kitty pi

The good news/bad news continues...

I fear that my life will never be normal.

I am pretty sure that it's never going to be normal.

So, I am graduating this month with my Associate's Degree. That's probably not overly impressive, but given my life, it's a big accomplishment. That's good news, right? Four days after my graduation, my son is scheduled to ship off to Boot Camp. For me, that is very bad news.

I had my son when I was 17 years old. Seventeen years and 3 months, to be exact. His dad was 21 and in the Navy. He was my high school boyfriend and I got pregnant when he came home on leave at the end of my sophomore year. There was a lot of pressure from parents to get married before the baby was born, so we did.

When my son was 6 months old, I made the decision to drop out of high school and move to San Diego to raise him. My parents drove with me and a tiny U-Haul trailer to California from Texas and they left two days later. My husband, who I had never lived with before or even spent the night with aside from our brief honeymoon, left to go out to sea before my parents even left town. He was often out to sea, sometimes for six months at a time.

I was horribly depressed. I didn't have any friends. I didn't have any money. I didn't even have a car or a television. My family, such that they were, were a million miles away. Here I was with a baby and no clue what to do. I am quite sure that I was a miserable person to be around and I am sure that had an effect on my son.

Through the years, there were lots of friends, another baby, and several big moves. The only constant thing I recall is that I was not very good about giving my kids structure. When dad was in port, we had a lot of parties. Bedtimes were inconsistent. If the kids didn't want to eat something, I would make sure they got something else. I gave them a lot of choices.

"Do you want to take a bath?" "No" "Okay, we'll try again later."
"Do you want to get dressed?" "No" "Okay, run around naked, that's alright with me."
"Do you want to go to bed?" "No" "Okay, I'll just watch you draw on the walls with that crayon, sweetie."
"Cookies for dinner? No problem."
"Do you want to buy the red Hot Wheel or the blue one?" "Okay, I don't have to eat today so I will just spend my last dollar on a toy for you that you don't need."

It sounds like I was overindulgent, but at the time, it was always easier to give them choices than it was to hear them resist, cry, complain or whine. By the time my daughter was 2 1/2, and my son was 5 1/2, I started to figure out that giving them so many choices was not good for them or me. I was losing my grip on sanity and they were running my life. They were in charge of everything and I was always in a bad mood.

So, I started to crack down. Bedtimes became consistent. Nap times were enforced. Dinner time was dinner time, not play video game time. My daughter eventually adapted to the new Mom-in-charge routine, but my son never did. He was difficult. I mean, he was an angel as a baby, but 4, 5, 6, and on were extraordinarily difficult. He was hard to discipline. He didn't do things he was supposed to, like homework and chores. I would spend hours and hours every night trying to help him, to no avail. He would have temper tantrums when he didn't get something he wanted. And he always wanted something.

He would always struggle with school. And he would always have a hard time fitting in. At first, I figured that was okay because as a teenager, who does fit in? It's hard for him to form attachments to people because we moved around so much. I was always justifying everything.

And then I divorced his father. My son wanted to live with his dad. He was almost 15 at the time.

We talked and talked and talked and finally decided that he could stay with his dad. Unbelievably, shortly thereafter, I moved out of the state. He struggled through school until he was 18 and then he dropped out. Last May, he went into JobCorps and things were going well until 2 weeks ago when he dropped this bombshell.

"Mom, I don't know how to tell you this." These are words every mother dreads.

"It's okay, sweetie, tell me. What is it?"

"I am going to join the Army."

I have no words for news like that. We have had so many conversations since then, but he is determined. He is young and stubborn. He signed the papers on Monday.

I am leaving out my personal feelings about the Army, the military, and the war right now. All of those feelings aside, he knows that joining the military will hurt me and he may or may not want to hurt me intentionally. But this hurts me nonetheless.

Of course, I am my own worst critic. I know intellectually that I did the best I could with the resources I had. I know that I was young and stupid once, too. I know that I physically took great care of my kids and gave them a lot of love and affection. I also know or rather believe, that staying with their father for their sake would not have been better for them. I know that I was a good mom despite the circumstances. That does not take away the pain that I have right now knowing that I failed my children in big ways, and my son in particular, by not giving them what they needed most, namely stability and structure and discipline and a sense of purpose. My regrets in life are few but the ones I have are profound and have to do with things I didn't do.

I love my son unconditionally. We've grown up together in a sense. Only now I have found myself and he is just beginning to even realize he has to do that. He has seen me rebel against the status quo and authority and follow the beat of my own drummer. He knows that I love him and am supremely proud of him even with his tattoos, piercings and shaved head. He can do so much. He is the most sensitive, caring and sweet boy I've ever known. He has even more opportunity and even less responsibility than I had at his age. It is breaking my heart that he is making this choice.

And I am crying right now knowing that next week when I see him graduate from Job Corp it may be the last time I see him whole.

posted by Anita at 11:54 AM