I got the painful call again tonight from a Focker resident: "Please come and get Teen1, he was drunk and has fallen asleep on my couch."
The mother and I had a chat, of sorts. I was stalling, trying to concoct a plan of in/action, relieved that I was managing on a Friday night to stick with my FebFast deprivation and, therefore, I had a clear head (no alcohol for a month, and I've included depriving myself of sugar as well, which will supposedly make life 'sweeter', eventually. I'll report on the benefits of my mini-detox around March 4th - I started Feb Fast a few days late!).
Basically, after a conversation with the other mother at the doss house, I decided that driving out at this time in the morning, for the express purpose of attempting to peel my son off a sticky couch after wading through puddles of vomit, was not an exercise I relished doing. So, the clever little plan I decided on, was to see if I could find a willing and underemployed police officer to do the job for me.
Now my murky plan, delivered in a confident, matter of fact voice, didn't go down very well with the Focker parent. When I suggested that it might just send a message to the teenagers that she was unhappy about the state of her house and property, she began to back peddle. She didn't want to get into any trouble, it was not her supplying the alcohol and it would be better not to get her boy into any problems with the police, she argued. (NB: the son is well known to our local police).
I'm sure they won't blame you, was my reassuring response to her. I'll call the police and let's see what they say.
Three minutes later, I get a text from the mother, saying she got my son up and he will be waiting for me to get him. Tell him to start walking, I say, now having decided not to go and get him, but to let him walk home and sober up on the way.
Heartless? Uncaring? Irresponsible to let a drunk 15 year old walk home in the wee hours?
Whatever. It avoided me going out and walking through a cess pit. I was still waiting here on alert for T1 to arrive home (as any caring parent would...). Engaging with a drunk teen is not my idea of fun (particularly when I'm on a self induced deprivation regime). And I got to stay home and empty the dishwasher (and get the muffin mix ready for the "morning").
T1 biked home and is in his lovely warm bed dreaming the sweet dreams of a smashed teenager.
And I'm living up to the intention of my blog: to let other parents know they are not alone. Or maybe it's only me still awake at 3am, not having listened to my own advice from the past year?!? The best, most recent - and strangely familiar - advice I can share with readers tonight came from Johnny at the Central Police Station Communications Centre about an hour ago: if your son's/daughter's not in danger, leave them be and sort it out in the morning.
Well, Gooooood morning!
Well done Voyant.
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