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New Lost Boy
Aug. 19th, 2008 09:24 amI got a call last week from a kid named Justin, who used to hang out at our place when he was 10-14. This is his story:
He finished eighth grade in Negaunee, and then his parents split up. This was both parent's second marriage, and Justin decided to go live with his birth dad, down in Rapid River (about 60 miles away). It seems that he made it through his freshman year and half-way through his sophomore of high school and then got thrown out. He said that he kept getting in fights. His dad put him in a military school for 10th grade -- the school was organized to be boot camp for the first half of the year and academics for the second half. He made it through two weeks of boot camp and dropped out. He's been living here and there for a year. Now he's 17, and he wants to get his HS diploma.
I've always liked this kid. I am amazed at what he's gone through. He was never a kid who got mad or started fights. He's been at the house for a week, and he's been great. I told him: no alcohol, no smokes or drugs, no candles. He said that he did the alcohol and smoke thing when he was 16, and it didn't do anything for him.
Now, Carl is mostly living at Crystalynn's, so that leaves us with: Sam, Luke, Kyle, Fred and Justin as regulars, with Carl, Steve-the-Guy, Josh and Dillon as floaters. And four cats, an old-lady beagle hound, a young, not quite house-broke, nervous Chesapeake Bay Retriever and, (sigh), I promised the boys that they could keep a couple of the puppies.
I just hired Len's gf Amy to help me whip the house into shape. She's going to do a spring-cleaning thing, and then twice-a-week upkeep.
I know that I'm kinda crazy. It's all driving Mike crazy -- I've got to get a handle on the chaos or he's going to stop coming home. (maybe that's one of my motivations. gotta think about that. there's a very real 'fuck you guys, this is what I'm gonna do' to me)
My mother is exasperated. "These kids are not your responsibility." And, you know, I realize that. In the strict sense, these kids are not my responsibility. But. I don't know how to explain it... I *can* help. So, should I *choose* not to help? Sorry, can't do that. And, well, I love my life.
He finished eighth grade in Negaunee, and then his parents split up. This was both parent's second marriage, and Justin decided to go live with his birth dad, down in Rapid River (about 60 miles away). It seems that he made it through his freshman year and half-way through his sophomore of high school and then got thrown out. He said that he kept getting in fights. His dad put him in a military school for 10th grade -- the school was organized to be boot camp for the first half of the year and academics for the second half. He made it through two weeks of boot camp and dropped out. He's been living here and there for a year. Now he's 17, and he wants to get his HS diploma.
I've always liked this kid. I am amazed at what he's gone through. He was never a kid who got mad or started fights. He's been at the house for a week, and he's been great. I told him: no alcohol, no smokes or drugs, no candles. He said that he did the alcohol and smoke thing when he was 16, and it didn't do anything for him.
Now, Carl is mostly living at Crystalynn's, so that leaves us with: Sam, Luke, Kyle, Fred and Justin as regulars, with Carl, Steve-the-Guy, Josh and Dillon as floaters. And four cats, an old-lady beagle hound, a young, not quite house-broke, nervous Chesapeake Bay Retriever and, (sigh), I promised the boys that they could keep a couple of the puppies.
I just hired Len's gf Amy to help me whip the house into shape. She's going to do a spring-cleaning thing, and then twice-a-week upkeep.
I know that I'm kinda crazy. It's all driving Mike crazy -- I've got to get a handle on the chaos or he's going to stop coming home. (maybe that's one of my motivations. gotta think about that. there's a very real 'fuck you guys, this is what I'm gonna do' to me)
My mother is exasperated. "These kids are not your responsibility." And, you know, I realize that. In the strict sense, these kids are not my responsibility. But. I don't know how to explain it... I *can* help. So, should I *choose* not to help? Sorry, can't do that. And, well, I love my life.