**The Troubles of Adolescence**
Diana and Thomas divorced because they could never agree on how to raise their child. Each blamed the other in their own way.
“Thomas never took responsibility for anything, so I had to handle everything myself from the moment Harry was born,” Diana explained.
“My wife never knew how to relaxalways controlling everything, fussing over pointless things, and making herself miserable,” her ex-husband would say.
Harry was fourteen now, living with his mother and seeing his father once a weekweekends and Wednesdays after football practice. Though Diana and Thomas had split nearly eleven years ago, neither had remarried. Thomas lived alone in his late mothers flatshe had passed from a long illness seven years prior.
When Harry spent weekends with his father, especially this past year, Diana felt some relief. But it was hardly restfulshe still worried. She didnt think Thomas was responsible in the slightest.
“Joking around, having a laughthats his forte. Fun was always his thing. But building anything serious? Impossible. When it was just us, things were fine. Then Harry came along, and everything changed,” she told her mother and friends.
With baby Harry, Thomas had barely lifted a finger. No help, no interest in chores. Diana had embraced motherhood at once, but Thomas never truly felt like a father. Small grievances piled up until they separated.
That was her side of the story. Thomas had his own.
“We just never understood each other. I used to dream about having a childshowing him the world, teaching him things. But Diana turned the joy of parenthood into a nightmare of rules and worries. Always terrified of germs or illnesses. Eventually, I was afraid to even hold him. And if I did anything, shed say it was wrong. So I stopped trying,” he admitted to his mates. It still hurthe felt like a failure.
“Diana, we should divorce,” she announced one day. To his own surprise, he felt only relief.
So they parted quietly, agreeing Thomas would still see Harry.
“Whats the point arguing with a woman who wont listen? Shes always right. How do you reason with that?” he thought.
Eleven years had passed. Thomas never remarriedonce was enough. Professionally, though, he thrived. Oddly enough, his success came from his love of funhe designed video games, and business was thriving.
Diana wiped down the kitchen after supper and headed to her sons room.
“Harry left the bathroom light on again. So carelessjust like his father,” she sighed, pushing open the door marked *Keep Out*.
The usual scene greeted her: Harry glued to his computer, not even glancing up.
“Love, flicking a switch isnt hard. Youre not a childI shouldnt have to remind you.”
“Fine,” Harry grumbled.
“Half an hour more on games, then homework. Or have you forgotten tomorrows test?”
When she returned, he hadnt moved. She snapped at him to shut it off and study. Rolling his eyes, he grabbed his history textbook.
Diana started tomorrows soup so Harry could heat it after school. Peeling potatoes, she wondered:
“How much longer will this phase last? A year ago, he changed overnightcompletely unruly. A teenager, what can you do? We all go through it. But if this drags on, Ill lose my mind.”
On Saturday, Thomas arrived to collect Harry. The boy burst from his room.
“Dad! Finally!” Thomas loved their weekends too.
“Did you pack your books?” Diana pressed.
“Oh, Mum, not this again,” Harry groaned, but he slung his heavy bag over his shoulder and followed his father out, waving her off.
As the door shut, she called after them: “Thomas, help him with mathshis marks are awful. And history too! And dont just feed him pizza!”
In the car, father and son exchanged grins.
“So, whats the plan?” Thomas asked.
“Movies, then the park?” Harry smirked. “And firstpizza!” They both laughed.
Now that Harry was older, Thomas had found a way to connect. Friendship didnt happen by itselfit needed time, shared interests, easy conversations without lectures.
“Hows school?”
“Fine, Dad. Ive got it.”
“Course you do. But if youre stuck, well figure it out.”
“Its nothing. Just my history teachers got it in for me. Worst one in schoolexcept for P.E., thats mint.”
After they left, Diana thought:
“Of course hes thrilled. Thomas only bothered with him once he was older. Typical. The hard partlessons, chores, disciplinefalls on me. Thomas just plays the fun older brother. No wonder Harry adores him.”
“Brilliant weekend. Go on, get inside,” Thomas said, dropping Harry home Sunday evening.
“Cheers, Dad! Best ever!”
Come Monday, Diana dreaded the parent-teacher meeting. Harrys report was dismal: a few fours, a five in P.E., the rest threes and twos.
“Thats ithes in for it,” she fumed, barely hearing the teacher.
“Harrys at risk of failing history and maths. Hes bright, just lazyand he plays games in class.”
Mortified, she stormed home.
“No laptop until those marks improve. And whens he supposed to fix them? The years nearly over”
She marched into his room, snatched his laptop mid-chat, and carried it out.
“No games till summer. Fix those grades. Have you no shame?”
“Mum, relax. You always overreact,” Harry mutteredwords straight from his father.
She couldnt stopranting until the slam of the front door. Harry had bolted. She grabbed the phone.
“Thomas! Harrys run offprobably to you. Hes talked about living with you before!”
“Calm down. Well sort it.”
“Dad, Ive been thinkingI want to live with you,” Harry said when Thomas opened the door.
“Id love that, son. But your mum wont allow it. Not now.”
“Dont make me go back. Please. Ill fix my grades.”
“Stay here. Ill talk to her.”
To his surprise, Diana barely resisted. She was quiet, defeated. He persuaded her easily.
The next morning, Thomas shook Harry awake.
“Up, lad. Seven oclockbreakfast, then school.” But when he checked later, Harry was still asleep.
They rushed through toast, Thomas packed him sandwiches, and they sped off.
“Bed by ten tonight,” he said. Harry nodded.
The week flew bypizza, laughs, no fuss. Then Harry started skipping school.
“Dad, dont worryteachers off sick,” he said. More than once.
Dianas phone rang. The school.
“Harrys truant. Hes failed history and maths.”
She screamed at Thomas.
“Like father, like son! Im taking him homenow!”
Barging into Thomass flat, she stammered:
“Youweour sonI just came from school” Harry, sensing trouble, fled again.
“Your son hasnt been attending. Hes failed. Resits in July.”
Thomas soothed her, though he was shakenhed trusted Harry.
Soon, Dianas mother called.
“Harrys here. Says hes done with you both. Let him stay awhile.”
“Hes at Mums,” Diana breathed.
“Dont cry,” Thomas said, squeezing her shoulder. “We need a plan. Hell run again if we dont sort this. I was the same at his age. Clever ladknows his gran will spoil him. Orders wont work. We have to unite. Whens your holiday?”
They went campingtents, rucksacks, textbooks in tow. Diana drilled history; Thomas tackled maths. It was, against all odds, wonderful.
Now, outside the school, they waited nervously. Harry burst out waving his results.
“Passed! Both of them!”
“Well done!” they chorused.
“Rightbest ice cream in town!” Thomas declared, hitting the accelerator.
At the café, watching them joke, Diana felt no anger. Only lightness. Thomas caught her eye.
“See? We did it. No more fearwere a team again.”
She knew the past was gone. But now, at least, they understood each other.
