Parenting a pre-teen means protecting the bubble of boyhood while teaching responsibility. Here’s how I’m using scaffolding to guide my son through chaos, bad decisions, and growth.
Lately, I find myself shaking my head at the decisions my 12-year-old son makes. To be blunt, sometimes I wonder if he’s using his brain at all. It’s as if he’s wired for destruction and mayhem—like most boys his age. Keeping him alive feels like a full-time job.
But here’s the paradox. The very thing that frustrates me—the impulsiveness, the recklessness, the seemingly boneheaded choices—is also what makes childhood so beautiful. He gets to live inside a bubble where the only job is to enjoy the moment. He doesn’t wake up worrying about long-term consequences, compounding decisions, or responsibilities stacking on his shoulders. He’s just there. In a way, he’s living the way us adults always say we wish we could.
So how do I reconcile this tension as a parent? How do I protect his right to be a kid, while also teaching him that decisions matter?
I remind myself that his brain is still under construction. At twelve, the part of him that governs judgment, foresight, and self-control hasn’t fully wired itself together. What looks to me like carelessness is, in reality, biology at work.
That doesn’t mean I throw up my hands. My role is to provide scaffolding—supportive structures that give him room to be a kid, but also nudge him toward learning responsibility. Some of the scaffolding I’m leaning on right now looks like this:
Natural consequences, not constant reminders. If he forgets his baseball gear, he goes without it for the game or practice. If he loses something, he has to live without it—we’re not replacing it. If he blows his earnings on junk, he’s broke until the next Kool Collectibles payday. These lessons land far deeper than a lecture.
Limited choices that build ownership. “Do you want to put away the dishes first or do your homework first?” I’m okay with either option, but he feels some control.
Routines that reduce decision fatigue. Homework and chores first, then free time. Electronics off at the same hour every night. The rhythm lowers chaos and gives him guardrails.
Storytelling and reflection. After a mistake, I try to ask, “What do you think happened?” instead of scolding. Then I share a quick story about my own mistakes at his age. He remembers the story more than the speech. I’ve learned that kids rarely absorb lectures, but they lean in when you ask questions and invite them into a story—something I wrote about in Why I Don’t Lead With Answers Anymore.
Training wheels for risk. He’s wired for mayhem, so I give him safe outlets—sports, Nerf battles, cooking simple meals—without handing him the keys to the kingdom too soon.
Guardrails around independence. I want my son to have freedom, but I also know he’s twelve and still needs bumpers. That’s why we got him a GPS watch. It lets him roam the neighborhood with his friends, taste independence, and make small choices about where to go—while still giving me a way to check in if needed. He also knows the rule: if he leaves our neighborhood, he owes me a phone call asking permission. Our neighborhood has its dangers, as I wrote about in The Flowers Never Stop Coming. So the watch and the call aren’t about control—they’re about building trust in layers. He gets to feel the joy of being “on his own,” but I get the peace of mind that he’s safe.
Modeling my own decision-making. If he hears me say, “I almost bought that, but I remembered we’re saving for vacation,” it shows him how small choices stack over time.
This is where I am today: protecting the bubble of boyhood while laying down scaffolding that slowly, patiently, teaches responsibility.
I know I didn’t make smart or responsible choices until much later—well into my twenties. Expecting my son to be there at twelve is unreasonable. But expecting him to practice responsibility, one choice at a time, feels right.
Parenting, as I see it now with a pre-teen, isn’t about forcing kids into adulthood too early. It’s about walking with them as they grow into themselves—chaos, bad decisions, mayhem and all.
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