I always imagined I’d next be in the Principal’s office to prepare for a particular committee meeting, or to be told first hand my child had been accepted for an international exchange programme. I’m getting really tired from going in to the school for a handwringing, head shaking, exasperating talk about what to do with this youth who has seemingly lost his mind. I’m fast running out of ideas.
Teen1 has been as bleak as he has ever been. Continual late nights, abuse flying around : his 1am arrivals home herald a ‘I’m going to bed so fuck off and leave me alone’. His aggression is constantly flaring, his aggression simmering, his behaviour erratic, his energy and vitality flagging.
I’ve been experiencing my own aggressive side. Earlier, as I raged into the night, my dark forces conspired to do everything from wanting to rip his head off, to - wait for it - not doing his washing. Ever. Again. A brilliantly ineffective strategy on both counts. My simmering frustration was as I tried to work out what on earth to do at the inevitable intervention meeting, and I felt like I was walking in my pain along a path of shame to the principal’s door.
My first walk of shame was… well, probably when I was about 19, but that’s for a different blog! This walk of shame with my son was of a different nature. We were called in for a conference to discuss the ‘what’s next’ of T1’s behaviour. Around the table were the Principal, Dean, Youth Aid officer, external counsellor and myself and son. There had been a two day stand down earlier in the week for telling a teacher to ‘fuck off’ not long since having told the principal to ‘fuck off’ (the principal noting that in ten years he’d never had a student speak to him like that), as well as his random absences from school. The school’s expectations, rules, parameters and so forth were explained again to T1, and very well I have to say, by the principal. But then came the clincher.
The written statement supplied by T1 regarding the swearing incident was, according to the Principal, the most articulate and well-written declaration he had ever read by a pupil (it seems my T1 is demonstrating his unique approach to school and authority in more ways than just anti-establishmentarianism).
I’m not sure what to do with that revelation. In a parallel life, he would be getting accolades for his statement in support of the University scholarship, or the Rhodes, or the international research exchange fellowship. Here, it kind of felt like a hollow attempt to prove to T1 that he has all the intellectual ability, if only he’d use it for his English assignments instead. To me it highlighted how far down another path my son had opted to wander.
I felt like countering with his lack of ability to format a well-rounded sentence over the last several days as I had faced his stream of abuse. “If you don’t give me any money – like EVERY other parent does – then I’m going to steal all your stuff”. He owes one of the Focker adults $20 “cos she gives me cigarettes and stuff and she’s really nice to me, but I want to give her some money back. Why can’t you be more like that?”
Why can’t I indeed.
The school meeting was positive, but as yet inconclusive. The Youth Aid officer explained that she was there to support both T1 and me, but he also had to think about the consequences of his actions. T1 was to apologise to the teacher, give a commitment to the rugby coach to get back into practices, and settle into school activities. In a session with the counsellor immediately following the round table session, T1 came a long way forward in accepting that he needed to tell me the truth of where he was, and so avoid the drama of the night fights and anxieties. I left hopeful.
He left the house each night following without telling me where he was going.
Hoping all parents at least know where their kids are at nights and, hopefully, that’s home in bed.
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