My 12-year-old son, Cody, loves baking. Our house often smells of cinnamon and vanilla, and his joy reminds me of his late mother, who always said baking was another form of love. Cody had even started selling cookies to our neighbors, beaming with pride at every compliment. But my mother, Elizabeth, who was staying with us, didn’t share the sentiment. She believed baking was “girl stuff” and constantly criticized him, saying real boys should be playing sports, not in the kitchen.

Despite my warnings, she wouldn’t stop. Then one day, I came home to find Cody sobbing. While he was at a friend’s house, my mother had thrown away all his baking supplies—equipment he’d saved for over two years. Her excuse? “He needs a real hobby.” I was furious.

When I confronted her, she stood by her actions, claiming she was saving him from embarrassment. I told her to replace every item she destroyed, and when she refused, I told her to leave. I wouldn’t allow anyone, not even my mother, to crush my son’s spirit.

That night, I reassured Cody that his passion was valid and beautiful. My daughter Casey stood by her brother, reminding him how proud we were. The next day, we went shopping together, replacing every item my mother discarded.

Watching Cody smile again, choosing new spatulas and cookie cutters, confirmed I’d made the right choice. No one has the right to dim a child’s light—not even family.

Because real love means supporting who they truly are. Always.