We thought our 15-year-old son was joking when he announced he wouldn’t do another chore unless he got paid. But when he drew up a “contract” and handed us an invoice for taking out the garbage, we realized he was serious. That’s when we decided it was time he learned how the real world works.
At dinner that night, Tyler pushed his plate away with a sigh.
“I’m so sick of meatloaf,” he muttered. “Can’t you make anything else?”
His mother, Denise, looked up sharply. “Tyler, we had roast chicken yesterday, burgers the day before, and salmon on Friday. You’ve had variety.”
“Yeah, whatever,” he grumbled, getting up from the table.
“Tyler,” Denise called, trying to stay calm. “Please rinse your plate and put it in the dishwasher.”
From the doorway, Tyler smirked. His voice carried the full weight of teenage defiance:
“Why should I? I’m not your servant.”
Denise stared at him, stunned. “Servant? Really? Doing chores doesn’t make you a servant.”
“You don’t pay me,” Tyler shot back smugly. “Unpaid work is slavery. That’s illegal.”
Greg, his father, set down his fork and leaned back. “We do pay you, son. We feed you, clothe you, drive you everywhere, and cover your education.”
“That’s your job,” Tyler countered. “Parents are required by law to do that. I don’t have to do anything.”
Denise’s cheeks turned red. “So we have obligations, and you only have rights? Is that how you see it?”
Tyler shrugged. “If you want chores done, pay me.”
Denise started to rise, furious, but Greg touched her arm gently.
“You want to be paid?” he asked Tyler evenly.
“Yep,” Tyler said proudly. “I’ve thought it through. Taking out the trash: one dollar. Doing dishes: two. Walking the dog: four. Cleaning my room: five. Yard work or mowing: ten. And you’re lucky I’m not charging back pay.”
Greg smiled, to Denise’s disbelief. “Alright,” he said. “We’ll try it. From now on, you’ll be compensated based on the tasks you complete.”
Tyler beamed. “Finally! Some respect!”
“Tomorrow we’ll start,” Greg continued. “I’ll make a chart. You log your chores and get paid every Friday. Sound fair?”
“Perfect!” Tyler said, almost bouncing out of the room. He had no idea he was about to face the hardest week of his life.
The next evening, Tyler came home from football practice, sweaty and starving. “What’s for dinner?” he shouted.
“Turkey pot pie with sweet potatoes and peas,” Denise said warmly.
“Awesome!” Tyler cheered. He quickly marked off boxes on the chore chart: dog walking and room cleaning. “Nine bucks already,” he whispered. “I’m gonna be rich.”
But when he walked into the kitchen later, he stopped cold. His parents were eating—without him.
“Mom! You didn’t call me!” he complained. “You knew I was hungry!”
Greg looked up calmly. “Tyler, you’re earning money now. That means you pay for your own meals. If you want your mom to cook for you, you’ll need to pay her.”
“What? Pay for dinner?” Tyler said, shocked.
“Otherwise,” Denise teased, “you’ll have to order takeout.”
That night, he ordered pizza. Twenty dollars gone in a single meal. As he chewed, he muttered, “That’s three days of chores wasted.”
The next morning, bacon sizzled in the pan. Tyler’s mouth watered.
“Hey Mom,” he said brightly. “Can I get my eggs over easy?”
“Of course,” she smiled, handing him a plate. “That’ll be six dollars.”
Tyler gaped. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“I’m not,” Denise said firmly.
Later that day, he asked his dad, “Hey, the team needs new jerseys—$69.99. I need the money by Friday.”
Greg raised an eyebrow. “Why are you telling me?”
“Because I need you to pay for it,” Tyler said.
Greg leaned back. “You wanted to be treated like an adult, right? Adults pay for their own expenses.”
“I don’t have seventy dollars!” Tyler protested.
“Then you’d better start saving.”
Tyler left, grumbling. “Fine. At least drive me to school tomorrow. I’ve got a quiz first period.”
“Sure,” Greg said casually. “That’ll be $5.50.”
“You’re charging me for a ride?”
“Wouldn’t you pay an Uber?” Greg replied smoothly.
From the laundry room, Denise called out, “By the way, washing and ironing your clothes this week costs $12.50!”
Tyler stormed to his room.
Walking to school made him late the next morning. Lunch at the cafeteria was bland compared to his mom’s cooking. He missed the smell of her mac and cheese, the way the table was always set.
That night, the dining room table was set beautifully again. His parents sat eating. Tyler stood awkwardly in the doorway.
“Mom? Dad?” he said softly.
They looked up. “Yes?” Greg asked.
“Can we talk?” Tyler hesitated. “I… I’m sorry about the chores-for-money thing. I didn’t realize how much you do for me every day, without asking for anything. I was selfish.”
Greg’s expression softened. “That’s what we wanted you to understand, son. Everything we do—meals, laundry, rides, clothes—it all comes from love. Families take care of each other.”
“I get that now,” Tyler said, his voice cracking. “I thought I deserved everything without giving back. But I was wrong. I’m really sorry.”
Greg put a hand on his shoulder. “In this house, everyone helps. That’s what family means.”
Denise hugged him tightly. “How about some dinner? I made your favorite—cottage pie with green beans.”
Tyler’s face lit up. “That’s amazing.”
From then on, things changed.
Tyler started doing his chores without complaint—washing dishes, walking the dog, mowing the lawn. He even began helping his little sister with math homework. He never demanded money again.
And every time he sat down to eat, he thanked his mom for the meal.
Because now, Tyler finally understood what it meant to be part of a family: to give, to receive, and to love.