Friday, March 18, 2016
I am down the basement, watching basketball, writing my slice, and preparing for the four hour course I will teach tomorrow morning.
Son #2 is upstairs.
Son #2 is not supposed to be upstairs.
He is supposed to be at work. At the movie theater where he has been working for the past several weeks.
He has missed one shift in each of the last two weeks he has worked. I wonder if/when they will fire him.
Tonight he cannot go because he does not have deodorant. Last week he could not go because I ruined his day by disagreeing with him about his right to smoke inside my house.
Son #2 is smart. And charismatic. And very handsome. He's an incredibly talented athlete, who probably could have paid for college as a Division One Football or Basketball player.
And right now, he is doing absolutely nothing.
He's been to two different colleges. And quit both.
He worked at a doughnut shop for six months. And quit that.
He was going to go back to college and play basketball last fall, but that didn't work out.
Since then, he has worked at Panera's, a milk company, the grocery store, and now the movie theater. He's quit every job after only a few days.
He moved to Phoenix to be closer to his daughter, who is 15 months old.
He stayed two weeks.
His lives in a world of blame. Everything is my fault. The coaches' fault. The girlfriends' fault. His boss' fault. Racist America's fault.
But never my son's fault.
People say I should just throw him out.
And perhaps I should.
But my other son, recently diagnosed as bi-polar, is fiercely loyal to his little brother.
If I kicked Son #2 out, Son #1 would think he needed to go too.
And at this point, I am not sure he could take care of himself.
I do not know how to parent him.
How to love well.
I am exhausted from trying.