False Start

Last night there was drama in my home. It was the uncomfortable kind of drama that always makes me feel like a cornered animal, trapped and willing to claw my way free at any price or to cover my head and pretend I am not there. Over the hours that passed, I could see this same quality in my son . As I think on it today I consider that there should be a rule that this kind of drama remain in the movies, not in my home, heart or head. Although, I feel strangely at arms length from the events of last night as I have not cried, or begged or pleaded. All of those behaviors I had done when my husband would act out. Maybe I have learned that those behaviors just do not work or maybe it is as simple as just not having all the extra energy to spare.

To make a long story short: My husband was looking for a new pack of cigarettes he had stashed away earlier in the day, it was up in the front of the house. My oldest son had friends in the house, more than one, (again) and they were all up in the front of the house as well. The house rule is and has been no more than one friend in the home at a time when parents are not home. This rule however has been brushed off and broken numerous times over the last few months and my son had just gotten his keys back two weeks ago from the last offense. When my husband asked our oldest about his missing cigarette's it became apparent as the discussion, oh hell who am I kidding - the argument went on that my son was hiding something. He was sulking and aggressive, his body took on the look of a locked up lion pacing, jerky movements, no eye contact and he was screaming, pulling his hair and spitting his words out at us. All of his common sense had checked out. It was as if, he was saying, 'How dare we blame his friends for stealing, how dare we not trust him, HOW DARE WE question him and his word…'. Yet later he would admit he stole the cigarettes, but not until after this had played out to the end.

You know that feeling you get when something just does not add up, when you know the answer but you are beside yourself to understand the riddle? That was what was screaming at me. I wanted to look away, as per my usual MO. My husband wanted my son to admit he was lying, my son argued with piss and venom and when that was not working he brought out the big guns. I found myself wishing that I could just go to my room and close the door and ignore this away, hide this away in a drawer somewhere like a dirty little secret I could not bear to tell the world or admit openly to myself. It was hurtful and heartbreaking, to see this person who I thought I knew better than anyone turn into someone I wish I did not know. Yes, there it is, I said it. I wish this child was not who my child had become because he could be and amount to so much more, if only he could see himself as I do.

It was clear to me that he has this sense of entitlement and its an ugliness about him I have a hard time looking at. It is very much like his father had been. I asked my son to leave, I took his keys and said he could come back when he was ready to talk, not yell. No more flailing of the arms allowed; enough already. He was pushing me and itching for something more and I finally had to call the police after he did physically pushed me. I called because my husband could not get involved, that would only help David accomplish his goal of undoing all that we have worked so hard at on our own. We had come so far and coming unglued now was not what would help my husband, David or myself. The police had picked David up down the street, because it was after curfew and he ran out the back door when they rang the bell. Sadly, I sighed a relief that he had left the house when he ran out the door. Seriously I was relived, even though it was wet and cold outside, my son being out rather than in was better for everyone. When the police came back to our door, with David in their car they asked what we wanted to do with him. How do I tell them I just want my baby back or even the sweet tempered child who loved everyone and made everyone smile and laugh, I would take that over this. So instead, I asked them to take him to a friends home, somewhere, anywhere but here and they agreed and did so.

My husband went into a codie panic in David's bedroom. He was going through every drawer, every pocket, opening up little, bitty pieces of paper on the floor and he found what he was looking for and then some. After he found his cigarettes, I asked him what he was looking for and he replied to me, "anything to explain this to me." How ironic was all I could think to myself as bitterness began to rise in my throat. I was aware that my husband's frenzied manner had me feeling unsettled. It made me uncomfortable because it reminded me of myself when he (my husband) was in full blown bottle mode. It reminded me of how I felt back then; helpless, confused, alone, hurt, out of control and chaotic. I found myself wanting to assign blame as I stood in that doorway and I said, "Welcome to my world." As my husband uncovered beer bottles, Wall-Tussin bottles, lighters and various other things, the room became a foreign land to us. It was a room full of chaos, like my child's heart had become, chaotic and foreign. Yet, it was full of all that I had expected, nothing more and nothing less. It was also full of all that I feared and I was not shocked or amazed or torn apart. I accepted it for what it was and for what I know could come.