This was supposed to be a very busy week . . . so busy that I arranged to take the week off work to watch as my three children all graduated from different levels of their early education. The eleven year old moves on to middle school, the fourteen year old takes on high school, while my eldest, at eighteen was supposed to graduate high school. What was supposed to be a very busy week was a less busy week due to the fact that my first-born failed to graduate. He has officially earned himself a spot as a fifth year senior.
In the eighteen years I have been a parent, being involved in their very busy lives, I knew there were many things I would have to worry about, especially in the teen years. I assumed they would be tempted with drinking alcohol, having sex before they were ready, and possibly even experimenting with some assortment of drugs before their high school years were over. It never dawned on me that one of them might not graduate high school. I never even considered it an option. Why didn’t I think of it? Why didn’t we push him harder? Why was I charmed by the fact that he was so smart, he didn’t have to try very hard? While this is a viable option in sixth grade . . . not such a good approach in high school. Why didn’t I kick his ass once in awhile? Why didn’t someone kick mine for not seeing what was happening?
The past five years have brought a lot of changes all starting with my husband being injured and losing his job. As a result we moved from California to Texas. This move provided him a chance for his body to heal and to take care of his elderly mother, who truly needed his care and attention, in a state where we could actually get by on one income. I remember family members saying, Don’t worry, kids are resilient, they will go where you go and be fine. Truth is, my oldest was never fine there.
We originally moved to a very small-minded small town . . . this is where my mother-in-law lived. My son struggled there as he attempted to right the racial wrongs of the world with his own limited twelve- to thirteen-year-old white boy skill set. He struggled even more when we eventually moved to Round Rock. We thought we were doing the right thing by moving there, away from the small town madness that had taken over our daily lives. My mother in law had been placed in a higher level of care so no longer needed us to be near by twenty-four-seven. I had been spending four to five hours a day commuting to work during our first two years in Texas. It seemed like a good idea at the time. All three kids were in agreement and ready to leave when we put our house on the market.
Three months later our home had been listed and sold and we had rented a beautiful home in a really nice golf course community . . . a house we could never have afforded in California. I was excited at the opportunity to live in such a house, and only ten minutes away from my job. I was also glad to have my kids in such a good neighborhood. They would be safe there.
My son, however, hated everything about it. The neighborhood I was so excited about, was definitely too white for him, too rich, not his style. He chose instead to bond with kids that were living on their own or with single parents in apartments in a questionable part of town. He was also broken hearted at this time after having had to move away from his small town girl friend. After dating for seven months, they chose to stay together and give long distance romance a try. As usual, he chose the hardest way, the hardest possible path . . . this seems to be a pattern he continues to follow unfortunately.
