I tip-toed to your bedroom door
a little while ago
And, oh, the thoughts that filled my mind
I wondered if you'd like to know.
You looked so peaceful as you slept
I took a closer peek
And long to tuck the covers 'round
And kiss your boyish cheek.
But I was afraid I might disturb you
If I tried to touch your hand
And, if awakened with a kiss
You might not understand.

How many times I look at you,
my grown up teenaged son
And memory takes me back through time
To my little curly headed one.
When you were just a little lad
And hurt yourself at play
I'd dry your tears and comfort you
And try to kiss the hurt away.
And now you've grown so big and tall
But growing can be painful too
The hurt shows in your eyes and face
It's harder now to comfort you.

I look across the church sometimes
And see you sitting in your chair
So proud and straight, my teenaged son,
Your girl beside you there.
And I'm reminded once again
Of my curly-headed lad
I'd had to spank in church one day
When he'd been very bad.

You promised me that if I didn't
Punish you like that again
You'd sit up in your seat in church
As quiet as the men.
Perhaps you thought that I was cruel
To punish you that way
It was because I loved you
That I wanted you to obey.

I know there still are many times
When it's hard for you to understand
Why we must make restrictions
And put out a restraining hand.
You think sometimes that it's unfair
To treat you as we do
You'd like to make your own decisions
And our advice often angers you.

I think of the childish tantrums
When you couldn't have your way
And you thought how mean your parents were
And knew they'd "be sorry some day."

Sorry we loved you enough to care
What kind of childhood you had?
No, son, all we wanted was to see you become
As fine a man as your Dad.

So when there are times that you think we're too strict
And the answer too often is "no"
When it seems that we're nagging and just finding fault
With your driving, your companions, the things that you say
And the places you go
Be patient, I ask you, don't judge us too hard
Our lessons have scarcely begun
It's often confusing and baffling to read
The mind of a teenaged son.