mta
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Adventures in Parenting or As the Stomach Churns, II
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May 19 06:02 UTC 1995 |
Well, this has been an evenful day. One that parents, if they're pessimistic,
have nightmares about. It's left me feeling like a total washout as a parent.
It started well enough. Our morning was uncharacteristicly smooth -- both
boys woke up, got up, and were uncomplainingly ready to go right on time.
Both were moderatly cheerful and co-operative. Life was good.
I got to work a few minutes earlier than usual and everything fell into place
there, too. Then, about 10 am, it started.
I answered the phone?
"Is this Mrs. Rydholm?"
"No, but that's my sons' last name. May I help you?"
"I'm officer Cypher from Pioneer High school. I'm an attendance counselor.
(What they used to call a truant officer.) You're son TJ's case just came
across my desk."
"<sigh> You probably can't imagine how glad I am to hear that. Can I call
you when he won't get up for school."
"<laugh> Well, you could I guess..."
etc.
About 1 pm, I got a call from the principal, whose first two messages I'd been
trying to return for days.
TJ had been in "in-school suspension for several days for hanging arounf campus
but refusing to go to class. I hadn't known that. I'd thought he'd stopped
skipping and was attending class regularly lately. Silly me.
Only now he was in more trouble. He had jumped out a bathroom window and
run off. He's now expelled. He's also missing.
I called the police to report him missing, since, as a chronic runaway, known
for leaving the state, his every disapperance is considered a runaway.
They promised to send an officer right over to my office. Oh, joy.
But it must be done. They can't put him in the computer w/o my
hancock.
While I was waiting for the police to arrive and trying to figure out
where to answer his questions (I sit in a demi-cube with all the
priacy of the glass house at the zoo.) a minor office crisis came up.
I ewnt off to deal with that, and as I was returning, I encountered
my "cube-mate" and dear friend helpfully guiding the sweet young officer
toward our cube. I smiled, and in a panic ducked into the nearest conference
room.
There the sweet young officer and I went through the drill we both know so
well.
My dear friend ducked round the corner at one point to bring the photo
of TJ I keep in my desk for just such occasions, but hadn't had a chance
to retrieve.
As I was returning to my desk, I found my boss draped elegantly over
the side of my cube, looking concerned and chatting with my cube mate,
who was explaining the kind of year TJ and I have been having.
My boss gently invited me back to his office for a chat. There he
expressed concern and surprise that I'd been having such troubles and this was
the first he'd heard of it and mentioned, in passing, that while the president
of the company hadn't minded, he had been quite surprised to find a contractor
and a police officer ducking unexpectedly into his private conference room.
(oops.) He also urged me to let him know if there were *anything* he could do
to help. (He's such a warm caring man, and an excellent manager, too.)
I returned to my desk, to find that there had been plenty of time for the
fracured rumours to circulate. For the rest of the day I was to endure
the humiliation of curious stares ans whispered conversations that ended
abruptly when I came around corners. Anyone I'd ever had occasion to deal with
at the company, of course, had already asked my cubemate what was happening and
were prepared with gentle hugs and kind words. (She's a real lifesaver, is my
friend. I doubt I could have faced explaining it over and over and over again.
I also suspect that without her, far more people would have first heard the
rumour that I had been arrested. I caught up with that one, I think.)
Just to top off the day, I got a call from one of the old creditors I hadn't
yet gotten to on my list of debts to pay off. I gently explained that
I had already gone on record as a) insisting that all further contact be
by US Post and b) not disputing that debt and having every intention of paying
it. The poor dear won't last a week in collections. She carefully read my
record to me, until she came to the part where it said never to bother me
by phone. I thought she would burst into tears -- but I was kind about her
oversite and she didn't. We hung up.
The rest of the day was relatively uneventful. (No thremonuclear explosions,
anyway.)
I got home about two hours earlier than usual, my mind torn between thoughts
of what to cook for dinner since Larry (our usual cook) was on a shoot today
and I didn't know when to expect him and where TJ might have gotten to.
*SURPRISE*
Guess who I found sitting on a lawn chair on the sidewalk in front of our
front door?! Yup. A young man closely matching the description I had
given the sweet young officer. Except this one had a beatific smile.
"Hi, Mamma"
Ohboy. He never calls me that unless he wants something.
"Hi. TJ. Where have you been all day?"
"At school"
"No, I mean *after* you jumped out the window."
"Oh." Crestfallen expression, followed by a somewhat less friendly demenor.
"I came straight home. I've been sitting out here for four f***ing hours!"
What came next isn't clear. I was painstaking about not getting into
a shouting match with him. If he can get me to shout he figures he's won.
I do know that although I was as civil as I could manag, I didn't let
him off the hook this time.
Boy did that piss him off.
It wasn't long before he was shouting and calling me names and giving it
a heroes try to guilt me.
I wasn't having any.
The upshot is that after a couple hours of stomping arounding, yelling
at his little brother and I and being thoroughly rude and obnoxious,
he announced that I was a bitch, I obviously didn't want him around, and
he was leaving. He announced he was going to his father's house.
"That's fine, TJ. But there's something you need to know."
(Oh, no. I can't be saying what I think I'm saying)
"If you walk out this door, you won't be able to come back unless and
until you're ready to apologize and prove that you're ready to live like
a civilized human being."
(Gads! I said it. That's torn it.)
"Yeah. Right. Get out of my way. Are you satisfied now? I'm out of your
life."
"TJ, this is not a threat, it's a fact. If you leave, you can't just come
back."
He left.
I sat down and cried. I held my younger son, who was being very sweet
and supportive, and I cried. I called my parents, and I cried and apologized
for every worry I'd ever caused them. My father said to forget that, I
had more important issues to deal with now. He's never been know for being
balanced and rational, except in a crisis. He's a military man, and ewll
trained. In a crisis, he's the one to have at your back.
Then I went to TJ's room to clean up and pack his clothes. In his drawers
I found very few clothes. Those were on the floor. I had to pull down
two blankets and a layer of aluminum foil to let the raunchy smell out and
the fresh air and sunlight in. (What's wrong with him? Doesn't he realize
what every modern schizophrein knows? Milar is the modern and more effective
protection against alien rays!)
What I did find in his drawers was pornography, drug paraphenalia, and
random possessions belonging to every other member of the family. I
also found size eight women's underwear. That might be less upsetting
if I
'd also found condoms.
There was, in a drawer, an undeliverd letter to his GF. In it, he tells her
about his arrest on a felony B&E charge. He apologizes for not calling
since he's grounded from using the phone (funny he's managed to make
long distance calls -- why not to her?) and tells her that given the fact
that he's in as much trouble as he is, and she doesn't need the grief of
of a BF in jail, he thinks they ought to split up. Besides, he says, he thinks
the cops may be on to him more than he'd realized. He thinks they've caught
on to the fact that he's a dealer.
(Oh, gods, no. I'm devastated. The more so because it doesn't come as that
big a surprise.) Now I have to know more. I know enough now to know that
he's in big trouble -- if I'm to be a responsible parent, I have to know the
worst. It feels dreadful. I
've respected his privacy since he was 6. Now I'm reading love letters
from girls and rifling through everything he owns.
The total (significant) discovery: a marijuana cigarette butt (well, I'm pretty
sure) a goopy mess of a pipe made from a tube that originally contained
vitamins, a book promoting LSD, a funny little knife and a couple of tiny
baggies with powder at the bottom.
My heart broke. I took them to the police station after supper. It was
bizarre and disturbing how non-chalant the officer on duty was. My world
was crashing around my ears and she could have been doinf inventory in
a particulary uninspiring stock room.
"So, what do you want us to do with this stuff?"
"Uh, I figured it was my legal duty to bring it to you. I don't know what
you're supposed to do with it, but I don't want it in my home. Maybe you could
note it in his record so when he comes to hearing for the B&E, it can be taken
into account."
Not that I want him in any more trouble, but as I see it, he *is* in more
trouble. I want something to come home to him before he hurts someone.
Sometimes when you've put all your being into loving someone for all their
life, and you see them headed for trouble, and you've done everything in your
power to influence them..sometimes you know in your heart that no matter how it
hurts to do it, if you don't give them a push, in the long run it'll hurt a
great deal more. Sometimes a brick upside the head (figuratively, of course)
is the most loving caress left to you.
He called to apologize almost as soon as he got to his father's house.
He was was pretty somber. He said he was *very* *very* sorry for what
had happened this afternoon. He said I had to understand that he was
under a lot of stress, and he didn't mean to hurt me. He never meant
to hurt me. He loves me.
I told him that I love him as life itself. That I was very sorry for what
had happened, too. That he had to understand that I'm under a lot of stress,
too. That stress was no excuse, because he has brought the stress down
on both of us himself. I told him how humiliating it was to watch as
people gossipped about me in front of me. Speculating abut what I'd done
to get tangled up with the police. I told him about how it seemed so
especially unfair to be simultaneously worried sick about him, humiliated by
him, and abused by him.
I also told him that he could live here until he *proves* that he's ready to
clean up his lifestyle, but that I'll always be here for him. He can call
me any time he wants to talk, and if he wants, I'll meet him somewhere and
we can talk. I told him how desperatly I want him home. How much it
hurts to have this happen. How serious I am about the ground rules.
I don't know if he'll ever be home to stay. I sure hope so. I've done
what I can. His father and I have never agreed about much of anything
when it comes to childrearing. I hope his way works better.
It's the kind of day parents (the pessimistic ones) have nightmares about.
It's been the kind of day no parent, looking into sweet infant eyes ever
*really* believes can happen to them.
It can.
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mta
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response 6 of 18:
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May 22 03:19 UTC 1995 |
Thanks, Mary. Thanks also to everyone who has contacted me by e-mail and
phone over the last several days.
It finally hit me yesterday when I finished washing TJ's laundry, packed
every piece of clothing he owned and toted it all over to his Dad's
house. I cried all the way home -- but it was cleansing. The pain has
been going on for almost a year now and it finally found release. This
weekend I slept soundly for the first time in a very long time, unworried
that TJ would leave the house and find trouble while I was off-duty.
I must have slept more this weekend than I've been able to in a weeks
time this past year.
When you carry someone inside your body for 3/4 of a year, labour for
16 hours to bring them forth into the world, tend to them, play with
them, teach them, feed them, and love them, inevitably certain hopes
and dreams build up. You hope they'll grow strong and good and wise.
You hope their journey will bring them happiness. You hope, when you make
a mistake, that it won't have scarred them too deeply. Perhaps when the
child gows well, you gradually come to realize that they are on a journey
of their own and that no matter how much you love them, your dreams
aren't relevant except as dreams. When things go badly, and they don't choos
wisely, the realization comes harder. It always seems there is one more
thing to try to bring them back on track. Part of it, of course, is
worry about your child's happiness and future and health. Part of it
is more selfish. You don't want to acknowledge the death of your dreams.
Ypou don't want to admit that you're powerless in the life of this person to
whom you gave life. You don't want to accept failure.
I will go on loving him, of course. I will continue to fight him tooth
and nail over his dangerous lifestyle. I will advise, and comfort and
love. But I've had to admit to myself that it's his journey and that
I can't know its reason. It's not my choices anymore.
Now I'll turn my attention back to the youngster who. I fear, was neglected
because he wasn't troublesome. Was take for granted because he was good.
I'll take the time to make up to him as best I can the time we lost when I was
fretting over his prodigal brother.
Thank you for your support. It's been a blessing through this time and it
will continue to be a comfort in the time ahead.
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