When My Son Lied About a School Trip—The Lesson Was Mine

I always thought I was doing this parenting thing right. I mean, I read all the blogs, followed gentle parenting hashtags, joined the WhatsApp groups, even saved TikToks on how to “emotionally validate a Gen Z child.”

But nothing prepares you for the day your child disappears—and I don’t mean metaphorically.

It started like any regular Thursday. My 14-year-old son, Tega, told me he had a school trip to Lekki Conservation Centre. I signed the permission slip and even gave him extra money for snacks and “contingency.” He left with his backpack and a wide smile.

By 4 p.m., the school bus was back.

No Tega.

I panicked. Called his teacher. Called the school. Called some of his friends. They all had one answer: He didn’t come on the trip.

I froze. The world went silent for five whole seconds. My heart did backflips.

Where could he have gone?

His WhatsApp was on “last seen 10:22am.” My messages were blue-ticked but unanswered. I called and called. Nothing.

That’s when fear turned into something else. Guilt? Rage? I couldn’t tell.

I drove around Lagos like a mad person. I even went to the Conservation Centre in case he somehow sneaked there alone.

By 9:27 p.m., I was drafting a missing person tweet with shaking hands.

Then, the door creaked open.

It was Tega.

Alive. Sweaty. Tired. Smelling suspiciously like shawarma and smoke.

I didn’t scream. I didn’t slap him. I just said, “Where have you been?”

He looked down and muttered, “I went to Festac… to meet someone.”

Festac?! That’s two hours from here. Alone?

I demanded the full truth. And it came in drops.

Apparently, he’d met a girl on Instagram. A 16-year-old who liked anime, just like him. They’d been chatting for weeks. She invited him to Festac to hang out at a “small birthday thing.” He lied about the school trip to buy himself time.

I was boiling, but then he said something that stopped me.

“I just wanted to feel like I had a real life. Like I was in charge of something.”

That hit me.

Because somewhere in the middle of all my strict rules, tech monitoring, and good intentions, I’d turned his world into a carefully monitored fishbowl. And he felt like a prisoner in his own life.

I grounded him, obviously. Took away phone privileges. But more importantly, we talked. For hours. About safety. About trust. About how even if he felt things I wouldn’t understand, I still wanted to know them.

He cried. I cried. It wasn’t perfect, but it was honest.

Two days later, he came to me and said, “I blocked her. I’m not ready for all that. I just want to figure out who I am first.”

That night, I didn’t sleep out of fear—I stayed up smiling.

Because parenting isn’t just about control. It’s about connection. It’s about letting your kids make mistakes with you, not away from you.

And sometimes, it’s about learning that even if you give them wings, they’ll still need your runway.