Skin on teeth

It is a weird saying, to have just avoided something “by the skin of your teeth”. Given that there’s probably plaque but definitely no skin on our teeth. The source is biblical, Job 19:20, meaning that Job got away with nothing. Today, it is used to describe a narrow escape (according to wikianswers).

My son did escape but only just, being arrested last week.

I’m posting this because as I follow along this torturous parenting voyage, I cling on to the hope that things won’t get worse and that I’ve really learned all I need to know. But they do. And I obviously haven’t yet. So, there’s more late nights writing blog posts to come.

I’ll remain vague about the crime, suffice to say, two of Teen1’s mates have been arrested and are on ‘bail’ or home detention with a nighttime curfew. Supposedly, that should mean that T1 couldn’t go to this mate’s home at night, however, that doesn’t seem to be the case as he’s been there a lot since.

No surprises, but one of the boys arrested is Mrs Focker’s (of the, “I don’t want any trouble but I’m worried T1 is suicidal, and, it isn’t my fault T1’s at my house all the time and his mother is implying I’m supporting his truancy when I am not….” etc etc phone call of last week). In Mrs Focker’s conversation with me, she failed to mention that her son had been arrested a week or so earlier, or that I might expect my son to be implicated in the same alleged crime.

Intriguing. Frustrating. And it explains some of her actions and responses.

As for the Fockers, I have to face the fact that my son is possibly now in their kinship group given this latest development. The police paid a visit on Easter eve and relayed the situation/crime. Which T1 vehemently denied. He was disgusted his mates would dob him in (a familiar reaction to his mates statements implicating him in the cannabis charges for which he was excluded from school). In response to my questions ( I did a lot of breathing out), he put himself in an inebriated state (hooray, he knew not what was going down), but not at the scene. His protestations of innocence didn’t wash with the constabulary, and he was told that he was very lucky not to be arrested with the others. Instead, a police notice has been put against him, and if he breaches certain conditions and is caught, he will be arrested.

I looked at him in a different way. Is this it? Is this really where he wants to be and what he wants to be doing? To me, it is incomprehensible, unfathomable, other worldly, as I’m just not there with this type of crime (and yes, I have committed a few myself over the years, all self directed crimes, so I’m not being all holy about this). I’m just really faffed that I have to deal with yet another thing.

A conversation with the police officer following T1’s departure from the house revealed an ironic truth: until T1 actually commits a crime and is arrested and goes into the Youth justice system, there appears to be little help, support or assistance available to forcibly coerce him into alternative education, or restorative justice programmes. The officer had reasons not to arrest T1; but there was a part of me that wondered if he had, maybe the consequences would start to scare T1 enough to change the course he’s on. Such bitter irony: I’m giving space to the thought that being in the criminal system might help.

The almost arrest has had no effect on behaviour. He’s got a thick skin it would seem, and not just on his teeth.

What it has done in respect of parenting lessons is this: inured me to some degree to the events unfolding. I did and do still feel that I am distant from this and not tangled in the mess. I remain committed to finding solutions. I remain convinced that the good values instilled in him in his early life do live within him and will guide him. But I can’t protect him from his own bad choices of friends or of actions. Even though I cry for him from time to time, I’m in the Other space, watching on with compassion and deep regret.

I wonder what that parenting lesson can be termed? Growing skin on one’s teeth, perhaps?

Calculated loss of cool

In a previous life - one of corporate and political intrigues, saving the world idealism, playing on the world stage, certain people’s ego and self-importance lighting up office buildings, intense intellectualism from some and shallow self-aggrandising from others, frequent altruism and pursuit of the greater good inspiring the work we did, measurable sustainable successes arising from brilliant minds, long and late Friday night drinks, and large pay checks (ahh, those were the days before children!) – I learned a lesson in losing one’s temper occasionally. Once upon a time, involved in some intense international negotiations, my otherwise commanding but calm and reasonable boss unexpectedly lost it during a meeting and gave a dressing down to one and all, demanding they put aside their differences and get on with the job. It was so well delivered, and so scary, it stopped everyone in their tracks, noone complained of imperialist bullying (which they could well have) and we moved rapidly towards a consensus.

Leaving the meeting, my boss turned to me, a mere rookie in the business, and said, “you need to know when to use a calculated loss of cool, and that you can only use it once with any effectiveness. So when you do so, do it well and be sure it achieves the aim that everyone really wants to achieve but are too scared to go out on a limb and demand”.

Somehow, that reminds me of how I really want to lose my cool with some of the Fockers but each time, have retreated to my default position: all behaviour makes sense; other parents are struggling too; we are all human and should be treated with dignity and respect; and, (this one is my fave at the moment), I am no better or worse than any other Focker!

Which masks the fact that recently, I wanted to shout down the phone to Mrs Focker (and out to the universe to all the other Fockers I don’t even want to meet) and tell her to back the fuck off from my son, from providing him with a ‘safe’ house, and an opportunity to waste away his days and nights at her home. I really wanted to let loose. Yell. Scream. Shout. My evil side slides into view and dances and jiggles in front of me when I am on the phone to Fockers, daring me to display a ‘calculated loss of cool’.

But I don’t. Instead, I go to default position again because I know doing otherwise won’t make any difference.

I believe in the power of collective women’s strength within a community. I believe that all mothers (bar a tiny minority) travel through the same emotional landscape when it comes to raising children. I believe we can collectively help and support each other.

“The real religion of the world comes from women much more than from men – from mothers most of all, who carry the key of our souls in their bosoms.” Oliver Wendell Holmes (1809 - 1894)

and one hundred years or so later:

“Some people may call me a feminist… but we need more effort to promote basic human values – human compassion, human affection. And in that respect, females have more sensitivity for others’ pain and suffering…The World will be saved by the Western woman….” Dalai Lama, 2009.

With deepest respect for His Holiness, I hope he would chuckle at my admission of a lack of sensitivity towards the Fockers that occasionally escapes me.

My parenting advice for this blog is: keep cool, don’t get twisted up in others’ complicated lives, and if you do want to lose it, go scream on the beach. I do. And it’s awesomely therapeutic. It often ends up making me laugh. How cool is that?!

Let's talk about... suicide

What conversations do you imagine having to have with your teenager that you need to prepare for, but you find challenging?

The sex talk is the obvious one, whatever your beliefs and family values: 'You need to use some form of contraception now that you are having sex. And be aware of the risk of contracting sexual diseases' … 'Shall we go together to Family Planning' … 'We do not believe in sex before marriage' …

Or around illness: There’s been a diagnosis and I’m not well, and it’s important you understand what is happening…

Or death: I’ve something very sad to tell you…

Separation: Dad and I have something to tell you but before we do, we want you to know that we both love you very much…

And then there’s the conversations that you might not think of preparing for, particularly the heart wrenching ones. One I wasn’t prepared for was the one about suicide.

But it had to be faced up to, and since the challenging conversations of the previous Friday, and with my son AWOL for the following 24 hours, I had some time to get my thoughts in order.

My layperson’s advice that I can give for having this conversation is this: be precise, honest, and factual. Remain calm and keep an open mind.

In tone, you need to be strong and reassuring.

In content, state the issue upfront. Make questions clear and unambiguous. The words will come.

Even the most practiced therapists and counselors know that when it comes to their own parenting, emotion gets in the way – you can’t be a therapist to your children, but you can think about the skills that counselors and psychologists and other health workers employ.

They listen for what’s being said beyond the words spoken. They watch for physical signs that are not congruent with words (for example, when someone is speaking about a challenging event he/she may laugh, or use dismissive language which indicates all is not as it sounds). They don’t talk a lot themselves. They are comfortable with silences, pauses and gaps in conversation, as often these are when the most significant shifts take place and the most relevant information emerges.

But, if you can’t remember all of these skills, just try this: breathe out slowly.

As soon as Teen1 was home and I ascertained he was straight, I launched straight into it: Son, I had an agency contact me concerned about your mental well-being. They specifically mentioned that you may be suicidal. Suicide is extremely serious. I am absolutely here for you, I will listen, and I would like to talk about this now. Can you tell me if they and I am right to be worried? **

T1 looked up from the James Patterson crime novel he was reading in bed and said, “you’ve got to be fucking kidding”.

Which lessened the tension somewhat. “Who told you that?” he asked.

I decided to tell him the circumstances and the person involved.

“Suicide is serious, mum, you don’t muck around with that”, T1 commented. He looked into the middle distance. “I’m not suicidal mum, so give it up”. Then went back to his book.

Suicide is serious, and my heart goes out to all families who have suffered through a loved one’s suicide or attempted suicide. For me, it was another wave that broke over the bow of my little boat on the stormy sea. Although I remain on alert, this particular storm passed without incident.

May all yours be safe.

**Please do not use this as a script. I’d like to think I could do better, but it was all I could come up with at the time. Consult an expert in suicide counselling if anyone you know is at risk. Call Youthline, your hospital’s Emergency Psychology Services, or Lifeline, all of which are available 24 hours. The White Pages or www.mentalhealth.org.nz have lists of numbers.

No suicide. No prosecution.

I had a call tonight from the case worker at the social services organisation, who very carefully and professionally advised me that a person, whose name he could not reveal, had contacted the organisation and told them that they were concerned my son was possibly suicidal. Given the nature of this information, the organisation needed to let me know.

Earlier today, I approached my son to ask him to come with me to get the new school uniform (I'm still banging on at him about the need to go to school - silly really). As I opened my mouth to say, 'we need to go this morning to get ....', his response was negative, aggressive, abusive and dismissive. As I stood in front of the door way and tried to talk to him, he showed an incredibly well honed ability to belittle, mimic and abuse me all at the same time. Quite extraordinary. Anyway, it was like pushing the proverbial uphill, so I stood aside and let him leave. Then, against all my newly learned instincts, I followed him to see where he was going. Now, I haven't driven around looking for him for some time (thanks to already experiencing the futility of doing this, and my own exhaustion). To cut a long painful story short, I phoned the parent at the Focker resident where he went into, and had a conversation that had us both facing off. In my corner, while appreciating that she was offering a place for my son to hang out, I was asking her not to support his truancy and disappearing acts from home; in her corner she said she had no control over his presence in her house, she always asked him if I knew where he was, and she'd given him lectures about going to school. In her view, she was providing a safe space for my child as he obviously didn't want to be at home with me (ouch), he was a lovely quiet boy and no trouble to have in her home (ouch again). After a long conversation, the space between us was not easily navigable, so we agreed to retreat and consider options.

And then I get the phone call late this afternoon: way out here on my lonely parenting planet, I am being told that an anonymous person calls an agency concerned that my son is suicidal.

Forcing long calm deep breaths, I asked myself: is he, where is he, how serious is this, what else do I need to know, and what happens next. My first response was to request the number of the Emergency Psychiatric Services at the hospital. Then I asked for details about this anonymous tip off. It helped that I am aware that the ethical boundaries of confidentiality can be broken if a counsellor is aware that a client may be harming or intending to harm someone else, particularly a child, or if a client is intending to harm themselves. And so in this case, details were very important for me to know what I was dealing with - an attempted suicide, a threat of suicide, a plea for help, erratic and dangerous behaviour...? I really had no idea and needed to know. After checking through the appropriate channels, the case worker came back to me able to reveal some of those details.

(BTW, I am spinning out while all this is going on ....I'm not that tough).

As it turns out, the Mrs Focker who I had talked to earlier, had passed this on to her case worker.

Suicide. Scary scary stuff.

I was advised to wait for her to call me to discuss what she knew. She didn’t. I eventually got hold of her. An hour had gone by and I had no idea where my son was, what state he was in, what I was facing. (I was a bit shaky).

According to her, she had never said my son was suicidal, not at all.

I asked her again, to clarify this. No. Not at all.

So, we had a laugh and talked about the weather. Not.

I seriously think at times I really am on a different planet from anyone else. I’ve just been informed that my son may be suicidal. The case worker suggested that in his view, Mrs Focker was not being malicious by informing the authorities, but was doing so out of care and concern. And then Mrs Focker tells me she never said or implied suicide. Am I somehow living in a parallel universe? That this could be reported to me via an agency, then withdrawn???

Let’s just say the conversation I had with Mrs Focker was challenging. My note pad is covered with scribbles reminding me to keep my Heart at Peace. It helped.

Is my son suicidal? I do not know but I don’t think so. Are you? Your neighbour? Your uncle? Who knows what lies beneath. What I don’t know is whether the supposed safe house parents out there who have my son at their home during school hours, and for all nighters, would contact me if they did think my son was in danger. That scares me. Or am I just on a different planet thinking that communication between parents is the norm?

At least there was good news today: the case worker also informed me that it's unlikely the authorities will seek to prosecute me for not sending T1 to school. Not really worth it given he's almost 16. Excellent news in amongst a lot of bad bad bad conversations. How ironic: I’m not going to go to court for not sending T1 to school. Made my day.

Comment

There's been so much happen since the Board of Trustees meeting on 11 March.

I've met with some amazingly wise and experienced people in the field of parenting services. I've heard stories from strong and resilient parents going through similar experiences. I've talked to numerous community, social support professionals and I 've read a lot of material on teenagers. I've written numerous posts for my blog and not posted them. I've engaged positively and briefly with Teen1 a few times; and I've been treated with incredible disrespect from him in return. I've stayed up nights waiting for him to come home and he hasn't. I've fallen asleep in the early hours wondering where he is. I've even lodged Missing Person's reports with the local police after 36 hour absences from the house. And then withdrawn them. I've been pleasantly surprised when he's arrived in occasionally for dinner. I've greeted him at the door when he's been wet, cold and exhausted from being out at nights on his pushbike, going between the Fockers and home. We've had the new PS3 and all the games taken from the house again. But I've not reported the theft to the Police because it just seems too hard. I've met with the new school and the incredibly supportive School Principal, but T1 has refused to come to meetings with her, or come with me to buy the uniform, or talk about anything at all to do with what comes next. I've shouted at him as he's walked away from me. I've been calm when I've talked to him and walked away when after two sentences he's sworn and been incredibly abusive. I've cried myself to sleep. I've read my counselling books on dealing with teens. I've stopped laughing at Nigel Latta's tv show (sorry Nigel). I've talked to case workers who have only come up with options I've explored already. And I've ignored T1 as a tactic to see what might happen next. I've given T1 the tough love talk, but have not got past the third sentence (of five planned sentences: I know now when to shut up). I've consulted with elders, extended family, counsellors, spirit guides, inner wisdom, my other children, my ex. I've ignored and got on with my own life. I've told him I love him. I've done his washing. I've left his washing.

And from all of this, what do I see before me? A child.

Changing Shape

Teen1 has been off school now for five weeks. He’s refused to come to two meetings at the school that will enrol him; he’s run off from the house twice when I’ve been ready to take him to get a new uniform and fill out the Y11 NCEA options. I ask him when exactly he’ll be ready to go to school and I’m ordered out of his room and to shut up and leave him alone. If it is possible, as it would seem so, his behaviour and his arrogance have become worse.

Life is taking on a different shape. I was asked this week by a colleague if I had school children, to which I replied that I had two. Not three, but two. Not that he would have known, but in order to avoid questions I didn’t want to answer, I denied the existence of a third school age child. In that second, I changed the shape of my life a little.

An acquaintance asked how the boys were doing at school, to which I replied, truthfully, they were doing well. What schools are they at, she asked. One at primary and one at high school was my response. Again, there was my denial (lack of acknowledgement) of a third child. Simply because I don’t want to lie and I don’t want to talk to people about the third child (except anonymously of course…!).

I went to the Year 9 Meet The Teachers evening for Teen2, and as I sat there listening to the Dean talk about the school, I was struck at how different my perspective is today compared with two years ago when Teen1 started at that school. Although I was there for my very different, unique, child, I was deeply conscious of how my store of hope and possibility had been eroded replaced with something akin to resigned cynicism. My world has shifted, and I have changed.

And then someone walks into my world and hope is restored.

This week, I met a professional, caring person from the school community who has joined my team, who has made me feel not quite so alone in this, and who has given me hope if not just for my son and what might be done to support him through this time, and ultimately for other kids like him. She’s given me the courage to keep searching for solutions, and to ease up a bit more on the anxiety of the situation. She is a School Principal who is offering to enroll my son at her school, while not necessarily expecting that he is in a mindset that will have him actually attend. So, together we will look for alternative options to guide him through the next phase.

My planet doesn’t feel quite so isolated or unpopulated, or barren. It’s a relief having options and taking some action help to give shape and purpose to what lies ahead.