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That's not a compliment. Good on him for being concerned. He has every right to take you to task for your attitude, even if you think you're "right".
You've proven to him that he is not enough worthy of your trust in a sufficient amount for you to give him a space that you trust him with. I don't know anything at all about your son; I can only go by what you wrote about him on this thread, but you yourself said that he doesn't get into trouble, doesn't do drugs, is doing well in school, even as an Aspie, straightened out a social situation without your involvement or help, and yet somehow, you still do not trust him to the level he feels he deserves.
This is what happened to me (I use myself and my own experience as an example of something a child may wish desperately to hide from their parents): my mom had a suspicion that I was gay when I was 18, and asked a couple times, but the asking was clearly tinged- nay, deeply tinted- with an aura of "you better fucking not be". I knew, beyond doubt, that I had to hide that.
Instant mistrust. Suddenly, even my own existence, my self, wasn't my own. It was hers, in her mind.
When I was 19, I cam home to find every last blessed gay-oriented piece of material spread out over my bedroom floor like an accusation. She justified herself by saying that it wasn't really "my" room, "my" bed, "my" closet- pun intended. Keep in mind, I was 19; legally, I was a tenant. She really did not have any right to snoop, but because she had gotten used to the mindset you're evincing here, she thought it was still operative, just because it was her house. Anyway, she then gave me a wet ditch to sleep in. A year later, she and my father ended my school funding- after I moved back in with them because I had nowhere else to go. I haven't engaged in that which once was the core of my life and why I was in school since that day- ye gods, thirteen years ago.
I probably ought to write a book called "How Not to Parent", even though I don't have kids of my own, because I know what truly bad parenting is like from the receiving end. Mind you, I wasn't ever anything but emotionally abused, but it left deep, penetrating, and still not completely healed wounds that I'll probably have to live with for the rest of my life, wounds all the worse than the physical because the scars they leave behind aren't visible. But the mistrust that was brutally confirmed with that sad event had its origins very far back indeed.
I could talk about the time my mom believed the word of a neighbor over her own son, even though she wasn't there to see "it" happen, and the neighbor was relying on the words of her five-year-old daughter. I could tell you about another neighbor sitting on my chest because I called her out when she was being mean to my friend, her nephew, and how I didn't dare tell my mom because I knew she would blame me.
Seeds of mistrust.
I could tell you about the time my mom decided I couldn't be trusted with my paycheck while I was working with her at McDonald's. That was fun- the store manager forced her to give me my money (at least she couldn't argue that what I had earned wasn't really mine that time) and she literally threw my own paycheck at me. I could also talk about the time I got castigated for driving my own car more than 250 miles in a day around SW michigan, even though I paid for the gas, too, because even though the car was mine, it wasn't "mine" because they were paying for the insurance.
And on and on. I was a lot like you say your son is- I graduated high school with a 3.85 GPA, both NHS cords, more music awards than I can now count, the Sousa award for high school music excellence (given once a year by the band director), an oboe scholarship to Western Michigan University, and so on.
I can say without any guilt at all that I hate my mom. She completely ruined my life in more ways than one, and it's taken me years to come to grips with the fact that, no matter what I did, how many rules I followed, how little contact with the law I had (that being none, thank you), how good my grades were, what I accomplished outside of school- no matter what- I wasn't good enough for her or my father for me to say that they trusted me enough to deal with life on my own. To drive the point home, even after I turned 18, they opened my college grade report before I did.
It wasn't my education, after all. It was theirs, because they were paying for it.
I hope I've given you a bit of perspective, here, and I hope your son doesn't end up feeling about you the way I do about my own mother. The very very worst thing you can do to your kid if you are an otherwise good parent is to sow seeds of mistrust.
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