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When your adult child steals from you...
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<blockquote data-quote="DadInMinn" data-source="post: 619346" data-attributes="member: 17660"><p>A Google search brings me here this morning. I need to tell my story for my own therapy and to get a handle on what has been happening to my family for that past 14 years culminating in events that occurred earlier this week.</p><p>My wife and I married young; we were 22 and 21 years old. I had just returned home from a four-year enlistment in the Marines and a tour of duty in Vietnam. My wife graduated college the month we were married. We settled in to our first apartment; my wife taught school, I attended college and later, law school with help from the G.I. Bill. </p><p>Our eldest son arrived a year and a half after the wedding, the second son came along thirteen months later. The boys were close and grew closer in their school years. I have to say that I was not the model "hands-on" father during those days. My wife took the laboring oar with the boys. She took them to piano lessons, guitar lessons, swimming, and other varied activities in addition to teaching full-time. I studied, did well in school, but, in hindsight, I did not engage the boys to the extent a good father should have. Two more children came along, a son and a daughter, a few years after I began practicing law. These kids have grown to be "normal" adults, with families and vocational direction. </p><p>Back to the older sons: Sports were important to them; both became varsity athletes in high school and college (Big 10 and MIAC). Both received their college degrees, on a B.A. in Business Administration, the other a B.A. in Psychology. One started law school, but only stayed for a year and a half before quitting to pursue his dream to become a major-league baseball player. An irrational choice, as he had not been scouted in college, nor had he made it past day 2 at any try-outs. Nonetheless, both I and my wife supported his decision, keeping our reservations between us. </p><p>Since the two were inseparable, big brother had to follow little brother and his dream. </p><p>The major-league dream became a major-league disappointment. The two wandered around the country, settling for a few weeks or a few months in one location, then another, then another after that. We suspected that both were doing illegal recreational and "performance-enhancing" drugs while they were away. They began living on the street in the mid-2000's. They had run-ins with law enforcement in New Orleans, Los Angeles, and probably other cities. Nothing serious; just "vagrancy" offenses and the like.</p><p>Periodically during the past fourteen years, they would return home after periods of a year or more without any contact. Most often, we would receive a call from one or the other, asking us to purchase bus tickets from L.A., N.Y.C., Savannah, or God-knows-where, back home. When they arrived, we of course gave them food and shelter. We also encouraged them to find jobs. They were either unable to find work or when they found a job, unable to keep it. Whenever we pressed them to try harder, or to not let their increasingly-radical political opinions get in the way of their employment, they would angrily accuse us of being unsupportive, favoring their younger siblings, mistreating them when they were children, and threaten to leave again and go live on the street. Each previous visit inevitably came to an end with our sons walking to the bus depot, backpacks slung over their shoulders, with no goals, no money, no jobs and no future. On one or two occasions, they took a car without permission when they decided it was time to go. One car was never recovered, having been abandoned in Mexico. Once they took my credit card to charge airline tickets. The first few times they left, we felt we had failed them and that it was our fault they were living under bridges or in cardboard boxes. More recently, I have decided that they actually prefer that lifestyle to working and living a "normal" life. Either way, we worried about their health and safety all the time they were gone.</p><p>They returned home last summer. We were treated to the same program we had experienced during their previous visits; they would sleep until 2:00 p..m. Neither obviously had a job. Their personal hygiene was sketchy to say the least. When they were awake, they did little more than eat, watch cable T.V., and surf the internet. We saw no more than half-hearted gestures to help out with household chores. </p><p>The political and economic "discussions" they initiated with us quickly degenerated into shouting matches featuring accusations from them that we did not care about our grandchildrens' future because we did not support the candidate of their choice or believe the conspiracy theory du jour. Suggestions of counseling or professional help were met with derision, "If anyone needs a shrink, it's you and Mom."</p><p>My wife and I left the home in November for an extended stay in a warmer climate. My wife reasoned that "the boys" could use the time to find a job and save some money so that, when she returned in the spring, they could find their own place. Even she had had enough of their confrontational attitude, and wanted them out when she returned.</p><p>When I came home for work in late January, I learned that our sons had sold (or otherwise disposed of) anything they could find of value in our home during the six weeks I was gone. A modest coin collection (from our parents), furniture we had had since we were first married, our bicycles, a Concept 2 rower, and probably more items we are destined to discover missing until we die: Gone. My wife was still down south. </p><p>I have to admit that I lost it. I demanded to know how they felt they had the right to sell our property without permission. "We needed money to live. Besides, we cleaned up this place. When you left, it looked like a crack house. You needed to get rid of all that junk."</p><p>I demanded that they leave immediately. I gave them each $100 cash and a bus ticket to a destination far away. I told them I never wanted to see them or hear from them again. </p><p>They're gone now, and I'm alone in my recently-unfurnished home, hoping I can find the hand tools I will need to change the deadbolt locks. </p><p>I awoke this morning full of remorse. Could I have done anything to help them? Should I have somehow forced them into counseling?</p><p>The personal property is not important. Some of the items can be replaced, others had sentimental value and cannot be replaced, but folks who lose their belongings to fire and natural disaster have to move on, and we will, too. I am dumbfounded by the utter lack of respect and empathy my sons displayed for their mother and me. We gave them shelter and, in return, they looted our home. </p><p>They are 42 and 41 years of age. I no longer consider them my sons.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="DadInMinn, post: 619346, member: 17660"] A Google search brings me here this morning. I need to tell my story for my own therapy and to get a handle on what has been happening to my family for that past 14 years culminating in events that occurred earlier this week. My wife and I married young; we were 22 and 21 years old. I had just returned home from a four-year enlistment in the Marines and a tour of duty in Vietnam. My wife graduated college the month we were married. We settled in to our first apartment; my wife taught school, I attended college and later, law school with help from the G.I. Bill. Our eldest son arrived a year and a half after the wedding, the second son came along thirteen months later. The boys were close and grew closer in their school years. I have to say that I was not the model "hands-on" father during those days. My wife took the laboring oar with the boys. She took them to piano lessons, guitar lessons, swimming, and other varied activities in addition to teaching full-time. I studied, did well in school, but, in hindsight, I did not engage the boys to the extent a good father should have. Two more children came along, a son and a daughter, a few years after I began practicing law. These kids have grown to be "normal" adults, with families and vocational direction. Back to the older sons: Sports were important to them; both became varsity athletes in high school and college (Big 10 and MIAC). Both received their college degrees, on a B.A. in Business Administration, the other a B.A. in Psychology. One started law school, but only stayed for a year and a half before quitting to pursue his dream to become a major-league baseball player. An irrational choice, as he had not been scouted in college, nor had he made it past day 2 at any try-outs. Nonetheless, both I and my wife supported his decision, keeping our reservations between us. Since the two were inseparable, big brother had to follow little brother and his dream. The major-league dream became a major-league disappointment. The two wandered around the country, settling for a few weeks or a few months in one location, then another, then another after that. We suspected that both were doing illegal recreational and "performance-enhancing" drugs while they were away. They began living on the street in the mid-2000's. They had run-ins with law enforcement in New Orleans, Los Angeles, and probably other cities. Nothing serious; just "vagrancy" offenses and the like. Periodically during the past fourteen years, they would return home after periods of a year or more without any contact. Most often, we would receive a call from one or the other, asking us to purchase bus tickets from L.A., N.Y.C., Savannah, or God-knows-where, back home. When they arrived, we of course gave them food and shelter. We also encouraged them to find jobs. They were either unable to find work or when they found a job, unable to keep it. Whenever we pressed them to try harder, or to not let their increasingly-radical political opinions get in the way of their employment, they would angrily accuse us of being unsupportive, favoring their younger siblings, mistreating them when they were children, and threaten to leave again and go live on the street. Each previous visit inevitably came to an end with our sons walking to the bus depot, backpacks slung over their shoulders, with no goals, no money, no jobs and no future. On one or two occasions, they took a car without permission when they decided it was time to go. One car was never recovered, having been abandoned in Mexico. Once they took my credit card to charge airline tickets. The first few times they left, we felt we had failed them and that it was our fault they were living under bridges or in cardboard boxes. More recently, I have decided that they actually prefer that lifestyle to working and living a "normal" life. Either way, we worried about their health and safety all the time they were gone. They returned home last summer. We were treated to the same program we had experienced during their previous visits; they would sleep until 2:00 p..m. Neither obviously had a job. Their personal hygiene was sketchy to say the least. When they were awake, they did little more than eat, watch cable T.V., and surf the internet. We saw no more than half-hearted gestures to help out with household chores. The political and economic "discussions" they initiated with us quickly degenerated into shouting matches featuring accusations from them that we did not care about our grandchildrens' future because we did not support the candidate of their choice or believe the conspiracy theory du jour. Suggestions of counseling or professional help were met with derision, "If anyone needs a shrink, it's you and Mom." My wife and I left the home in November for an extended stay in a warmer climate. My wife reasoned that "the boys" could use the time to find a job and save some money so that, when she returned in the spring, they could find their own place. Even she had had enough of their confrontational attitude, and wanted them out when she returned. When I came home for work in late January, I learned that our sons had sold (or otherwise disposed of) anything they could find of value in our home during the six weeks I was gone. A modest coin collection (from our parents), furniture we had had since we were first married, our bicycles, a Concept 2 rower, and probably more items we are destined to discover missing until we die: Gone. My wife was still down south. I have to admit that I lost it. I demanded to know how they felt they had the right to sell our property without permission. "We needed money to live. Besides, we cleaned up this place. When you left, it looked like a crack house. You needed to get rid of all that junk." I demanded that they leave immediately. I gave them each $100 cash and a bus ticket to a destination far away. I told them I never wanted to see them or hear from them again. They're gone now, and I'm alone in my recently-unfurnished home, hoping I can find the hand tools I will need to change the deadbolt locks. I awoke this morning full of remorse. Could I have done anything to help them? Should I have somehow forced them into counseling? The personal property is not important. Some of the items can be replaced, others had sentimental value and cannot be replaced, but folks who lose their belongings to fire and natural disaster have to move on, and we will, too. I am dumbfounded by the utter lack of respect and empathy my sons displayed for their mother and me. We gave them shelter and, in return, they looted our home. They are 42 and 41 years of age. I no longer consider them my sons. [/QUOTE]
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