For good kids - you know, all of them

Day Six

I have a real hard time separating myself when I meet troubled kids.  I see similarities from my own life I guess and my head just jumps to so many conclusions and assumptions.  I have to remind myself that in family situations, things are not always as they seem.  Who knows what really goes on in other people’s homes.

Recently I saw a particularly good kid get berated on Facebook by her dad.  She’s a real sweet kid, very involved, very socially conscientious and the type of teenager you hope your kids grow up to be.  It’s not the first time I felt humiliated FOR her.  This time what I read stayed with me for days and I so wanted to email her and tell her she could come live with me if she wanted to. 

Chances are she would defend her dad and tell me to mind my own business.

Maybe she really is a jerk and if she was my kid maybe I’d publicly tell her what a disappointment she is and how hard she is to live with in front of her entire friends list and my own as well.

I just wonder who picks up the slack there.  Parents are supposed to be advocates for their kids.  The ones who defend them and brag about every accomplishment until you want to yell at them “Enough already!”

I happened to overhear a conversation just a few days ago between a mom and her son and his attorney.  He couldn’t have been more than fourteen - a real punk with an ‘I don’t care about anything’ attitude – who’d gotten caught breaking in somewhere and had been also charged with drug possession.  The mom was nodding and listening to the court orders that had been handed down and not once did she glare at her kid or make comments about the things she could have spent her day doing instead of being in court with him that day.

The mom and I made eye contact for a second and I saw something in her face that was part embarrassment but mostly just sad.  Even standing there with a court-appointed attorney, you could see how much she loved her kid no matter what he had done.

I don’t know what brings people to a point where they can cut their own kids down and send them into the world, expecting them to be confident and wonderful.

Check back with me in fifteen years and perhaps I’ll be singing a different tune.  I just shudder to think of anyone hurting my son and it turns my stomach to think I would ever let my life get so messed up that I’d be the one losing sight of how awesome he is.