Youngest Son, Austen (who just turned 16), did something very interesting upon my return from Australia: his phone mailbox was mysteriously full and no calls could go through. This was extremely odd – as Austen is fastidiously compulsive in dealing with any transmissions coming into his smart phone. Austen also knew that I was landing in the U.S. on Thursday, July 21st and, after a Friday and half-of-Saturday of failed phone attempts I naturally began to worry – as my son had never been inaccessible to me like this before. I had to call his mother to find out what was going on with him.
She reported having surgery (boob implant follow-up stuff [she finally got those things that I was merely teased with for many years]) and that she had sent Austen to stay over with a notorious Santa Clarita druggie (I have many words to describe what I wanted to do and say – but this divorce and its aftermath had already been way too expensive…suffice to say, I freaked out!). Not only is Fast Eddie two-years-older than Austen, but he also hung out with Tyler (Austen’s older brother [for those not in the know]). In fact, Fast Eddie was implicated (along with Tyler) in the mischievous theft of a cell phone when Fast Eddie was in the 9th Grade and Tyler the 10th. Austen’s mom said she would call over to Fast Eddie’s and have Austen call me.
When no call came after a 2-hour waiting period (11:00am – 1:00pm) – I decided to call Tyler, who, was amazingly, quite coherent. Tyler said that he would make some calls for me.
Finally, at 5:00pm – I called Austen’s mother again – and she reported that Austen was now at home, asleep and that she would wake him up if I wanted.
Austen finally called me around 7:00pm Saturday Night. I returned Austen’s call circa 8:30pm and was greeted by an Austen who wanted to know what my problem was: No “Hello”; no “Glad you’re back”; no “Sorry you couldn’t get a hold of me”; no “What did you bring me?” Basically, I was admonished for over reacting. When I detected a strange sniffling in between Austen’s reports – I asked him why he was sniffling. Austen replied that he wasn’t sniffling and that I needed to stop playing with his head. After a couple more questions on the sniffling and suggesting how strange his behavior had been, Austen said that he was starting to get angry with me and that I should quit messing with his head. I hope my readers can tell, as I could, that Fast Eddie had finally got to Austen with something-or-another.
I only hope that it was some early, tentative experimentation – as Austen tends to look at his body as a temple.
I immediately leaped into high gear (not a pun) and called a-couple-of-surrogate mothers (team soccer moms); a soccer dad; Austen’s trainer; and, even Tyler.
The adults said they would help me by keeping-an-eye-on-him and having him over more. Tyler said that if I knew the extent of the drug proliferation in Santa Clarita – I’d be aghast (I’m pretty sure that I have always known what non-parenting leads to for youth with way-too-much-time-on-their-hands). Tyler also said that if Austen stayed dedicated to soccer – that he should pull through any road bumps. OK. I’m hoping he’s right.
My massive consternation comes because the 11th Grade year was the grade that both Tyler and his mother dropped-out-of-school, and come-to-think-of-it, I wanted to drop out as well during this year and go to Cape Town to live with my girlfriend and work on the docks. As my readers know – Tyler did go on to finish his diploma, and I…I became a professional student. Austen, however, has never displayed a fondness for school.
This past weekend, Austen played some solid soccer, but also played some shoddy, disinterested ball. He also professed a desire to quit the team he is on. Oh my…Tyler’s words ringing in my head.
We seemed to get along as-well-as-we-used-to – but Austen still doesn’t like being questioned about his doings, as all teenagers think they have the world by the balls.
I guess when I no longer pay child support, I can resign and believe that I did the best I could at raising children – until that time, however, I have to care about him – even if it means that I piss-him-off.
I keep hoping that the gene that has him working out so hard overcomes the genes that tell him to take the easy way out and that I have assembled a support team that will help him hold up against those forces that would bring him down to…to…to…nowhere…