Oct 19, 2012 I can't tell what it is: is it garbage that is on fire, is it socks mildewing behind some dresser, is it road kill sunk (not in the middle of a concrete jungle), is it marijuana? This smell has been lingering around the house, the back yard, the hall way...my son's room. I asked him that is that scent? "Oh, that scent?" he responds, "that is sage, mom, you know the stuff that is wrapped up you light it and it is too keep bad mojo negativity out of your home." "Ohhh yes, yes I know that very well, from my hippy days long gone." I tell him to be safe with it and don't light anything on fire; better yet whatever you are using to light it let me keep it until you are ready to light it again. I knew that was the wrong thing to say, to insinuate...that he is almost 18 and he does not need to be carrying around a lighter. "Mom, for crying out loud, what the hell? I am not a baby, this is my zippo I got it from my real dad as a gift!" Nice, I think...nice a zippo lighter rather than a day of fishing or teaching him how to drive or playing ball...I wonder what else he has given my son? I am to find out only too soon...
The episode slowly fades and after a couple weeks it is all forgotten...until I receive a call from the Principle of my sons HS. I literally fell of my chair and jumped out of my skin with rage. My son, my precious son, my rock of Gibraltar, my own son was caught at school with a pipe in his pocket. A what? I scream into the phone, a flippen what? I am furious, shaking with rage, fear and hopelessness. Police? What? Where? When? I am spuming question after question and not getting the answers that i want. I tell the principle to not allow the police to question my son until I have a arrived. I remind her that he is only 17, not 18 and I as the parent have the right to be there during questioning. She agrees, I hang up the phone while she is still talking to me and am racing down 4 flights of stairs. Had no time to sit and wait for the elevator. It takes about 25 minutes from my office to the HS this time it only takes me 12 minutes.
I run into the Principles office and there is my beautiful boy, all 6'1 of my baby red eyed, runny nose, and crocodile tears streaming down his face. "I'm sorry mom, I am soooo sorry mom," this is all he can say for the next five minutes as I am trying to talk with the police. I look at my son while the ego maniac cop tells me what the procedure are and what my child is facing legality wise. My son is still crying, shaking his head his long hair sticking to his nose and lips where it is all wet from his tears. I go to him and pull his chin up to where I can see his face, I actually do see in his eyes, the shame is which he has brought upon himself and the new load of headaches, fines, driving that have been placed on me. He stand up and towers over my big frame of 5"2. He bends down to hug me, a real hug he has his head on my shoulder and I am rubbing his back telling him softly in his ear that we will get through this, I promise him, give my mother’s word that it will all be ok in the long run. How much more can I take? I feel my heart is about to explode from fear, guilt, pain, shame, and more pain. My daughter is missing, my son is now smoking Marijuana...my other babies so far so good.
After several hours of talking, procedures, blah, blah, blah the officer gets to the some pretty real questions (about time), where do you get weed? How do you get the weed? Is it dealt in the school? Where do you get the money for the weed? Do you just share with your friends? I too wanted to know some of these answers. I speak up and defend my son as far as buying it, "officer, I am a single mother who half the time cannot keep my lights on let alone give enough money to my son to purchase drugs or let alone anything. He receives enough for bus fair and takes his lunch to school." After much to do about nothing my son finally begins to talk, he does not give out any of his friends names, but the Principle and I already can guess who the group is that partakes in this extracurricular activity. I want to know where he gets the marijuana and well as police. With much trepidation my son finally tells us how he gets it...with slow, halting words and his head held in is hands he utters two words "my dad." I can't breathe, my head is spinning I want to throw up all over everyone. I am sick, sick, sick. I have worked for years raising my children as I thought was fit and positive with morals, values, knowing the difference between right and wrong and then this good for nothing sperm donor comes waltzing ion and undoes everything good that I have done for my children.
He continues to tell us that his dad has a medical marijuana card. What the hell? This is BS, real BS. I am pissed and feel at this moment I can only do harm, I need a time out.
My son is suspended for two weeks, take a UA every week and will be tried as an adult and kicked out of school (he is graduating this school year) if he messes up just once, just once! He went to see his dad over the weekend (which I am not happy about), he comes home Sunday night looking guilty...he tells me while he was at his dad's he might have drank a beer. "You might have drunk a beer? Either you did or you didn’t there is nothing in between."
That is it. Just waiting to see what his UA's come out. His father says nothing and takes zero responsibility, all he can say is that he is an American and has his rights. What the hell was I thinking, making babies with this redneck who has an IQ the same number as his shoe size?
I was not fooled by the sage burning episode, I too was a teenager, it may have been one hell of a long time ago but nonetheless a teen. No one ever forgets that skunk scent of the green.
I was just praying it would go away.
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