They Do Grow Up

My 16-year-old grandson, Nate, has lived with us for the past 4½ years. When he first moved in, he was a full-time brat in residence. You know the type—mouthy, stubborn, allergic to chores, and somehow always just about to clean his room.

But little by little (with a healthy dose of nagging, grounding, and "Because I said so!"), he’s grown into a fine young man. And last Saturday, that fine young man went on his very first date.

A girl (calm down, not a girlfriend) from a nearby high school invited him to her junior prom. Since Nate is homeschooled and doesn’t exactly have a cafeteria to get rejected in, this was a big deal.

He’s also been harassing me for a church suit for months. I kept putting it off because he’s still growing like a corn stalk in Miracle-Gro, and I didn’t feel like shelling out cash for something he’d outgrow before the next sermon. But oh, look—a prom! Suddenly we need a suit. Fancy that.

Of course, before he left, Jim and I gave him the Official Pre-Date Pep Talk, complete with bullet points:

• Get out of the car.

• Go to the door.

• Shake her daddy’s hand like you’re not afraid of him (even if you are).

• Ask, “What time would you like your daughter home, sir?” like a gentleman and not like a hostage.

• Open her car door. (Every. Single. Time.)

• And when you drop her off, walk her to the door. Don’t just boot her out like she’s a pizza delivery.

Then, just for fun, we acted out the worst-case scenario—the kind of date that ends up as a cautionary tale at girls’ sleepovers:

• Honk in the driveway like you’re late for NASCAR.

• Park in the only available puddle.

• Don’t say hello. Just yell, “Let’s roll!”

• At the dance, ask, “Want some punch?” then follow it with, “Cool. Grab me some while you’re up.”

• Dance with every girl but your date.

• Gawk at someone else and say, “Dang, wish she invited me!”

• At the end of the night, slow down just enough for her to tuck-and-roll onto her front lawn.

You know. Real chivalry is dead kind of behavior.

So the big night comes. Nate showered, shaved, got dressed—and while I’m pressing his shirt (with actual steam coming out of the iron and my ears), he strolls in and asks me to trim his hair. Now mind you, I’ve been begging him for weeks to get a haircut. But noooo, not until an hour before go-time, when he suddenly wants me to perform a hair miracle in under ten minutes. Spoiler alert: I didn’t.

So off he went, scruffy hair and all, to pick up his date. Then they came back here for pictures. And folks—I’ll be honest. When I saw him help her out of the car and walk her up to the porch like a real gentleman, I nearly lost it. My throat got tight, my eyes watered up, and I had that full-body grandma moment where you realize they’re not a little boy anymore.

I heard later that she told him she thought she had the best date there. And you know what? I believe it.

He looked good. He acted right. And he made her feel special. That’s a win in my book.

Yup. They do grow up.
Eventually.
And sometimes, they even make you proud enough to forget the smell of their teenage laundry.