Kishore Singh: Runaway negotiations

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Some time late afternoon, following a scrap with his sister, my son told his mother that he was leaving home, and could she advance him some money on account of the pocket money I still had to pay him?

Not taking serious note of it till he had banged the front door behind him, my wife rang me in the office to say, "Our son has run away.""I hope you didn't give him the car," I panicked. "No, I didn't," said my wife, "because I need it to go out myself, though he did ask for it."

"Well, the good thing is that I can turn his bedroom back into my study," I laughed. "How can you be so heartless when I'm telling you our son has left home," said my wife. "Doesn't he have a tuition class today?" I asked her. "Yes," she said, "I don't know why he ran away today when tomorrow might have been better, seeing that the weekend is coming up so he'll have more free time on hand."

"Well, just ring him on his mobile and call him back," I suggested. "I've tried," said my wife, "but he isn't taking my calls, and even sent me an SMS saying he's had enough of all of us." "Well, okay, I'll phone him," I promised, "even though I'm busy and don't have the time to go after errant children."

The first time I punched in my son's mobile number, he took the call, but said: "Don't try and talk me into coming back home, because I won't." "All right," I said, "but can you tell me where you are?" "I'm in a very comfortable place," he retorted, "which is why I'll never come home." "That's nice," I said, but you must tell me where you've run away to, so I can tell your friends where to find you when they call."

Sheepishly, my son admitted he was sitting at Barista. "Yes," I said, "that is a nice cafe to spend some time in, but I'm afraid they won't let you sit there forever." "They can't throw me out," he protested, "because I'm having a chocolate shake."

"Just the right thing to cool off when you're angry," I admitted, "but they'll give you a bill at some stage, and then you'll have to leave." My son thought about it: "Not if I order a chicken sandwich," he said. "Just the right starvation diet," I said, "for when you run away from home."

He gave this some consideration. "I guess I'll have to come back home, after all," he sulked. "Tough luck," I commiserated, "but I promise not to tell your friends about it if you promise not to run away again."

"Can I give my tuition class a miss today?" he bargained. "No," I said, "but you can spend an extra half-hour at the gym." "Can we at least go out for dinner?" he asked. "No, again," I said, "though I could ask your mom to make you a favourite dish, though I can't promise it "" after all, she might be miffed at you for running away."

"Oh dear," said my son, the full import of his actions now dawning on him. "I suppose it might be too much to ask if you'd let me off doing homework today?" "No go, son," I said, "that's non-negotiable."

"Listen," he whispered urgently, "my phone battery is dying out, so before I come home, will you at least agree to pay my bills at Barista?" "Ideally," I said, "I would have liked to, but seeing as how you went off without permission, I think I'd like to make an example of it, so I'm afraid you'll have to pay your own bills for running away from home."