It was a longago quarrel that I still recall, a tangle of pride and pennies that seemed, at the time, a matter of right and duty. It is your duty to pay for me, my son declared, my father did exactly that. I have every right to it!
Eleanor had decided she needed a new pair of socks. She could not do without them. Will you cover all your expenses with the money my father sends for me? the boy asked.
His mother, Mrs. Bennett, hesitated to answer. Her husband had recently sent maintenance payments into his exwifes account, urging her to buy the necessary clothing for their child because he had been wearing the same old clothes for years.
What does that mean? Eleanor asked, confused, as if she had misheard. Why do you spend the upkeep my father sends me only on things you need?
Hearing this, Mrs. Bennetts eyes welled up, and she placed the socks back on the shelf. Its a good quality sweater, she muttered, heading for the fitting rooms to try it on.
Edward, their teenage son, resolved to take a few sweatshirts away to see which one would fit him best.
His mother checked the price tag; it read £45. She added up the cost of all the items and realised the maintenance sum would not cover it, so she had to top it up herself.
This is a proper bargain! Edward shouted, sprinting out of the changing cubicle with the sweater tucked into a basket of other garments.
The shop assistant at the high street centre bagged the purchases. That will be £475, please, she announced.
I only have £400 in my pocket, his mother replied. Leave a few things you dont need right now.
I wont leave anything behind, so pay with your money, for my father isnt the only one who ought to support me. By law I have every right to it, the boy insisted.
Eleanor produced her wallet, withdrew the cash, and set it on the register. Thats a months worth of money. Do what you like. Pay for your clothes, but remember to pay for your meals too. I wont give you any more cash. Good day, she said, her stare solemn as she walked out of the shop.
That evening the son returned home carrying several bags filled with brandname items he had bought. I managed to get shoes, he declared. Theyre very smart. Is there anything left in the fridge to eat?
Youve got leather shoes now, havent you? I suggest you cook your own meals, his mother replied.
Mum, Im being perfectly serious, he said.
Did you think I was joking? she asked.
Id better call my father, youre talking nonsense.
Very well, good luck, Mrs. Bennett said, forcing a smile.
He dialled his dads number. Hello, Dad, could I stay with you for a month or so? Whats the matter? Why did you go off on holiday? Could you at least send some money? Ive got nothing Alright, well speak later.
How had the conversation with his father gone?
The boy trudged back to his bedroom with a downcast face, and his father subsequently phoned his exwife. What exactly happened between you two? she asked. Your son has decided hes entitled to everything and that we must provide for him, she explained in detail.
Yes, he has nerve, but we must feed him or hell starve, and you can take the maintenance money, then give any remainder to him.
Three hours later the broadband at home vanished, and the son turned on his mother again.
Why do you think Ill pay for the internet now? Youre getting as cocky as Father told you to be. From next month Ill move in with my father.
Do you think a family with three children will need you? he pressed. I promise Ill live with him.
Fine, but you must know you wont receive any maintenance next month, because Father told me I should feed you, and the money I give you will be deducted from the allowance later, his mother warned.
She then told him how much she spent each month to keep the two of them alive, a sum far exceeding the allowance. At that moment the boy realized he had been wrong to treat his mother so harshly. He apologized to both his mother and his father, and during the holidays took a parttime job to ease his mothers financial burden.
Looking back, the dispute seems a distant echo of youthful entitlement, softened now by the memory of how a simple pair of socks sparked a lesson in responsibility.
