[STORY] Reminder: Your job termination meeting is tomorrow at 9am

I never thought parenting would be this hard.

You see all those Instagram parents with matching pajamas, smiling kids, and fancy captions like “Family bonding time”—but in real life, nobody posts about the meltdowns, the late-night cries, or the guilt that eats you up when you snap at your child.

That evening, I was stuck in Lagos traffic with my 8-year-old son in the backseat.

The sun was dipping, painting the sky orange, while my car AC groaned like it was tired of life. I was exhausted from work, scrolling through endless parenting tips blogs earlier in the day because I felt like I was failing at this whole modern parenting thing.

“Daddy,” my son said softly, kicking the back of my seat.

“What is it, Junior?” I replied, trying not to sound irritated.

He leaned forward, eyes big and glassy, like he had been holding something in.

“Why do you always look sad when you pick me up? Did I do something wrong?”

That hit me like trailer brakes in Mile 2 traffic.

I looked at him through the rearview mirror. His face looked so much like mine when I was his age, worried and searching for answers. I froze.

“No, no, buddy. You didn’t do anything wrong,” I said quickly.

He tilted his head. “Then why do you always shout when we get home?”

Silence. Heavy silence. Even the hawkers knocking on my window with Gala and pure water seemed muted.

I swallowed hard. “I’m sorry. I just get tired from work. It’s not you.”

Junior leaned back, hugging his teddy. Then he whispered something I’ll never forget:

“Daddy, I think you should try to be my friend, not just my boss.”

I blinked. Did my son just give me parenting advice at 8 years old?

We finally got home, and instead of the usual rush—me jumping on emails, him glued to his tablet—I said, “Come, let’s try something different.”

We spread a mat on the living room floor. I let him choose: cartoons or board game. He picked Ludo, grinning like he just won a lottery.

As we played, he laughed louder than I’d heard in weeks. “See, Daddy! I beat you!”

I raised my hands dramatically. “Nooo! You’re cheating o!”

He giggled so much, he fell sideways. And for the first time in a long while, I wasn’t thinking about bills, deadlines, or failures. I was just there. Present. A parent, yes, but also a friend.

The twist?

Later that night, as I tucked him in, he looked at me and whispered, “Daddy, thanks for listening to me today. Can we always do this?”

I nodded, my chest tight. But as I turned off the light, my phone buzzed with an email from HR: “Reminder: Your job termination meeting is tomorrow at 9am.”

I stood there in the dark, torn between fear and hope. I didn’t know how I’d provide, but one thing was clear—losing my job was scary, but losing the bond with my son would’ve been worse.

That night, I learned that parenting isn’t about being perfect—it’s about being present.