Life's a Bully!

There's a lot of talk these days about the dangers of bullying.  These are kids and adults who intimidate, threaten, poke fun, and who are mean spirited towards an individual who seems to be weaker.  You know the kind of person I'm talking about; you've seen it many times.

I think Life can sometimes fit into the category of being a bully.  I have felt intimidated and threatened by Life and her circumstances for me.  I suppose Life could be male, but since Life should be nurturing I'll say it's female.  And  I wonder if the millions who suffer from depression or other mental illnesses haven't been bullied by Life.

Today I was looking at a video of our family that was taken up in the mountains at Thanksgiving when Andy was just two years old.  I guess I had forgotten how sweet and adorable he was because waves of sadness, confusion, and regret washed over me.  What happened to him, to others in my family?  At that moment I determined that Life was beginning to bully me again, by making me feel bad, lacking, and worthless. 

I believe in God, and I believe He sent us here on earth, not to be bullied by Life, but to have joy.  So who is really doing the bullying?  Is it he who can't have life?  He who delights in our sorrow and frustration?  He bullies us into believing we are less than who we really are.  I suppose if someone did not believe in God or this "son of the morning" then it could be Life doing the bullying. I'm not sure I want to label Life as Satan. 

Whoever is doing the bullying, I'm not going to take it any longer.  I'm going to be strong and stand up to the taunts, the teasing, the threats, and intimidation.  I have a son going to prison because he committed a crime.  He is safe, he is paying for his bad deeds, he can begin again.  I have been blessed.                  

A Painted Picture

I am not an artist.  I've tried landscape, water colors, stick figures, and various means of an artistic endeavor, and I can safely say, "I'm not an artist."  Maybe if I spent more time, tried harder, or took lessons,  I could possibly show some talent.  What I do know is that I can paint a picture with words.  All of us can to one extent or another.  I believe that in the two previous posts about my son, I painted a pretty grim picture of him.  I'm sorry.  So in his defense I want to paint another picture of him, this time showing who he really is, and who he really can become.

When I was a little over seven months pregnant with Andy I received some devastating news about a family member that would completely change my life.  I kept the faith, was hopeful and concentrated on the other four children as well as take care of myself in the last few weeks of pregnancy.  After our son was born I would gaze into his dark, penetrating eyes with gratitude that he was born, and feel the whisperings of the spirit that I was loved.  I knew this baby had just left the presence of  Heavenly Hosts who were aware of my life and circumstances, and I felt that he, too, had that knowledge.  He brought joy and comfort to me as a newborn can.  He was a fussy baby, but I was even grateful for that so I could focus on helping him be comfortable rather than cry about my trial.  

Maybe this connection with my baby son from the very beginning is what makes his being where he is even more painful.  But, I would feel this way if any of my children were sitting in a jail cell.  This has made me realize that every man or woman who is in prison began as a newborn babe, innocent and pure.  Perhaps that is what makes the consequence the tragedy.

Andy grew up being loved and being taught right from wrong.  He attended church with the family, he loved to sing the songs and participate in the classes as a young boy, though he was a little antsy and didn't like to sit still for very long, and some teachers were kind and some were not.  Many told me that he was all over the room, but when they asked him what the lesson was about, he could always give the right answer.  He listened, just didn't look like it.  It became obvious that Andy was smarter than the average child.

This youngest brother would do and say things that endeared him to his older brothers and sister.  One time we were traveling through Utah to Oregon for my mother's funeral.  We hit a bad snow storm south of Beaver late at night.  There was very little traffic to make a path in the snow on the Interstate 15.  His dad was driving our mini-van, kids were all on the edge of their seats in full attention because of the treacherousness of the road conditions.  Sure enough we hit black ice and began to slide, then turn, slide some more, and turn completely around heading south in the north bound lane.  We did come to a complete stop and luckily there weren't any cars heading our way.  The van was in total silence until Andy said, "hey that was fun, just like Disneyland, let's do it again!"  The palpable feeling of horror diminished immediately, and a chorus of laughter began.  Another endearing story is his desire for a "oomp attack."  Sorry, I can't share this, family secret!  And I almost forgot about his specialty sandwich, to die for! 

We have always had a pile of lumber laying around, nails, hammers, glue, duct tape; you name it; the kids' dad made sure they could be creative and build whenever they wanted to.  Andy took advantage of it.  Sometimes I would just shake my head in wonder at his finished projects.  Amazing!  For a school project he picked Amelia Earhart as his subject.  There was a globe, wire to hold the airplane,  as well as a zip line, little figures, and a video camera to capture an award winning production.

I have never felt hatred from my son, even when I would lecture, threaten, or throw away his drugs.  He is a survivor, a positive thinker.  When I think of Andy, what can I see when I close my eyes (a practice of mine when I seek revelation)?  I see a young man lifting others in a destitute situation; I see a young man wearing a white shirt and tie blessing someone; I see a clean, healthy man.  Repentance and the atonement are real.  He can become what I see.

More of the Story

Andy was not opposed to the move.  In fact he seemed excited about meeting new friends, living 20 minutes from Six Flags, Universal Studios, the beach, and an hour from Disneyland.  He planned on trying out for football, went to one practice, and then quit.  Within just a couple of months after school started I was called to a meeting with a school counselor to discuss his behavior and lack of motivation to do his homework.  He would stay up late at night, struggled to get up in the morning, and began blowing off school.  Yes, he was disciplined, grounded, taken to a counselor, and loved.

It didn't take Andy very long to become friends with questionable people.  I could smell marijuana often in our home.  The day after his 16th birthday we took him to Arizona for a ten week wilderness experience with an organization that uses the wilderness (and professional therapists) as therapy for at-risk kids.  He enjoyed it for the most part, learned a lot, had a change of heart, but the very night we got home he left with friends and came back smelling like weed.

To make a long story short--he was expelled from school, tried alternative schools, quit his high school education all together,  and continued hanging out with other drop-outs.  He was arrested for writing checks off of his employer's business; checks he made out to his drug friends.  He got probation, along with community service, which he wouldn't show up for and when he did he shoplifted and got kicked out of the program.  His choice then was either jail or rehab for three months.  He chose a residential rehab.  He wouldn't go to the 12-step meetings or counseling, but did stay the full three months.  His dad and I continued to have hope that this was just a phase, he'll outgrow it and get tired of court dates, getting into trouble, etc.  Our discipline fell on deaf ears. 

He was always fairly congenial to be around, didn't argue or fight with us, but did his own thing when we weren't looking.  And when we weren't looking, our son had outgrown the marijuana phase and had graduated to heroin.  He was 17 or 18 years old and addicted to a "killer" drug.

Andy refused help and the consequences were many more traffic tickets, cars impounded, and run-ins with the law, but no more arrests until he and some "friends" went to a home where they were invited in by a young teenage girl.  The boys got drunk, ransacked the house and stole the TV along with some other valuables.  They were arrested, put in jail and Andy was sentenced to one year of which he served six months, eventually.  In between court hearings he was arrested in AZ for a large quantity of marijuana found in his car.  He was sentenced to six months in AZ.  While in jail he detoxed, while out he used, and using means finding money somehow, somewhere to buy the drugs.

After living in California for six years we moved back to Arizona so between the two states, going back and forth for court hearings, warrants, DUI's, in and out of jail for probation violations, it has now STOPPED.  While waiting in California after a court hearing for permission to return to Arizona our son was arrested for possession of stolen goods on his person and in our home there.  He is being accused of many burglaries in the local area.  All done to support his drug habit.  Oh, and I forgot to mention  over the past two years he has stolen many of our personal items that went to pawn shops.

I'm sure as you read this you are wondering why we didn't get this taken care of years ago, when it first began, or when the carnage was happening, or when, when, when.  I tried, we tried various things, could have turned him in when he first began stealing from us, perhaps should have called the police when he brought marijuana into our home.  I really don't know if that would have made a difference.  It seems that his course had been set from an early age. 

 

How Did We Get Here?

I have a 24 year old son, the youngest of five children, who sits in an LA County Jail waiting to find out when, where, how long, and if.  I guess, you could say, I am waiting, too.  Frankly, it makes me sick to my stomach every time I think about it.  I'm sick a lot. 

How did we get to this point?  How did he?  He was raised in the same family as the other four.  Each has found their way in the world as productive, and even extra-ordinary citizens.  My thoughts always go to, "what did I do wrong?"  "What didn't I do, or should have done differently?"

This mom, and many other moms as well, I presume, spend much of life beating ourselves up over the mistakes, sins, crimes, etc. of our children.  I don't ever take the credit for the good they do so why should I take the blame for their misdeeds.  I guess that's just the way it is.
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Back to "how did we get here?"  I have spent countless hours over the past 10+ years thinking about this.  He wasn't really that different as a young child, although he was a little difficult.  He was never violent, in fact gentle.  I could always count on him to tell the truth and he would never steal anything that belonged to someone else.  And he shared everything he had with others.  On Halloween night he gave his brother and sister "first picks" out of his Trick or Treat bag.  He was  always the peacemaker among fighting brothers and sister.  They adored him from the time he was born, and he got along with each individually and as a group better than any sibling in the family. He did have a mind of his own and was not concerned with strict obedience.  When it came to school he was kind of the square peg being squeezed into the round hole.

Andy had exceptional abilities, both mentally, physically, and creatively until Jr. High School.  He was still very honest, but curiosity about alcohol and drugs became his playground.  By the time he was 14 years old, smoking pot and drinking alcohol was not just a matter of curiosity, but they were illegal substances he enjoyed and saw nothing wrong with partaking.  He had already been arrested once for being too physical with a female classmate on the school bus., and he was suspended from school another time, I think.  It's all running together for me

The lying  and hiding the truth now began.  I was concerned, but not overly worried.  I just figured he would soon grow up and this would all be behind us.  School was a problem.  He didn't like it and he didn't put forth any effort to succeed.  Nothing could motivate him.  Not even sports.  Symptoms of a pothead.  Then right in the middle of this, his dad changed jobs and we moved to Los Angeles, California.