He’s short four thousand for rent. But he found money for sneakers that cost five thousand. And coffee for a hundred every morning? According to him, that’s a normal expense, nothing to worry about. When I told him he should have studied more and stopped spending on nonsense, he got up and left. Now I’m apparently a heartless mother who doesn’t even want him to have a simple joy.
My son is twenty-nine. He works, lives alone, and talks about his job as something that drains him every day. I believe him that it’s not easy. The first time he called saying he was short on rent, I sent him the money that very evening.
He needed three thousand. His washing machine broke and he didn’t have enough until payday. He said he’d pay me back. In the end, I told him to keep it. I was glad he could turn to me.
But then, the next month, a similar message came. And then again.
One time it was because of an extra bill. Another time, a smaller paycheck. Then there was no specific reason. It just didn’t work out again. Gradually, I noticed that around the twenty-fifth, I started checking my phone, feeling like another request could come any minute.
I pay bills too. I run the household on a single paycheck and in the store, I turn over every other item to check the price. I haven’t bought winter boots this year. The old ones will last, I told myself. My son needs help more right now.
Last month, I sent him four thousand. I put off buying my boots again.
When he stopped by a few days ago, the first thing I noticed were his new sneakers. They were perfectly white, brand new. He was holding a coffee cup and barely took off his jacket before he started talking about not being able to cover rent again.
I asked how much the shoes cost.
“Five. But they were on sale.”
At first, I thought he meant five hundred.
He didn’t.
“Five thousand?”
“Mom, they were almost seven originally. It was a great deal.”
I stood by the kitchen counter and suddenly didn’t know whether to laugh or send him home with his coffee cup. I won’t buy myself twelve-hundred-crown shoes because I’m helping him pay for housing. He buys five-thousand-crown shoes and still expects me to appreciate what a bargain he got.
I told him so.
“I don’t have to wear the cheapest shoes my whole life, do I?”
No, he doesn’t. I’d just like to know why I’m the one paying for his more expensive taste.
Then I pointed at the coffee.
“And how much did that cost?”
“A hundred. Why?”
I asked if he buys one every day. He nodded. On the way to work in the morning. On weekends, on the way out. He says it’s his little ritual.
So I did the math for him. Thirty days, three thousand crowns.
“And that’s exactly the amount you regularly ask me for.”
“You’re making me out to be some reckless idiot over one coffee?”
“Over thirty coffees. And five-thousand-crown shoes. And food you have delivered because you don’t feel like cooking.”
I didn’t make this up. He’s told me several times what he ordered. When I offered him meal boxes, he sometimes refused, saying he already had something picked out in the app. Back then, I let it go. But now he was sitting in my kitchen claiming he really had nowhere left to save.
“So I’m just supposed to go to work and not treat myself to anything?”
“If you’re borrowing from me, then maybe for a while, yes.”
That’s when he started saying I have no idea what life is like today. That I have my own apartment and don’t have to pay rent to a stranger. And that his salary isn’t his fault.
His rent is high. I don’t argue with him about that. He just still hasn’t explained how new sneakers and three thousand a month in coffee cups help with that.
I was so upset that I blurted out exactly what I’d avoided telling him for years.
“Then you should have studied more and stopped wasting money on nonsense. I’m not going to cover your rent every month so you don’t have to give up anything.”
He put his coffee cup on the table.
“So you think I’m stupid and it’s all my fault?”
He reminded me that he works a normal job. That he gets up for shifts, pays bills, and tries. Then he said he doesn’t have to be ashamed of his education and that I just humiliated him.
That comment about school was mean. I heard it as soon as I said it. I didn’t want to tell him he was less than anyone else. But in anger, I brought up old arguments about how he refused to think about what he’d do after school, because he always thought there was plenty of time.
I was about to explain, but he already had his jacket in his hand.
“You know what? Keep your money. At least now I know what you think of me.”
He left. Coffee stayed on the table.
I sat in the kitchen afterward and for a while felt like the worst mother in the world. Then I opened my account and looked at the transfers from the past months. Each one had his name. I thought about my boots, the postponed dentist visit, and the shopping trips where I wonder if I can add something extra.
Suddenly, I was angry again.
I sometimes have little left too. But when that happens, I have to cut something out. My son, so far, has mostly cut out his promises that next month he won’t need help.
He didn’t call for two days. Then I got a message.
“At least let me know if you’ll send me those four thousand, so I know where I stand.”
I read it three times. Just two days ago he told me to keep my money. Now he wanted to know when he’d get it.
I wrote back that this time I’m not sending anything. And that he can stop by and talk with me about what he’ll do next.
He replied that he doesn’t need another lecture.
So I put the phone away. I’ll apologize for the school comment. But I’m not sending more money because of it.
I love my son. I just refuse to keep choosing at the end of every month which of my own needs I’ll put off again so he doesn’t have to change a single habit.
Did the mother go too far with her comment about school, or should the son have cut his expenses before asking for money again?
