HWGA: Thansk for the vote of confidence, but the wimp gland is still a bit swollen and active, so no heavy artillery yet.
When he called, what little my wife could understand of what he was saying is that he was wating for girlfriend to come and drive him home. I was already expecting a bad night, and had gone to bed before 10; he'd be home whenever he got home, or I'd get a call from the police or a hospital. But I wasn't going to feed his ego by waiting up nervously by the door any more.
He got home early. I can only hope that he had the good sense to wait for someone sober to bring him and his car home. Don't know, he won't tell, and he'd just lie if he drove stoned anyway. So what does it matter?
Already informed him that we're done enabling his very easy, soft, suburban life. No clean room? No clean clothes. No help around the house? No help with other problems (he can ask his stoned pothead friends how to handle things like a broken windshield). No cooperation on curfew and respect for agreements that HE makes with us? No more money help, regardless of whether or not he always pays us back. Run out of gas? Talk to your pothead friends. No money for prom? Mooch from your girlfriend or talk to your pothead friends.
No cooperation on curbing your drug use? Count on a bed, food, and basic necessities until you grad HS, then be ready to pack and leave.
Get into trouble with the law for DUI or cooking up hashish (which is what I found out "extracting THC" is)? Don't call me - let your pothead buddies bail you out. Keep up the bad attitude, and you can either find a way to finance your car yourself or I sell it for what you owe me. Oh, and you can find your own insurance instead of me carrying you on my policy and saving you 100 bucks/month. You're also welcome to try and get a cell phone on your own when your current contract expires in June...
:warrior:
I'm dating myself, but I remember having two blacklight posters on my wall when I was a kid (it was during the VietNam War): one was of a pig dressed up in a police officer's uniform; And the other was a poster with Hippie Flowers and a phrase written in that psychodelic font you always saw on the front of Hendrix, Doors, and other albums of the time. The phrase was "If you hate the police, the next time you get mugged call a heroin addict for help".
Pretty much sums up how we feel. If he hates his "jail" so much, then he can do without all the extras we're NOT obligated to provide, and he can see how much support his drug buddies provide to compensate for the cushy stuff he'll no longer get (like clean underwear).
We're done. Not going all the way and kicking him out, but I'm not going to provide a comfortable, cushy life for someone who acts the way he does. I love him enough, and still have some hope, that he'll eventually come to understand that his view of the world is a little bit skewed, and not quite as bad as he thinks it is. The big gun, however, now has a round in the chamber and is out of the holster (for the first time).
Like I said: There will be no yelling, no emotional outbursts, no pleading and begging, we're done. My house, my rules. I'll try to be reasonable and make the rules tolerable for a teenager. But the rules will be respected, or else he gets only what I'm obligated to provide under the law until he can be legally "encouraged" to seek other living arrangements.
That's my story, and I'm sticking to it (at least for the next few hours) :grin:
Mikey
