Ben

On the morning of his thirteenth birthday, when his parents woke him up, he asked them to stop.

"I don't need to wake up yet," said the boy. "I have my alarm. It will tell me when I'm supposed to wake up. And I'm too old for you to wake me."

The boy's father told the boy, "You're right. You are old enough now that you get to be woken up. That is a privilege of adulthood, and it starts today. Your mother and I will no longer wake your brother; only you will get the honor."

"Well, I guess if I'm too old for you to wake my brother, you should probably make him breakfast and pack his lunch, too," the boy said. "Since you're not doing that, I guess the rest of us are just going to starve."

"That's a good point," his father said. "I have no idea how you came up with it."

"You don't?" the boy asked.

"I can't imagine how anyone could," his father replied.

"It's not that difficult," the boy said.

"I can't even begin to think what you might have done that led to the conclusion," his father said. "Can you describe the process by which you came up with it?"

The boy shrugged.

"So let's talk about what we're going to do with you on your birthday," the boy's father said. "Since you're so special and all. Would you like a new video game, or maybe a book?"

"No," said the boy.

"What do you want, then?"

"I want my own house," the boy said. "Because I am an adult now."

"Of course," the boy's father said. "Do you want a small house or a large house?"

"It depends," the boy said. "If it's a small house, will it have a television?"

"A big house is more appropriate, if that's what you want," the boy's father said.

"Will the big house have a television?"

"The biggest house," his father promised.

"What about a telephone?"

"If that's what you want," the boy's father replied.

"And a refrigerator, and a toilet?"

"All of them," his father said.

"And can my house have a roof, and walls, and floors?"

"Certainly," his father said.

"Well, okay, if it has a roof, and walls, and floors," said the boy, "maybe I should just have a regular-sized house. That's enough, I think."

"You don't need your own house," the boy's father said, "or any of its contents."

"But I'm thirteen," the boy said.

"We will take good care of you," his father said, "whether you are twelve or thirteen. And on the day that you turn fourteen, we will take even better care of you."

"When I turn fifteen," the boy said, "I am going to live by myself."

"Yes, of course," his father said.

"When I turn sixteen," the boy continued, "I will drive a car. And when I turn seventeen, I will go to school in a city far away from here."

"That is certainly possible," his father said.

"After I turn eighteen," the boy said, "I will move out and become a policeman."

"You have a long life ahead of you," his father said, "and it's full of possibilities."

"Yes," the boy said.

"And now I believe it's time for you to go outside and play with your friends."

"But it's still dark outside," the boy said.

"It's summertime," his father replied, "and you're awake. The sun will rise soon, and it's best if you're outside to greet it."

"It's a good morning," the boy's mother said, and smiled.

"You should eat something before you leave," the boy's father said. "You don't have to make anything, because your mother has made pancakes for everyone. She has even put chocolate chips in them."

"Oh, I don't like those," the boy said. "I think I will just eat an apple."

"You know I make the best pancakes," the boy's mother said. "Why would you ever want to eat an apple when I can give you something better?"

"I can make them for you," the boy's father said.

"But they're not very healthy," the boy said.

"They have protein," his father replied. "Protein is a vital component of a balanced diet. And so is chocolate."

"There are so many things you're going to miss out on," the boy's mother said.

"You have to be careful what you put into your body," the boy said.

"Eat pancakes with us," the boy's mother said. "Your sister and brother are eating them right now."

"They're really good," his father said.

"Just a bite, please," his mother said. "And a smile."

"Please," the boy's father said, and then there was silence.

"All right," the boy said, "if you insist."

"There are some rules that you must follow," his mother said, and his father nodded.

"Like what?" the boy asked.

"Like what?" the boy's father asked.

"Like what rules do I have to follow?"

"The most important rule is this: no matter what happens, you have to always remember that you love us. Even if we're angry at each other, or sad, or sick, or old, or even dead, you have to remember that we love you. It is the most important thing you will ever learn, and it's something you have to know how to do on your own."

"That seems pretty obvious," the boy said.

"Yes," his mother said, and smiled again, but her eyes did not. "But if it's so obvious, why did I have to remind you of it?"

"I was joking," the boy said.

"You should go now," the boy's mother said.

"Go," the boy's father said.

"Go," the boy's mother repeated, and so he did.

There was a tree in the backyard that had grown tall and straight, and its lowest branches were low enough that the boy could climb them easily. He was an excellent climber. He used to climb trees and play in them with his sister and brother, and they would play games in the afternoons.

Now the boy's sister and brother would not climb the tree anymore. The girl would not even walk in the yard, and the boy would only climb if he could wear gloves and a hat.

"Why are you always climbing up there?" the boy's sister asked.

"Because I like it," the boy replied.

"You look like an old man," the boy's brother said. "It's stupid."

"I like climbing," the boy said.

"You should climb down and play with us," the boy's brother said.

"What should I play?" the boy asked.

"Let's play baseball," the boy's sister suggested.

"I'll catch," the boy said, and then, "But you have to throw the ball low, and slow, and underhand, or else it's not fair."

"Let's not play baseball, then," the girl said.

"I have an idea," the boy's brother said. "Why don't we all play house?"

"How would that work?" the girl asked.

"One of us could be the father, and one of us could be the mother, and one of us could be the daughter, and one of us could be the son, and the one who's left could be the grandpa," the boy's brother replied.

"That doesn't seem like a very good idea," the boy said.

"Why don't we all be the same thing?" the girl asked.

"Like what?" the boy asked.

"I know," the girl replied, and her face lit up.

"What is it?" the boy's brother asked.

"What if we were all dogs?" the girl suggested.

"That is the stupidest idea I've ever heard," the boy said.

"Dogs are easy to be," the girl continued, ignoring her brother. "All you have to do is run around and bark, and chase cats."

"It does sound easy," the boy's brother admitted.

"But it's stupid," the boy insisted.

"Why is it stupid?" the girl asked.

"I'll tell you why it's stupid," the boy said.

"Tell us," the girl said.

"Because," the boy said.

"Tell us," the boy's brother said.

"Because it is," the boy said.

"You're just being mean," the girl said.

"Maybe I'm not," the boy said.

"Maybe he has a good reason," the boy's brother said.

"Thank you," the boy said.

"But what is the reason?" the girl asked.

"Well," the boy's brother started, and the boy interrupted.

"Stop it," the boy said.

"Just hear him out," the girl pleaded.

"He has a point," the boy's brother said.

"I don't want to," the boy said.

"He makes a lot of sense," the boy's brother continued.

"But we don't have to listen to him," the girl said.

"But we should," the boy's brother said.

"Why?" the girl asked.

"I don't know," the boy's brother replied.

"That's it," the boy said. "You can't answer a simple question. And that's why I won't play."

"Maybe we shouldn't listen to him," the girl said.

"But he has a good reason," the boy's brother reminded the girl.

"That doesn't mean he's right," the girl said.

"But it does mean that we should consider what he has to say," the boy's brother explained.

"Maybe we should consider whether he has a point," the girl said.

"But," the boy's brother began, and then the boy interrupted again.

"You have to listen to me," the boy said.

"Listen to him," the boy's brother told the girl.

"No," the girl replied.

"Yes," the boy's brother insisted.

"Yes," the boy repeated.

"We don't have to do anything," the girl said.

"Yes, we do," the boy's brother said.

"No, we don't," the girl replied.

"I'll do it myself," the boy declared, and went back into the house.

"Come on," the boy's brother said to the girl.

"Come on," the boy called out from the porch.

"I don't want to," the girl said, but she followed him anyway.

"What are you doing?" the boy's sister asked.

"I'm getting a knife," the boy replied.

"Why do you have a knife?" the boy's brother asked.

"For the cake," the boy's mother said, and she smiled.

"But what about the cake?" the boy's sister asked.

"There is no cake," the boy's mother replied.

"But you said," the boy's sister protested.

"No," the boy's mother corrected, "you said. And now there's no cake. We'll have to find something else."

"But," the boy's sister began.

"We will have fun," the boy's mother promised, "and everything will be fine."

"Fine," the boy's sister said.

"Fine," the boy's mother replied, and the boy's sister left the room.

"Are we still going to have a party?" the boy's sister asked.

"A party would be a nice idea," the boy's father answered, and the boy's mother nodded.

"Yes," the boy's father continued, "a party would be a very good idea. Let's do it. What should we do for it? How about a movie? Or maybe we could have a barbecue, and invite everyone over. What do you think, son?"

"I want a cake," the boy's sister replied, and her face was wet.

"We can't have a cake," the boy's mother said, and her voice was firm.

"Why not?" the boy's sister asked.

"There isn't a cake," the boy's mother said.

"I know that," the boy's sister replied.

"We could make a cake," the boy's father offered.

"But we can't," the boy's mother protested.

"Why can't we?" the boy's father asked.

"There is no cake," the boy's mother said, and her voice was firm.

"I know," the boy's father replied, "but we can make one."

"That's silly," the boy's mother said, and her voice was not firm.

"Let's make a cake," the boy's father proposed.

"No," the boy's mother said.

"I'll help," the boy's father offered.

"You'll just get in the way," the boy's mother said, and her voice was firm again.

"I can't," the boy's father explained, and his voice was soft.

"Why can't you?" the boy's mother asked, and her voice was gentle.

"I can't do anything," the boy's father confessed, and his voice was gentle too.

"Then," the boy's mother said, and she paused, and the boy's father waited for her to finish.

"Then," the boy's mother said, and her voice was still gentle, but also sad.

"Yes," the boy's father said.

"Do you think it will be okay?" the boy's mother asked.

"Yes," the boy's father agreed, "we can fix it."

"We can fix it," the boy's mother repeated.

"We will fix it," the boy's father said, and the boy's mother laughed.

"You always say that," the boy's mother said.

"I always mean it," the boy's father replied.

"And what if it doesn't work out?" the boy's mother asked.

"I have no idea," the boy's father confessed.

"Then how will we know?" the boy's mother wondered.

"We'll have to keep trying," the boy's father said.

"That sounds scary," the boy's mother said.

"I'm scared," the boy's father admitted.

"It's okay to be scared," the boy's mother said, and her voice was reassuring.

"It's okay to be scared," the boy's father repeated, and his voice was soft and sad again.

"It's okay to be scared," the boy's mother said, and her voice was firm again.

"Yes," the boy's father said.

"Yes," the boy's mother replied, and her voice was gentle again.

"Yes," the boy's father confirmed.

"Then," the boy's mother started, and her voice was firm again, "let's get started."

"Okay," the boy's father agreed, and his voice was gentle, too.

"What should we do first?" the boy's mother asked.

"The first thing we need to do," the boy's father said, "is figure out what we're going to do next."

"Oh," the boy's mother exclaimed.

"Yes," the boy's father affirmed, "we have to figure that out. It's very important."

"Okay," the boy's mother said.

"So," the boy's father said.

"So," the boy's mother echoed.

"We should probably talk about it," the boy's father offered.

"I don't think I'm ready to do that," the boy's mother replied.

"Me neither," the boy's father said.

"Do you think you're going to be okay?" the boy's mother asked.

"Me neither," the boy's father admitted.

"But," the boy's mother began, and her voice was soft again.

"It will be okay," the boy's father said.

"Promise?" the boy's mother asked, and her voice was even softer.

"I promise," the boy's father assured her, and his voice was soft, too.

"You're going to make everything better," the boy's mother promised.

"I will," the boy's father agreed, and his voice was very, very gentle.

"Okay," the boy's mother said, and the boy's father hugged her.

"Okay," the boy's mother whispered, and her voice was so soft that the boy couldn't hear her.

"Okay," the boy's mother promised, and the boy's father held her tight.

"Okay," the boy's mother assured him, and the boy's father's voice was soft, too.

"It will be okay," the boy's father whispered, and the boy's mother's voice was soft, too, and the boy's father kissed her gently on the forehead.