Yesterday was the start of a three-day weekend, yet my 13-year old son was glum. My husband had asked me to talk to our son, after getting a face that was ready to burst into tears when discussing of all things, a birthday party.

I found him in his room, playing an online game with his best friend next door. Adults may have a drink to escape their troubles. Teens turn to video games.

"Hey, I heard you don’t want to go to someone’s birthday party tomorrow. Who is this person? "

He took notice and I could see his face drop. "His name is Tony."

"Can you stop playing the game so we can talk about this?"

He signed off and turned towards me.

"When did he invite you to his party?"

"Day before yesterday, he asked me if I could come. I told him yesterday that I could come. Then today, he wanted me to call him again to confirm that I could come. He only invited two friends, a friend from his old school and me."

"How come you don’t want to go to his party?"

"I’m Tony’s best friend, but he’s not my best friend. In fact, he’s not even a good friend. Tony came from another school and he doesn’t have a lot of friends at school. He’s a little weird. He talks to me a lot at lunch, even when I try to show him that I’m busy or I want to talk to my other friends. The party’s tomorrow and I don’t want to go."

His face was tense, as if the weight of the world was on his small shoulders.

"Is he unkind?"

"No, it’s not that. It’s hard to explain. He doesn’t have the social skills. Kids were picking on him one day and I stood up for him."

At this, tears welled up in my eyes, hearing about this good deed and my son’s courage and kindness. He continued on.

"After that, he thought of me as his best friend. If I go to his birthday party, well, he’ll really think I’m his best friend."

"You mean, he latched on to you and you’re afraid it will get worse after going to his party?"

"Yeah, he latched on to me." I could tell there was some relief in having found the right words to describe the situation. We both also knew that this was a sticky situation, with no easy answer.

"But if I tell him that I’m not his friend, he’ll feel really bad. I just can’t tell him that. He’ll take it really badly." At this last point, my son seemed to be in physical pain, from the thought of what felt like the height of cruelty.

"So what were you thinking of doing?"

"I don’t know. I was thinking that tomorrow I could say I was sick. You could tell him that I’ve got a fever." He looked a bit lighter, as if this solution just might work.

"Does that feel like the right thing to do?"

"Well, not really. But I don’t know what else to do."

We brainstormed options for several minutes, including having me talk to Tony’s parents. I rejected this option outright, as I felt that I would be doing my son’s bidding and that he should solve his own problems. I was pushing for him to call Tony that day, to tell him the truth about how he felt, before the day of his party. It wasn’t what he wanted to hear.

With no clear solution, we moved to my 15-year old’s room in search of answers.

"Did you hear everything we just talked about?" This was a rhetorical question, with open bedroom doors and being an earshot away.

"Yeah, basically."

"Do you have any advice for your brother?"

He swiveled on his desk chair, thinking about what it would be like to be in his brother’s shoes.

"Well, I guess I wouldn’t have said yes in the first place. I would have told him no."

This was true to my older son’s nature. He has no trouble being blunt about whether he wants to do something or not, independent of how others might feel about it. Sometimes, this is a really good thing. Other times, he can come off as, um, a bit cold. My younger son was having trouble accepting this scenario.

"You wouldn’t do that."

"Yes I would."

That wasn’t what my son wanted to hear either.

"Hey, let’s talk to your dad. Maybe he’ll have another point of view."

On these type of matters, my husband is clear thinking, because he innately knows what the right thing is to do for the long term results and he’s not afraid of the short-term consequences. He’s got common sense, integrity, and humility. A winning package when it comes to sticky relationship situations.

After talking with my husband, he rejected the idea of calling in sick, going to the party and then telling Tony the truth afterwards, or having our son call Tony’s parents. He accepted the idea of a parent-to-parent talk. Which meant me talking to Tony’s parents.

"What do I say?"

"My son is thankful for the invitation and he won’t be attending the party. Tony views my son as a good friend but unfortunately, my son doesn’t feel the same way. The reason I’m calling is that my son was having trouble expressing this.

He’s emotionally torn. He knows Tony doesn’t have a lot of friends and he didn’t want to hurt his feelings. He also doesn’t want to lead Tony on that the feeling is mutual. I hope that you’ll be able to talk to Tony in a way that he can understand this."

My husband said it so beautifully that I felt justified in asking him to make the call. He grudgingly agreed. As it turns out, on the first call, Tony’s parents were not home. Two hours later, with no call back, our son was getting nervous. I volunteered to make the next call. Tony’s mother answered.  Her voice was sweet and reassuring. The kind of voice that conveys thoughtfulness, good intent and patience in the face of grumpy kids and getting dinner on the table at the end of the day. I introduced myself and could hear a voice, clearly expressing discomfort, in the background.

"Can I call you right back? My other son is autistic and he needs some attention right now."

"Oh, sure." I hung up, feeling guilty.

When Tony’s mother called back, I went into my spiel, covering the notes I had written down, so as not to forget anything. She was more than gracious. She understood my son’s feelings and didn’t want him to be in an uncomfortable position. She acknowledged her son’s challenge with social skills. She thanked me for being considerate as to call and explain what my son was feeling. I got the sense that in past situations, other kids or parents would have made excuses and she knew it. And she held no grudge but instead said that she would talk to her son in a way that he could understand the situation.

This woman was not just gracious, she was grace manifested. How could someone react with such kindness and understanding, when her son had just been rejected? Only someone with grace has this power.

I hung up the phone, grateful to Tony’s mom, to Tony, to my husband, and to my son. I had seen grace up close, when there are no easy answers, only moments when we understand the human condition in a deeper way.