So much of my life I have been
completely transparent (at times embarrassingly so). In general I hold nothing back when it comes
to sharing what’s going on with me. Recently
my family experienced a major event, one I not only didn’t share, but couldn’t
share. While that not sharing was
difficult for other people to understand, it was horrible for me. I have been fortunate over the years, in good
times and bad, my friends have walked alongside to celebrate, cry, rally, pray, vent, and
support, which is as it should be.
That’s what friends are for (and yes, Dionne Warwick is now signing in
my head). Without that support a
challenging time seemed infinitely more challenging. There was no one to call when the pressure
was too great, no one to text who would tell me it would all be okay, and no
one to vent with when it felt like the deck was stacked. And there was no one to remind me that in the grand scheme of things this was small and survivable. Thankfully I am afraid of heights making jumping off the ledge an inconvenient option. Now that it is over, the view from the other side it is far less horrible than it was in the middle of the storm.
As a parent I have been on a
roller coaster ride from the moment I gave birth. As mom to a 17-year-old boy on the verge of
graduating I thought we were coasting into the station for a brief respite. Nothing could have prepared me for the
biggest twist-drop we experienced over the last month after my son was kicked out of school.
Scotty and I were asked to meet with JM’s assistant principal for
a conference. My kiddo had a couple of
bad days – nothing serious; a few tardies, an argument with a fellow student, and
leaving campus for lunch. I was
expecting the “it’s almost graduation, let’s make sure we make it”
speech. I thought leaving campus was the
most serious offense and expected he might lose his parking privilege for the
last month of school. We were ushered in
to an office and promptly had a list of charges read to us. The list must have had 15 different things on
it and I swear some items dated back to freshman year. At the end of the recitation of what amounted
to a hoodlum’s rap sheet, I was asked to answer for the charges. I proffered an accurate psychological explanation
of his behavior, one the administration readily agreed with, and JM was asked
for his input. Oh my child! Watching him square his shoulders, state what
he did was a proud moment - one I experience every time he takes responsibility
for what anything he has done. As we
faced judge and jury awaiting his verdict, I was prepared for suspension, I was
prepared for loss of parking privileges, I was prepared for Saturday school – after
all my mind reasoned, we are talking about a good kid who did a 180 from
previous years, whose teachers and administrators liked him, who hadn’t been in
trouble, is a senior, and who was prepared to graduate in 33 days.
When the room began spinning I
couldn’t tell if it was from rage or shock. The verdict was to remove JM from school and
place him at an alternative discipline school.
Not for the 15 day minimum, but for 34 days – there were only 33 days of
school left! We were then informed that
even if he completed his coursework and received time off for good behavior, he
would not return to his home campus. The
school did not want my child on their campus.
Talk about having the wind knocked out of you! My focus slowly shifted to my son. Of course he was devastated, but he also
shrugged to let me know he would deal with it.
My insides screamed that he had no idea what he would be missing. I knew what he would be missing; I knew those
last idyllic weeks before graduation – Wildcat walk, Prom, Grad Night, yearbook
signing, every single senior activity. He
was informed that he would be cited with criminal trespassing charges if he set
foot on any Denton ISD property. It hit
me then that my son had finally given the school enough rope with which to hang
him.
I was angry at the administration
and at my child. He managed to get himself kicked out of
school - he was no longer welcome. And when we were ushered to the registrar’s
office and told that his paperwork had been prepped the day before, I was angry
all over again. We were led to believe
this was a conference, when in fact the verdict had been predetermined. I seethed and as I drove to work I alternated
between tears and anger. The next day I
enrolled him at the alternative school and I cried. In fact, I cried for the next two weeks. And then my kid showed me the silver lining;
he would get the work done and finish school early, with better grades. He would walk at graduation and the school
administration would still have to hand him his diploma. And he would be okay. I was still angry – my child had created this
situation, he deserved punishment, but he didn’t deserve this. This was overkill for a good kid. This was a kid who talked in class, was
occasionally sarcastic, and would refuse to take consequences for something he
didn’t do. He was not the kid dealing
drugs in the bathroom or the one who shows up drunk to class, or the one who
bullies kids and teachers. It felt
personal and no matter who may try to convince me it otherwise, my instinct
knows better.
So, why didn’t I share? It was a big story for our family, but this
story wasn’t just about me. I was only a minor player. This was about my son who was hurt and angry
and embarrassed. Sure, I too was
embarrassed, sad and angry; I didn’t want to hear platitudes from well-meaning
friends who could not possibly understand what it really felt like. And I certainly didn’t want to hear “poster
wisdom.” I was in full mama bear mode
protecting my cub. I didn’t know if he
would make it through this program. I
didn’t know if he would get the work completed on time – he only had 4 classes but
the curriculum is different and he had to complete the entire second semester a
second time in 30 days. I didn’t know if
he could get through a day without talking or interacting with another human being. I didn’t know if he would want to deal with
all of it just for a diploma and a chance to wear a dress and a funny hat.
I would like to say that my child
surprised me. He didn’t. He did what he does; accepts responsibility,
manages the consequences, and moves on.
He just keeps living. He finished
his coursework in three weeks with grades of 80 and above. As he tells it, he is no longer required to
set foot in a classroom – the next time he does it will be by choice. Now that we are on the other side, my
embarrassment has faded. I am proud of
him and how he handles adversity. There
are so many people that have a certain microscopic perspective of who he is, I
wish they could know who he really is. He
isn’t the hoodlum or delinquent the administration sees, he isn’t the tough kid
that he tries to be. One day there will be some lucky people who get to see who he really is. He is flawed, he is
fabulous, and he is – thankfully – mine.
