My Teen Son Sold His Guitar to Buy a New Wheelchair for His Classmate – The Next Day, Officers Showed up at Our Door

He nodded quickly. “That’s fair.”

I held out my hand. “Come here.”

He crossed the room and folded himself into me, all elbows and thirteen-year-old awkwardness. I put my arms around him and felt the last of the anger dissolve into something heavier and warmer.

“You’re too much like your father,” I murmured.

He pulled back. “Is that good or bad?”

“Today? Inconvenient, expensive, and good.”

That made him laugh.

“You’re too much like your father.”

***

The next morning, my son made me a cup of tea and asked if we could pick up the wheelchair.

“It’s ready at the hospital, Mom,” he said. “Can we go? And then drop it off at Emily’s house? It’s going to be a surprise because… I didn’t say anything about it.”

“What about her parents, honey? Won’t they be mad that you meddled?” I asked, already putting my shoes on.

“I don’t think they can be mad. They couldn’t help her, so I did. I’m not blaming them. It’s just that… she needed it.”

“Won’t they be mad that you meddled?”

***