Prodigal Me Now
By: Abram Hagstrom
Tags: True Story, Parenting, Family, Fatherhood

Prodigal Me Now

One night at bedtime, I told our two older sons a G-rated version of the Prodigal Son story, substituting candy and video games for the drunkenness and debauchery.

The following week, Kai, at six years old, told me he didn’t want to have a family anymore.

Photo credit: Erikka Hagstrom

I had sent the boys upstairs to get ready for bed. I was relaxing on the couch in the main floor. After doing his bathroom duties, Kai, wearing only his underwear, came down with a solemn look on his face.

Kai has the energy of a puppy dog and the curiosity of a cat, so going to bed has never been his favorite time of day. I could tell that he had been brewing up a rationale for something that he wanted, but what he said took me by surprise. ​

​“Papa… I don’t want a family anymore.”

“What do you mean, Kai?”

“Well, I just want to be able to do whatever I want to do.”

“Oh, you mean like the boy in the story I told you last week?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Well, what is it that you want to do?”

“I want to be able to stay up as late as I want, and eat as much candy as I want. Stuff like that.”

“Okay, but if you’re not part of this family, you won’t be able to sleep here anymore.”

Seeing that the conversation was going his way, Kai visibly brightened. “That’s fine,” he said with raised eyebrows.

“I’ll let you sleep on the patio tonight, but tomorrow you’ll have to find somewhere else to live.”

“Okay!”

“Bye, buddy.”

Kai turned and started up the stairs.

“Where’re you going, Kai?”

“I’m going to get my blanket.”

“Nope, sorry. You only have that blanket because you’re a part of this family.”

A look of doubt crossed his face, but nothing like enough to derail the epic plan in the offing. He acquiesced and came back down from the landing.

Standing at the door, he said, “Okay, see you tomorrow, Papa.”

“Okay, see ya, buddy.”

And with that, my son walked out into the August night at about nine o’clock, wearing only his underwear, and closed the door. I was still on the couch.

After a few minutes, I got up to check on him. Peering out the kitchen window, I saw him crouched down, more or less in the middle of the patio, exposed to the cooling air and the growing darkness.

I chuckled softly, reflecting on how much we must all look like that to God at times.

“Poor little guy,” I thought, “but we all have to learn in our own way, at our own time.”

After about ten minutes, I heard a knock at the door. I opened it and there stood Kai, hugging himself to keep warm.

Frowning and looking down, he said, “Papa, I’m ready to come back in.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m not sure you are ready, but come on in and we’ll talk about it.”

So he came in, and I sat down on the bench by the door where the boys take their shoes off. My son, strong but lean, with skin brown from summer days spent outdoors in his underwear, came and stood before me. He stood between my knees and looked into my eyes, and I put my hands on his shoulders as I spoke to him.

“What makes you think you’re ready to come back in?”

“It’s cold out there. And it’s getting really dark.”

“But what about not having a family? Do you want to be part of this family again?”

He nodded with furrowed brow.

“What was your plan, buddy? How did you see that working out for you?”

“I just wanna have my own house and my own things so no one will bother me.”

“And how would you pay for all of those things?”

“I would get a job.”

“Doing what?”

“Maybe building things, or I could be a garbage man or something.”

“How much do you think you could earn each month?”

“Maybe a hundred dollars?”

“And how much do you think it would cost to pay for all your things each month?”

“Umm… I don’t know.”

“Listen to me very carefully. No one would hire you to do anything that would pay you enough to get the things you want.”

“But…”

“Stop. You’re not strong enough or smart enough to get a real job. You are smart, and you are strong, but you’re not strong or smart enough for someone to pay you as much as you would need to live.”

For a moment he just stood there thinking about his options.

I continued, “Someday you will be strong enough and smart enough, and that’s why Mama and I are teaching you to grow up to be a man. Life is like an ocean, and right now you don’t know how to swim. So Mama and I are carrying you on our backs so that you don’t drown. But when you’re ready, you’ll slide off our backs into the water, and then you’ll know how to swim. Does that sound good?”

He smiled and nodded.

“Kai, I want you to grow up and learn how to swim and have your own house and your own job, but as long as I’m carrying you on my back, I’m the boss, okay?”

“Okay, Papa.”

(For some reason, I was envisioning myself as a sea turtle in this analogy. I didn’t mention to Kai that sea turtles babies don’t have it nearly so easy.)

“Now, are you ready to climb into your nice warm bed?”

He nodded, and his six-year-old enthusiasm was tempered with a new note of maturity and the solemnity of gratitude. He wrapped his arms around my waist in a big hug.

“Te amo, Papa.”

“Te amo también, Kai.”

—

Kai and I have not revisited this conversation since that night. Yet on numerous occasions since then, when we pray as a family, Kai has thanked God for both our family and our home.