Wesley sat at the dinner table, poking at his plate of meatloaf with a frown. He sighed loudly and pushed it away.
“I’m sick of meatloaf,” he complained. “Can’t you make something else?”
His mother raised an eyebrow. “We had roast chicken yesterday, hamburgers the day before, and fish on Friday,” she said, her voice filled with disbelief.
Wesley rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah…whatever,” he muttered, pushing back his chair to stand up.
“Wesley,” his mother called, her tone firm. “Please rinse your plate and put it in the dishwasher.”
Wesley scoffed. “Why should I? I’m not your slave!”
His mother gasped. “My slave? Helping around the house doesn’t make you a slave!”
“Well, you don’t pay me, do you?” Wesley shot back. “Work without pay is slavery!”
His father, who had been quietly observing, set his fork down and frowned. “Son, we support you. We provide you with a home, food, clothes, and education.”
“That’s your job and my right!” Wesley argued. “The law says you have to do all that, but I don’t have to do anything!”
His mother turned red with frustration. “So we have duties, and you have rights? Is that how you see it? What about your responsibility to help out?”
“If you want me to do chores, you’d better pay me,” Wesley said, crossing his arms defiantly.
His mother opened her mouth, ready to argue, but his father held up a hand. He smiled calmly and said, “Alright, Wesley. We will pay you for your work. From now on, you’re a man, and we will treat you as such.”
Wesley grinned. “Finally, some respect!” he declared.
“We’ll start tomorrow,” his father continued. “I’ll put up a chart listing your chores. You mark what you’ve done daily, and every Friday, you’ll get paid. Sound good?”
“Perfect!” Wesley said, puffing out his chest, feeling like he had won. But he had no idea he was about to have one of the hardest weeks of his life.
The next day, Wesley came home from football practice, stomach growling. He sniffed the air and smiled. “Hey, Mom! What’s for dinner?”
His mother turned with a sweet smile. “Turkey pot-pie with sweet potatoes and peas.”
“Awesome!” Wesley cheered. He glanced at the wall and saw the chart his father had put up. He quickly checked off walking the dog and cleaning his room.
“Nine dollars already,” he thought happily. “I’m going to be rich!”
An hour later, he followed the delicious smell back to the kitchen, only to find his parents eating. His plate was nowhere to be seen.
“Mom!” he cried. “You didn’t call me! I’m starving!”
His father leaned back and said, “Oh, Wesley, now that you’re earning your own money, you’ll have to support yourself. If you want your mother to cook for you, you’ll have to pay her.”
Wesley’s jaw dropped. “PAY HER? I’m not going to pay for dinner!”
“Then you’ll need to buy your own food,” his mother said sweetly.
Wesley stormed upstairs, furious. He ordered a pizza, but when it arrived, the bill was $15 plus delivery and tip. His eyes widened in horror. “I have to work three whole days to pay for this?” he thought.
Being an independent man was expensive.
The next morning, Wesley walked into the kitchen to the smell of bacon and eggs. His stomach grumbled loudly.
“Hey, Mom,” he said, trying to sound sweet. “Can I have my eggs over easy?”
“Of course, dear! That will be six dollars.”
“You’re charging me for breakfast?” he gasped.
“Of course,” she said with a smile. “A cook has to be paid.”
Wesley groaned. He grabbed a granola bar from the cupboard and left for school.
During lunch, he sat down with his friends and sighed. “I think my parents are out to get me,” he muttered before taking a bite of his cafeteria food.
That afternoon, Wesley came home and said, “Dad, I need $70 for my new team jersey. Coach says we all have to get one.”
His dad smiled. “Why are you telling me?”
“So you can give me the money!” Wesley said, confused.
His father shook his head. “No, no, son. You’re earning money now. You have to pay for your own things.”
“I don’t have that kind of money!” Wesley protested. “Where am I supposed to get $70?”
“Save up from what you earn. That’s what we do.”
Wesley felt like the world was crashing down on him. “This isn’t fair!”
“Oh, one more thing,” his mother added. “That will be $12.50 for washing and ironing your clothes.”
Wesley groaned loudly. He didn’t have money for food, clothes, or even a ride to school!
“Dad, can you give me a ride to school tomorrow? I’m running late.”
His dad smirked. “Sure! That’ll be $5.50.”
“You’re charging me for a ride? You’re my DAD!”
“Well, if you took a taxi, you’d have to pay, wouldn’t you?” his dad reasoned.
Fuming, Wesley stormed out of the house. He walked to school the next day and arrived late. By lunchtime, he was shoveling cafeteria food into his mouth, missing his mother’s homemade meals more than ever.
That night, Wesley came down at dinnertime, looking defeated. The house smelled of delicious food, and his stomach ached with hunger.
“Mom, Dad?” he said quietly. “Can we talk?”
“Of course, son,” his dad said, setting down his fork. “What’s on your mind?”
Wesley swallowed hard. “I just wanted to say… I’m sorry about demanding payment. I never really thought about everything you guys do for me. You never ask for anything in return, and I took that for granted.”
His mother’s eyes softened. “That’s all we wanted you to understand, honey. Everything we do, we do out of love, not because we have to.”
Wesley’s father clapped a hand on his shoulder. “A family works together, son. We help each other to make life easier for everyone.”
His mother pulled him into a hug. “Now, how about some dinner? I made cottage pie and green beans—your favorite!”
For the first time in a week, Wesley sat down to eat a home-cooked meal, feeling grateful. That night, he laughed and talked with his parents, realizing how much he had taken them for granted. He had learned an important lesson: love doesn’t demand payment, and family works together.
And from that day forward, Wesley did his chores—without asking for a single penny.
