Imperfect Parent, Imperfect Child

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

The smile melted and slid off my face as the words slapped me and then hung in the air taunting me. I looked around wishing there was a place to hide. I wondered how many around me heard the cautionary words another mother directed at her son as mine walked up. “Remember, if he uses foul language, you call him on it.”

I eased into the group wondering if I should stay or go. In that instant, my entire day changed. Happy chatter filled the air as the other mothers exchanged greetings and pleasantries. No one seemed to notice my heart laying in pieces in the dirt around me.

Yes, it was my son she was speaking of. Yes, I was a failure as a mother because my son had what she considered a potty mouth. “Why,” I wondered, “did she have to invoke caution in such a public way? Could she not have taken her son aside privately? Was it necessary to announce, in such a passive aggressive way, that I was a failure, and my son one of 'those kids' you'd rather your child not rub up against? Will her child always be so perfect,” I wondered further. “If he slips beyond her iron grip, how will she cope? Will she look back and remember today and how she made me feel?”

2009

It was the most hideous of times. Son #2 had been bullied and tormented till he was beside himself. Tsunamis of anger threatened to wash him away for good. My happy-go-lucky son had disappeared. His last days of childhood destroyed by the tempest that engulfed him. We had been horrified at the changes and helpless to erase the damage done. One day he was safe and life was happy. The next, he'd come inside trembling with anger and spewing vile about his tormentors. He never knew if the day would be safe or scary. After a while, he quit taking chances. He just stopped going out to play.

The day came when he told us about his new vocabulary. “I talk to them the way they talk to me. It is the only way I can make them leave me alone.” If only my 'friend' could have been with me that day. Perhaps she would have seen my son, my foul-mouthed son, in a different light. Perhaps instead of publicly chastising us among our homeschool friends, she would have put her arm around me and told him how glad they were to see him. How glad they were that we had sought refuge among friends where we would be safe and accepted. No matter how we struggled.

2010

We feared we would never get him back. He gravitated to heavy metal music – the kind that would cause many Christian, homeschooling moms to shriek and run if they saw us coming. He wanted navy blue hair down to his waist. He was only 14. We hunkered down and wondered how much worse it could get. We cried out to God, “If you don't help us, no one can.”

With fear and trepidation, we sent him off to camp the 1^st time. Terrified of the potential outcome of sending our angry, head-banging, metal-head to a Christian camp, we spoke at length with camp staff and church staff. They agreed to keep in touch during the week. The fraidy cat in me was adrift in a sea of panic. He couldn't take much more rejection. What if there was more rejection?

He came home with clearer eyes and some of his former energy. He had been the “Tigger” in our household until it was bullied out of him. The return of his 'bounce' gave us hope. Maybe we had turned the tide? We still had much work to do to tame the lion of anger that possessed his soul during the months and months of bullying.

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

We joined a church gym to give him an outlet for his energy. The senior citizens that populated the place looked at his long hair, surly scowl, and middle-of-the-school-day presence. Their looks said he didn't have to open his foul mouth for them to know him. He was one of 'those kids'. It was the park all over again. We were judged wanting, my desperate son and I.

The miracle began to happen in bits and pieces. He'd run to hold the door for a couple as they arrived or departed the gym. From under the hair that hid his scowl, he'd allow a pleasant, “Hello.” They'd take a second look and harsh countenances began to soften.

Before long, the grandpa's were asking to play pool with him when his workout was finished. The desk staff would break into a smile when they saw him coming. They knew him by name. Some would reach out and pat him as he walked by. He wasn't one of 'those kids' afterall. Every gesture was a band-aid to my crushed heart. I watched him begin to flourish as he became everyone's grandson.

Oh, fraidy cat, this story is not all told. Do you know this kid? Have you been that parent? You don't have to explain a thing. All fraidy cats are welcome here, especially if you've been rejected on the playground of perfect parenthood.

2011

This son of mine has taught me something I want to share with you. His story isn't over. He's still a work in progress; aren't we all? You'll be amazed at the rest of the story. I can't wait to share it! When I do, I pray you'll see hope where you may now only sense dread. Love you long and strong. See you tomorrow?

2: Corinthians 2: 7(Amplified Bible)

So [instead of further rebuke, now] you should rather turn and [graciously] forgive and comfort and encourage [him], to keep him from being overwhelmed by excessive sorrow and despair.

 Courtesy B. Creasy - 2010

Galatians 6:1 (NIV)

Brothers, if someone is caught in a sin, you who are spiritual should restore him gently. But watch yourself, or you also may be tempted.

A Grim Fariy Tale-- Homeless Part 3

If the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit were the Brothers Grimm, I could begin tonight's post with the words:

I opened the mailbox. An envelope fluttered out. I opened the envelope. A check fell out. The check was for $12,000.00! I kissed my Handsome Prince, and we all lived happily ever after.

Life, at least mine, is not a fairy tale. The social silence that followed us grew so profound that it was as if I had been dropped right onto the set of some Get Smart movie and into the famed cone of silence. People began to look right through us. Some folks had not spoken to me in over a year even tho' we labored side by side as part of the same 'church family'. News began to leak out via the one person still brave enough to talk to me. Our family was about to abandon ship.

The ringing of the phone jarred me from my consideration of what to pack or store, what to chuck, and what to give away. We were moving from 2400 ft sq 2-story into 2 bedrooms and a bathroom. I had no idea if/when I'd see anything besides our clothes and a few toys for months or years. If it weren't for the pain, I'd have been numb all over.

The voice that penetrated my frenzied decision making was one of those that had been silent for a year. She was the church secretary and also my neighbor. My radar told me it was coming. Her version of God-given wisdom was percolating in her head. I almost expected to hear, "I believe I have 'a word' for you." She made the usual mouth noise of social pleasantries working up the courage to lower the boom. It was almost a relief when she finally fired. Her frustration with us and our plight filled the air like broken shards of glass flying toward me. I had no place to run and hide.

"What," she asked, "do you think God wants you to do? Do you think he wants you to keep homeschooling and be homeless? Or, would he rather you get a job, keep your house, and keep a roof over your heads?"

courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

Even tonight as I type, the shrapnel of her judgment is working its way through my soul 9 years later. At that moment, my mind rewound the previous 12 months of her silence. I thought of all the job searches I had done of which she was unaware. I thought of the day I had a job prospect and asked her. “If I get the job, could you watch my boys for the hour or so after school till I could get home?” I guess she had forgotten her reluctance to stand in that gap. Christians make me so weary sometimes. But, I've already told you that, haven't I?

My soul absorbed her blows. I'm sure my voice was ragged as I replied. "I cannot explain why God has not relieved me of what I feel is his call on my life. As much as I'd like him to give me a new vision, I still believe it is my job to homeschool my boys. In the year since we've spoken, I have had a clear sense that God has called me to be still. In spite of that conviction about what he wants me to do, I have instead done all I know how to do to reverse our course. From my perspective, he has kept his word and frustrated every effort I have made to stop what is happening to us.”

“I am sorry I cannot fast forward the camera of my life. If I could, maybe you and I would both understand why he has compelled me to give up any effort to change what has happened to us. I don't understand why he has foiled every effort I've made. Maybe I'd also understand why he has not given me peace about another educational option. Had I gotten a job, I would obviously made other arrangements for their education. I have not, and so I keep doing what I'm doing till there is something else to do. If I could show you the end results of my homeschooling journey, maybe you could step back and do what I'm having to do. I'm having to trust in a God who doesn't seem to need or want my help to fix my situation.” Needless to say, the call ended pretty quickly.

The cone of silence worked its way inside the walls of my own home. Our 14 year marriage started out hopefully enough. I had no idea, and would not for several more years, that a silent enemy was quietly eating away at our core. All I knew in those days was that we were going weeks without saying more than, “pass the salt”. I tiptoed around the house watching the man I promised to love, honor, and cherish become a shell of the man I married. I watched his anger grow. He was angry at the world and himself. He was angry at God. He was angry at his own anger, I think. If I dared darken the door of our home office, I knew I risked the full brunt of his fury. I had seen the enemy...and he was my husband. We were strangers on auto pilot, and we no longer even passed in the night.

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

In the midst of that hell, I did what mothers do. I kept juggling plates and balls and knives trying to keep our abnormal and crumbling life as normal as possible for 2 boys that deserved none of what was happening. So, I began to frame the future by assuring them that the pending move to Grandma's house was an adventure. I could not say that we had 2 choices: 1) live under a bridge in our car or 2) live with grandma. So, I began to tell them how good God was and that, despite our desperate times, we were blessed because we had a place to go. God had a plan. It was a good plan because he was a loving God. In those days, I believed my God loved me just as much as he loves you. Maybe one day, I'll believe that again.


Oh my....the water is getting deeper. If you come back again, I will know you are not faint of heart. It is so much easier to write about my jousting with technology and home renovations than it is to keep my mask off and tell you the bare knuckled truth.


What are you hiding behind your fraidy cat mask?  Your fraidy cat might have a different name or set of circumstances...but....I'll bet he's listening. Bring him back tomorrow, OK?