Trying to tame a nocturnal teen: a parent's balancing act

McColm writes about a plan to impose order on a nocturnal 15-year-old by changing their living arrangement during the school week: the boy would stay with his father and return to his mother on weekends, in a bid to ensure he shows up on time for registration and keeps up with homework as he begins fifth year.

On the first evening, the household runs through the new regime with a mix of stern practicality and light humor. The father tells the teen that homework should take about half an hour, so two crucial benefits follow: the work won’t pile up and the boy won’t be faced with a barrage of reminders from both parents. After the discussion, they watch a movie together, with the boy casually noting his hunger and the family settling for two cheese and ham toasties after a pair of large bowls of spaghetti carbonara. The discussion turns toward routines rather than restrictions, but it remains clear that the goal is steady progress, not punishment.

The following morning, the father is up at 7 a.m., outside the bedroom door, trying to rouse a teenager who would otherwise sleep through lunch if unchecked. He plays an upbeat 1980s track to coax him out of bed: a brisk, if gently ironic, scene that ends with the boy heading to school by 8:30 a.m. Forty-five minutes later, a new school text arrives at the father’s phone: the overdue homework prompt. The father asks whether the work has been completed; the boy insists he did it, but the parent discovers that what was done was only part of the problem—he had completed overdue work for one teacher, not the rest. The situation underscores how quickly a plan designed to add structure can become a moving target when a teen’s time and attention are stretched across multiple subjects.

McColm notes that the father is wrestling with a common parenting dilemma: he wants to be his son’s friend rather than a hard-nosed keeper of rules. He recognizes the moral hazard of hypocrisy, recalling his own school years as a poor student who bunked off to music stores and more. Still, he insists that a parent must sometimes assume the role of authority to help a young person transition into adulthood, even if that means sacrificing short-term comfort in the name of long-term discipline. He reflects on the tension as a test many parents face: how to guide a child who is both loved and independent, and how to create a dynamic in which accountability comes from within as much as from without.

The pair finish the outstanding essays in what feels like a cautious victory, and the father suggests more father-and-son bonding time, choosing Reservoir Dogs as the next shared experience because it is somehow less burdensome without the weight of homework looming over them. The teen heads back to his mother’s after school the following day, and the father begins meal planning for the next return—prepping meals that will appeal to a growing appetite and a schedule that continues to shift with the school calendar. Then a new ping arrives from the mother: a message that carries a heavier tone than the day’s small triumphs.

Your son has failed to hand in…

The message lands with the weight of a forecast. A few hours later, the father reviews the update and acknowledges that the progress described in the week’s early chapters has not yet become a consistent pattern. The day’s ending is less about a definitive victory and more about a practical reset: a reminder that parenting adolescents is a constant negotiation between structure and empathy, discipline and flexibility. The account closes on a note that echoes far beyond one family’s routine—an acknowledgement that the lessons learned now can shape a young person’s approach to adulthood, and that the line between being a friend and being a guide can blur as teens navigate their first steps toward independence.