I was that mom.

I didn't know what kind of mom I would be.  To be honest, I never had a plan for being a mother.  I never played "mom", I didn't dream about being a mother, I didn't have any desire until the day I found out I was going to be a mother at twenty years old.

So, there I was, alone, very young, in a huge city, baby in belly.  I didn't know how I got to where I was, but I did know that it was going to be hard and I would prevail.  The ultimate love, the unforgiving feeling that you have no control over the most precious being on earth.

You might be surprised at what this post is about.  It is not about how much I love Luke or how powerful our bond was and now, in his twenties, still is.  This post is about what I became when he left my arms from toddlerhood and straight into the waiting arms of his teachers for the next 13 years of his life in the public school system.

First of all, there is this possessive thing that happens when you become a parent.  These kids are created from your blood and bone, they are your DNA, your chromosomes, how could anyone not be completely devoted to their child?

That being said, I first started to see the signs of what was to come when Luke started pre-school at New Day Children's Center.  His teacher pulled me aside when I picked Luke up to tell me that he ran away from the group that day and into the church (which Luke thought was a castle).  I definitely understood why the teachers would have concern, they would have to chase him down and make him stay with the group.  He was a bit of a handful.  These types of interactions between Luke's teachers and I became the norm.  In kindergarten, he would have his card flipped on a daily basis.  First grade, Second grade, Sixth grade, his parent-teacher conferences would be something that I would dread.  I started to get angry.  Why couldn't they handle Luke?  What was it about my kid?  When we were home by ourselves, just him and I, he was perfect.  He behaved perfectly, was focused, helpful, had a huge heart.  I was getting so frustrated with the reports coming from Luke's school, every... single... day.

Now this is where I drop the revelation.  A.) Luke was gifted and bored, B.) Luke was dyslexic and acted out, C.)  Luke's teacher's didn't have enough patience, D.) Luke was bullied, E.) Luke was just being a boy (and boys will be boys right?), F.) Luke was, was, was....

You do realize that all of those revelations are not revelations, I wanted a revelation, I wanted a reason, any reason.  Any reason that would lift me off from this hook that I would dangle from anytime I was interacting with his teachers, reading a referral, getting the notes (written in vain) trying to get me on board.  The truth was... my kid was an asshole.  Seriously though, when my kid went to school, he did not act the way that he acted with me when I was home.  He was a smart ass, disrespectful, little asshole.  The shitty thing about this was, for years and years, I would walk into school to talk with his teachers and I would make excuses for him.  I would cover for him, yell at the teachers, go to the principal, complain about the teachers.  Lunch lady didn't like something Luke said, then she is a bitch.  Bus driver writes Luke a referral, well he is getting kind of old to be handling these kids, isn't he?  When I realized what my kid had become (sometime around the sixth grade), I was beyond horrified to look back and realize that all of those years I was standing in the way of the people who were trying to help my child be a productive member of his classroom, respected among his peers, and also impart to him that his actions had consequences.  Here I am thinking that I am being the best parent to my child when all along I was teaching him to never think he is wrong.  I taught him to victimize himself if he was called out for making poor decisions.

What happened in grade six did you say (or think)?  Well, at this point in my life, I had managed to put myself through school enough to obtain my initial teaching license, and became a teacher in a small k-12 school which I also enrolled Luke in.  I went from seeing my son only at home, to also being in the same building 24-7.  Those pesky teachers became my colleagues, and well, you now know the rest I suppose.  I learned the horrifying truth behind my child's behavior.  He wasn't bullied.  He wasn't dyslexic, gifted, bored,  and he definitely wasn't being a boy.  He was being an asshole and I enabled him.  I might even say that I made it much worse to the point where I could claim that I created this kid's behavior by taking away his consequences.

The next six years were not as easy as they could have been had I not been a wishy-washy mom-friend that I was at the beginning of all of this.  Luke was grounded a lot.  There was no grounding limit.  I recall having a conversation with my father-in-law at one point who told me that it is not abnormal for a kid to be grounded for their entire high school tenure.  "Do what it takes." he said.  Did I get tired of grounding him? yup.  Did it ruin some of the fun things that I wanted to do sometimes? yup.  Being a good parent required sacrifice.

Do I love my Luke more than life?  I do, so much.  I am so proud of Luke and what he has accomplished so far in his young life.  The sky is the limit for this beautiful child of mine.  He is so much like me, still has a great big heart, and is learning about life in leaps and bounds.  I still have to physically stop myself from hovering, even now, but I do and he is killing this whole 'adulting' thing.
Anyway.  I have wanted to write this post for a very long time.  Glad I got it out there.  Every time someone tells me that I did a great job raising Luke, I have to bite my tongue and spit something out like "oh, if you only knew....".