OUR SON - a family challenge

Click-clacking heels are loud on the hard polished floor surfaces of London Psychiatric Hospital. My wife and I hurry down the long corridors where the absence of people is very noticeable.

The usual hustle and bustle of previous visits is strangely quiet. It’s 11:45 AM and we have a chore to perform. It’s a difficult time. Our son was involved in a serious incident here several days ago. A nurse was badly injured and he was charged with assault and is presently in the Juvenile Detention Center in London.

“She’s still in the hospital Hon,” I say again as we rush along. She doesn’t hear me as she has other things on her mind. It was just one month ago we traced these same footsteps to visit the Psychiatric worker. Our son was assessed by a Family Court Order in Sarnia, Ontario and required a short term restraining facility. This was intended to identify what was behind his lying and stealing habits.

…For five and a half years our family had dealt with difficulties from our youngest of three adopted sons.

“It sure is hot Hon,” I call out as we turn another corner in the long hallway. Our son had been placed for adoption at the age of two. Four foster homes and four adoptive ones had been his route from ages two to nine. At the age of four he received two psychiatric evaluations. One stated he was “unadoptable” due to severe rejection in his formative years and was probably brain damaged. The other stated adoption was possible with firm and loving parents.

Oh son, you are so healthy, and possess such a zest for life. Who could dare say you were brain damaged? And you became part of our family.

He was involved in a breakout at ‘LPH’ as it is called.

The rules there were quite simple. Listen to the staff, do your designated chores and earn your privileges- TV, home visitation, cigarettes and free time with your peer group. As explained to us by a local child assessment clini,c our son needing strong disciplining in dealing with his lack of self esteem.

He was a charming, manipulative person who could easily take you off guard. Apparently he and two others had volunteered to clean up one evening at LPH. Another lad of around 14 was to tackle the nurse holding the keys and the others were to restrain the second staff member in case she came to help. Things got out of hand. Our son was one of the two adolescents who restrained a staff member. The key holder ended up badly beaten by the instigator who lost control of his emotions.

We thought over the incident, fresh in our minds from Family Court as we walked to the observation desk at T2 the adolescent ward at LPH.

Approximately 20 boys and girls from 12-15 live here for an average period of 3 months. Because our son was charged with assault as an accessory he was being evicted from the facility. We've now come to check out all his personal possessions.

It is a difficult journey.

Very few words are spoken between my wife and I. We clasp hands tightly. “Hi there. We’re here to check out our son’s belongings.” We watch the staff person behind the counter carefully look us over.

“Oh yes, we were expecting you. Just a moment.” In a few minutes our son’s belongings along with some personal treasures and clothing items are handed over.

The 1st and 3rd place ribbons along with his Horseman Certificate earned from Ambassador summer camp when he was thirteen came across the counter. Remember how proud you were son, leading that large horse around the track? And then the race for the wiener tied to a post. You had to bite it before returning to the starting gate.

You won the race.

It was hard to believe a young fellow could learn so much in two weeks. You sure enjoyed that Summer Camp at Owen Sound. The Scout badges, shirt, dirty socks, T-shirts, Louis L’Amour pocket book, radio, clock and letters from Mom and Dad and friends, also landed on the counter.

Your pile of treasures began to grow.

They were all there along with a small balance from your allowance. A few pittances son, such a small measure for time spent on this wonderful earth. Oh son, we’re the proud parents of a wonderful boy who can’t believe we truly love him. The years of testing our will and our resolve are so unnecessary. Can’t you understand there is a place for you in our home? It was a big day when you joined our family. Your two older brothers and sister looked forward to you coming to live with us.

They knew what was ahead of them helping you overcome your bad mouthing, bed-wetting, rashes and allergies. One by one your problems fell by the wayside. It was nothing short of miraculous.

Then something happened. No one seems to be able to place his or her finger on it. You began to steal. When confronted, your lying was quite imaginative and convincing. How hard those days were for all of us. Mom and dad and brothers and sister knew things were getting out of control.

But we didn’t know how to stop it. You would dip into each piggybank and my coin collection at will. First pennies, then dimes and dollars began to disappear. You didn’t seem to understand you were hurting your family so much. Trust is so important, son.

“Why did you do it?” were frequent questions.

“I didn’t.”

“Well no one did this before, in this house.”

“You don’t trust me because I’m adopted. You don’t love me the same. You don’t say they stole. Only me. It’s not fair.” And on you would go.

It was sad. It was pathetic. It was heart breaking. Seeing you crying made us ashamed at first. Were we so hard on you? Then you were resentful when we began to discover your true actions of deceit. Later you branched out to the community, chocolate mile from the A&P grocery store, cigarettes from Zeller’s, money from your teacher’s purse.

You seemed to be trying everything to embarrass us. We loved you all the more. You wanted us to give up on you. We didn’t. The higher the ante became the more we tried to prove you were wanted. We softened our approach, not toughened it. Some Social Workers said we were wrong to do this son, that we should have been stricter. Also, maybe you were too much for us. But all your life people gave up on you. They got rid of you when the going got tough.

We stuck it out, year after year. But now things were getting out of hand. The judge was severely alarmed at the third appearance you made before him. He could not believe your stubbornness. Why did you seem to be on such a self-destructive path? What were you trying to prove?

You refused to listen to your parents, ignored school rules and didn't complete the community work order. This led to a most difficult decision on our part. The thought of actual family separation was very, very painful. However, our family was determined to get further help.

An assessment ordered by the Family Court and completed by the local Children’s Center indicated you needed treatment but was unsure as to what type. A group decision was made to send you to LPH for ongoing observation and group therapy sessions. This was to be backed up with family counseling and earned visitations. The plan of action sounded both useful and practical. At least this was the short-term assumption.

You must have thought us mean to deny you your first weekend visit home. Remember the previous visit mom and I made? I asked if you had forged my name on a check that had just cleared the bank? I knew you had done it son. Your imitation of my signature was quite good, but it was a serious misadventure.

You were using my name to have fun at my expense. I know it was only for three dollars son but I had already given you that cash out of my pocket for school supplies.

We later found out you spent the money and replaced it with a check. Your punishment at LPH may have seemed harsh son. You were denied all privileges until you phoned and personally apologized. It seemed heartless of us but important for you to realize you had committed a grievous offence.

You finally phoned and said, “I’m sorry.” It was short and sweet, with no emotion.

“Why did you call, son?”

“They told me to.”

“Why did you do it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Will you do it again?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’ll be mad at me.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

The conversation went around and around in circles. Oh son, fathers are just as human as you. We make mistakes and are just as scared to admit it.

“What’s happening now?”

“Everything’s OK.”

“I’ll write you and send you the Boy Scout pictures from our last campout.”

“Ok.”

I’m the Scoutmaster and my older son is also helping out. It’s a real treat to work with the two boys. A family learns and grows together. It's not easy to explain why a son felt the need to draw so much attention to him.
Equally not understood is how far boundaries of human love can expand into unknown realms. The power and strength of love cannot be measured in words. It is forever. Why did we forgive and continue to deal with this growing dilemma? Why did we put up with it?

The CAS was helping at this point and counseling took up all my accumulated overtime and even used up a valuable week of holidays. It was precious time that had been reserved for a family break. Somehow we found our strength with the Lord's help. How else could we have managed?

Our son’s first escape attempt from LPH resulted in him spending a night at the London Juvenile Detention Center. It was a place constructed in 1975 and manned by conscientious and capable staff. The court visitations we made due to his being arrested for shoplifting charges during this escapade was both confusing and frightening.

Under the new Young Offenders Act it became imperative for any child over 12 to have legal counsel. Both court and counselor, although seeming to usurp our legal parental authority, was in my opinion, helpful and considerate. There was one last visit to go this day. And our fourth trip to LPH in a month. It’s now 2:00 PM. Both your mother and I have driven 65 miles to appear in London Court for 9:30 AM.

We spoke to the CAS representative, who also drove from Sarnia, saw you for a brief visit prior to your court appearance and assure you we were in your corner. Then we spoke with your lawyer, sat through court and listened to the new remand date on your assault charge.

Then we waited downstairs while your CAS worker signed more papers as your institutional mother made out an appointment for a further assessment to be completed by the London Family Court Clinic. We were told you faced three alternatives, 2-6 weeks in detention or the specter of a training school. You also had the option of 4-8 weeks at Camp Dare, a special outdoor program to challenge troubled youth.

Mom and I were dazed by the time we left the London Family Court building to check your personal possessions out of LPH. One more important step was needed now that we had signed them out. That was a trip to the Juvenile Detention Center. We were assured; by the morning supervisor we could visit around 3 PM. even though usual visitations were 6:30 to 8:00.

Because we were from out of town we were told we would be graciously accommodated. I had the privilege of visiting this new detention center shortly after completion in 1975 in the company of a judge, a Probation Officer Supervisor and a Family Court Supervisor. I was on a community committee attempting to set up a local Juvenile Detention Center in the Sarnia area.

…Now your mom and I were heading there. It was personal now. What a feeling in my chest. My son is there. What has happened? Where is this heading? Oh God, please help us.

Down Oxford Street, past the second set of lights, turn left. There it is, a friendly looking place. Can’t be that bad for him? But I keep thinking of the variety of personalities and difficult backgrounds of each detainee. Can he cope? What is he going to learn from them? What terrible thoughts and acts will he be exposed to?

Careful now, be reasonable. Look at it from the other side. What is he going to teach them? Maybe they should be protected from our son. We park the car and enter the doorway. Press the signal button and a friendly face from one of the male supervisors, opens the door with a key.

A welcome smile, he sees two middle-aged adults fearful of entering. Oh sadness. How can we assure our son we love him? What should we say? We enter the waiting room area. Note the cheery, colorful décor. Sounds of activity hum from the opposite end of the building. Oh my God, give us courage. He sees us, and bounds into the room. A smile and cheery look on his face, he’s all lit up.

“Hi.”

“Hi son.” A few tears in my eyes. My wife looks away. He sits beside us, waiting. Who’s to speak first? I grab his arm, his hand. I want to touch him, to tell him, “It’s OK son, we’re here.”

We know you think it's just you against a horrible world. But we’re here now. It’s OK. You’re mad and angry for being let down and all that. However the people who love you and took you into their hearts are here. Try not to think of the past and your disappointments.

He looks happy. Mom and Dad are here. Don’t be taken in, the warning repeats itself in my brain. The bonding has not taken effect. You don’t mean anything to him. Those hurting words cross my mind. They were spoken from an appraisal from several recent assessments completed by Sarnia and LPH of the objective facts.

I don’t care what they said. I don’t believe it. His shoulder is warm as he leans back in his chair. He tries to pretend it’s not deliberate as he moves his body closer to me. I watch his face. His eyes look carefully at me. Our faces are inches apart.

“Do you care about us son? Really care?

“What do you mean?”

My wife observes carefully. She knows I am deeply troubled by his previous aloofness. She is more objective about the train of events. I’m letting it get to me.

“Do you want to come home?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s better.”

“Why?”

“You can do things. Like going out when I want…with my friends.”

“What about us? Do you miss us?”

“Yes.”

I’m afraid to ask why. He just might make up any kind of answer just to please me. He’s good at second-guessing. He’s very successful at playing this game and takes people and those assessing him off guard. That’s why his life is full of contradictory conclusions. But I know him. This is our son.

“No fooling now, do you really want to come home?”

“Yes.”

It makes me feel good, even ten-feet tall. My wife smiles as tears appear on her cheeks. She loves me so much. She wants me to be happy. He is our youngest at 14 and a half and I love him very much. The three of us go over the events of the day and chat about various things. We know the future is rocky.

“Son, no matter what, I love you and so does mom. Never forget that.”

“I know.”

I look at him carefully. Stare into his face, trying to see any amused, cynical or cocky expressions. There’s none. He looks back at me, eyes flickering to the left at mom. He’s a bit uneasy, unable to figure us out. How come these people are still hanging in there? He sees his stepparents in front of him, Mom and Dad. I know there’s hope. There’s still hope. Oh God, please give us a miracle for our son. I know the road ahead is rough.

He stares at us a few minutes longer. “I know,” he repeats more to himself.

Suddenly our visitation period is over. I pump his hand. I want to hug him and hold him tight. Not here. Not now. Other children are in the room watching. Don’t embarrass him. He kisses his mom on the cheek and watches as we head out the door.

I sing all the way home.

* * *

© Richard & Esther Provencher
Website: www.wsprog.com/rp/

Check the site above for free download books written during the first several years while Richard was recovering from his stroke, which felled him in 1999. He is still recovering.