All the things C and I had planned went out the window. Now there is a story David, and I weren’t a part of. Lunch afterward was stressful, and when we left, I barely got a hug. I tried not to show it, but it stung.
I let David know they had a party planned for Mikalya’s birthday and after driving 4 hours her parents didn’t even ask us in or come out to the car to see. I’m sure they celebrated their engagement that night and again we hadn’t been invited so we left.
You raise a child, you pour into them, you give them everything you have, and then the moment you think you’ll be part of forever… you’re standing on the outside looking in. We drove home in silence. Not because we were mad — because we were tired. Emotionally wrung out.
The kind of tired that sits in your bones. Tears pouring though my eyes and what made it harder was a song I always sing to C came on and it also was a song I used with Suzzane. At that moment I knew I had lost both my children. I didn’t sign up for that and no, parent does.
We’ve been home two days now. I’ve called. He hasn’t called back. I got one text — “we were doing dishes” — and I missed the call, and he didn’t try again. I texted this morning that his dad wanted to talk to him. Nothing. Silence where his voice should be.
And the part that keeps replaying in my head is that morning in his room before we left. He’d told us over and over he’d be back in two months because he didn’t want to live that far from us. But that morning, he looked at me and said, “I might be back in three months… or a year.” Just like that. Like it was nothing. Like it didn’t land in my chest like a stone.
But here’s the thing — and this is the part teens need to hear, and parents need to understand: C wasn’t trying to hurt us. He wasn’t trying to push us away. He wasn’t trying to replace us. He was trying to be grown.
He was trying to prove he could do it. He was trying to stand on his own two feet. He was trying to build a life with the girl he loves. He was trying to be a man before he really knows how. And that’s what this story is about. A young man that is barely old enough to be a man as he isn’t 19 until December.
It’s about a teen who packed at the last minute, argued with his mom, bought rings on the way, proposed in a room that wasn’t how anyone pictured it, and then tried to figure out how to run a business from another state with Wi‑Fi that wasn’t his, rules that weren’t his, and a life that suddenly felt bigger than he expected.
It’s about a teen who left home in the rain with electronics under a trash bag and a heart full of excitement and fear. As this mom and his dog looked on trying not to cry or beg him to stay or let me go with him.
It’s about a teen who is learning — the hard way — that adulthood isn’t just freedom. It’s responsibility. It’s respect. It’s communication. It’s remembering to call home. It’s figuring out money. It’s sharing internet. It’s helping with dishes even when you refused to do any chores at home. It’s showing up for the people who raised you.
It’s messy. It’s real. It’s growing up. And while he was learning how to leave, I was learning how to let go and before you ask no, I haven’t figured out how to let go. If I could be in the car right now going to get him and bring him home and I know Bradley would go with me, but David says we can’t.
Thank you,
Glenda, Charlie and David Cates
