Who's Your Child's Pusher?

I don't expect my children's schools to be perfect, and boy, are they not perfect. All the positives are drowned out by the negatives. The unending conga line of principals. The teachers who can't be bothered to confirm whether their students understand what they are teaching. The lack of high standards. The school system that accepts the responsibility for nothing. It's a downhill (hole? Because, seriously, they were already pretty low.) ride from here on.

So when I answered an automated call from the principal talking about kids selling marijuana at school, I was not surprised. She assured the parents that it would never happen again. Right.

I don't accept it, but I know that this is happening. I have to go that extra step to make sure that my children are protected even when I'm not with them because I certainly don't trust this school to do that. But, really, I question how long I will allow my kids to go to school under these conditions. This ain't middle (because they got rid of that due to budget cuts) or high school; it's elementary school. The 7th and 8th graders share the primary grade campus and that seems to have made things a little bit more dangerous.

Do I have to worry about my children coming in contact with drugs? Why, yes. Yes I do. I learned that before the Christmas break, that kids were smoking weed on the bus. My daughter's bus. The police were called and found a large amount on the boy. What did they do to the boy, you ask? Well, they took his drugs. M-kay. What else? Well, they called his mother. M-kay. Apparently, she was upset that they wasted her time by calling her to the school in the first place. Is that all? Yes. The kid still goes to my daughter's school and still rides the bus.

Yet, I still think what I need to protect my daughter from is that school.

My Experience with Marijuana

Growing up I was always taught that drugs were bad and that I should stay away from them. That was never a problem for me as a kid because I never came close to encountering it.  But once I was in college, it was pretty much in my face all the time.

During my freshman year, there was a guy next door--our dorm mate--that would keep pressuring me to smoke with him.  It didn't help that my roommate also smoked weed. He had my dorm room smelling like marijuana every single day.  The peer pressure was getting to me. Not that I wanted to be cool, but I just wanted them to stop bothering me about it.  So I agreed to hang out with the guy next door while he smoked with his buddies. They all got high; I didn't.  It just seemed idiotic to me. 

A few years later my close friends began smoking weed. The temptation was stronger because these guys were my actual friends and not just some guys that lived
around me. I still felt like it was a stupid habit and rejected their offer to smoke with them. Then I started having some problems. My father had passed away, my grades were dropping, and I was having relationship problems. I was going through so much stress I needed to escape.

So I ended up giving in. As good as it felt to be on that high, I felt even worse when it went away.  I saw why it could be addictive. I also saw why it could be a gateway drug.  I knew guys that were tired of the weed high and needed another stronger high. But I admit, I smoked a few more times. I stopped once I met my future wife. Instead of satisfying my stress with marijuana, I focused on  my new relationship with her.

Time Travel: Spring Forward

Journal Entry: Saturday, March 12, 2011

As the sun begins to set on the horizon of the cool beach – the immaculate colors of peach, red, and orange fading into a dark violet skyline and blinding white ocean waves – the phone buzzes loudly.

Ring! I hear my ringtone, an excerpt of a sermon, “aaaalllways being with our God! Having joy... that will not stop!”

I silence the phone, noticing the caller id: “Tirrell Hobson.”

“I'm on vacation…shoot. No calls,” I mutter.

1 missed call.

Time: 6:45pm

I lay alone on the beach enjoying my time off. The temperature drops as the night continues to draw near. An unknown phone number calls my cell. I refuse the call. After I walk back to the beach house, I watch the news, which informs me that tonight the time will change.

“Spring forward. One less hour to sleep,” I say to myself.

I pull out my phone and see the date. March 12, 2011. Tomorrow is Saturday, the anniversary. The unknown number texts me:

REF # 123157

TURN BACK A MOMENT

TAKE A SECOND CHANCE

TURN BACK A MOMENT

TO DO MORE THAN JUST A GLANCE

TURN BACK A MOMENT

TAKE A SECOND GLANCE

TURN BACK THE TIME

AT THE STRIKE OF 3:13AM IS YOUR CHANCE

As I read the message out loud, I think about him. But if I could go back, where would I go, when would I be?

I fall asleep thinking about what I would do. I want to see him again. So I close my heavy burning eyelids to quench the thirst of my fatigue. But what feels like seconds later is really hours.

Clang!

Time: 3:13am

But it is an alarm clock. Not a cell phone. I am in a bunk bed in a green, dirty room. I look around for my cell phone, but I don’t see it. And I'm at home – not the beach house. How did I get home so fast? I walk into the bathroom, eyes still closed with sleep, glasses off.

The bathroom looks different. In fact, I feel different. As I wash my hands, I run the warm water from my hands onto my face, wiping my eyes open. I slowly look up into the mirror and notice. My hair is gone - just a little afro! Oh no! Okay, my face. No zits (that's good). But not one strand of facial hair. I look like I’m 12! I begin to freak out.

“Oh no! Oh no! Someone shaved all of my hair off.” I look down and say, “All of my hair!” Oh boy.

As I pace back and forth in the bathroom, I remember... the text message! This is a chance. Turn back the time. What year is this? What day is it? Hmm. I have a digital watch. I click it and it shows 3-13 – but what year? I walk out the bathroom and see into the room to the right. Siobhan, awake as usual. And Malique, my nephew, is a baby – not even a year yet. If he was born in November of 1998, that means he is only a few months – and if it’s March, then it’s probably 1999. It's March 13, 1999. I glance at my watch. Saturday morning. Wow!

I don't know how long I can stay in this day, so I begin to look at my uninked comics, my first incomplete journal, and my messy room. I am eagerly waiting. My impatience gets the best of me. I walk over to Mom and Dad's room. The door is cracked open. Dad is awake, completing his home peritoneal dialysis treatment.

“Jason? What are you doing up this late... or early?” Dad asks.

I am stunned. Dad looks good. Not a lot of gray hair. He knows it’s me. Not blind. I just want to hug him and kiss him. It is him! My dad alive and well! So much I want to say! So much I want to do! But I am silent. Stunned.

“Jason... what's up?” Dad says. “Is everything all right?” So much I want to ask him as an adult.

“Nothing... everything is f-f-ine,” I stutter out. “I miss you, Dad.”

Dad chuckles, “Tsss – he-he. Awww, son, that's sweet. You know I love you, right?”

I slowly nod my head. Of course I know. You say it all the time.

“Well, don't wake up your mom.”

“Oh,” I whisper. “Well, I know it's late, but I just want to talk to you, Dad.”

“Okey doke. But let's talk in the morning,” he says back in a whisper.

“Oh okay. Yeah... I'll see you in the morning.” This is the anniversary. But in only 4 years (3-13-03) you will be d-d-dead. But what will I say knowing that? What will I do differently?

“Jason... I'm proud of you!” Those words from my father sends chills down my spine and tears down my face.

“I love you, Dad,” I say as I walk out of the room. What would I do? What would I say? I would do the same thing, I think as I close my eyes and wake up. Back to 2011 – March 13. Sunday morning. I spent that hour in the past. Now it's gone forever. But never forgotten.

The End.

Are Pregnant Teen Children or Adults?

'Sex' Episode of Josh's Journal

Let’s face it: teens (aged 15-19) have sex. They have unsafe sex. And besides the risks of exposure to various sexually transmitted diseases, they are also risking pregnancy. Teen pregnancy is faced by thousands of families each year (1). Although it seems to be on the decline (2), many are still affected by this situation.

How should the reality of a pregnant teen be handled?

For some parents, the disappointment and anger of a pregnant daughter leads them to basically disown her, leaving her alone (or with the baby’s father) to fend for herself and her baby. Other parents demand that their child take care of the baby and its expenses, but take on some of the bills such as providing a place to stay, paying for childcare, and buying food and formula. Then there are the parents who react by taking over the whole responsibility from their teen. They completely take care of the baby and their child.

Of course, parents choose other options, but they mostly seem to fit in one of those three categories.

The benefits of the parent helping their teen while, and after, she is pregnant are that the teen can finish school without worrying about finding a job and paying bills. Plus, they don’t have to miss out on the fun of the rest of their teenage years. Also, they have dependable resources necessary to raise a child. The baby doesn’t have to do without because its mother or father can’t provide, and the teen has his or her parents to give advice.

On the other side of the coin, the teen will need to start making adult decisions now that he or she has a child in tow. Their independence may be compromised if the parent continues to take care of things for the teen. The teen may not feel the responsibilities that they now have and may keep behaving recklessly with his or her body and life. Moreover, the teen may leave the care of the baby completely his or her parent.

Every situation is different and should be dealt with accordingly. But knowing your own situation, I ask-- Should pregnant teens (and teen fathers) still be their parents’ responsibilities or should they be treated as adults?

1. Martin JA, Hamilton BE, Sutton PD, et al. Births: Final data for 2008. National vital statistics reports; vol 59 no 1. Hyattsville, MD: National Center for Health Statistics. 2010.
2. Ventura SJ, Hamilton BE. U.S. teenage birth rate resumes decline. NCHS data brief, no 58. Hyattsville, MD: National Center for Health Statistics. 2011.

The Talk

Sometimes I look at my children and just worry. There're so many things out there that can hurt them. Drugs, predators, teachers, friends, and yes even me. They have so much to learn, and I can't do it for them. Mistakes will be made and consequences will be had.

However, one thing keeps spinning around in my head: What will I teach them about sex? Right now, I try to answer any questions that are brought up honestly and directly. Don't need them getting answers from untrustworthy sources. Like their friends. (I have no idea what I will do about boyfriends and girlfriends.)

Should I just wait until they come to me? What if they never do? When is the right time? Children are exposed to sex and sexuality at younger and younger ages nowadays. It seems that it's a part of the movies, books, and television that are aimed at them. What are they thinking when they see these things?

Yet I feel if I give them "the talk" when they are exposed to these things that I will just be confusing them more than if I waited until they became curious about the whole thing.

But should I worry about this? Are there things a six year old and a ten year old are facing that I haven't considered? Should I just talk with them now and keep filling in the blanks as they gain new a understanding and appreciation for sex?

When were you given "the talk"? Who gave it to you? Were you ready for it? Were you interested in what was being said?

A Parent Dealing With Bullying

Our daughter is in the first grade. Didn't think I'd have to worry about bullying this early. Yet she comes home with her hair messed up because kids are pulling it and throwing wood chips at her. She's been spat on. Her clothes have been ripped. She just turned six this November.

I ask her teacher, the principal, "Where were you? Why don't you know what's going on with my daughter?" I don't feel like she's safe. I can't do anything for her at school. Apparently, she's on her own there.

I walk her to the bus stop every morning. I don't just watch while she gets on the bus; I stand in line behind her so that no one will shove her. I walk her right up to the step. I watch her get on and as she walks down the aisle, I'm walking right beside her outside until she sits down. If no one lets her sit down (which happens pretty often), I get on the bus and make someone slide over. The way it makes me feel -- it's like I'm the one getting treated like this. When that bus pulls away, I have no more control. I depend on the teachers and staff to keep her safe. I don't think they do a very good job.

I question her teacher. First of all, it took three different notes to even get a response. There's communication for you. Then she writes that my daughter didn't tell her anything. Why didn't you notice anything wrong? Why are you depending on a six year old to come to you and tell you that you've failed at your job? But I guess this teacher was satisfied with the little bit that she's doing. I don't know how to fight against indifference.

The principal calls a few days later. I get lip service about what she's doing, but I don't feel like any real action will be taken. Then, I get a spiel about volunteering at the school. Yeah, I actually would do that if I didn't have to walk so far. However, why is she putting the responsibility of supervising students at school back on the parents?

How do you deal with bullying as a parent? Are your kids bullied? Is your kid a bully? Have you spoke with your child about bullying?