(this one was written with some Thumpa-help, to be honest.)

The oldest two have been grounded this week; while arguing is not forbidden here, getting physical is, and I walked in just as Rachel tried to kick Alex in the groin and as he blocked the kick and shoved her back. I don't care what the fight was about; I care that they struck out at each other. So their first week of summer vacation was spent grounded.

They were pissed off for the first day, but settled into the fact that they weren't going anywhere they wanted to go and they weren't texting, emailing, or talking on Facebook with their friends. They each got one text to let Stephanie and Seth know that they would be out of touch for the week, but that was it. The only way out of the house was with a parent, and any incoming phone calls resulted in Char or me taking messages.

I have to admit, they were pretty well behaved for a couple of grounded teens, and the level of drama in this house was fairly low for the entire week. But with the sheer amount of time that they had, without the distractions for friends and homework, when boredom set in they started paying attention to their parents, and they started asking questions.

Several nights ago Kevin spent the night with Brad, and the other two decided they wanted to play board games with us. Scrabble. I don't relish this game with Alex, because he wins every time I wind up feeling a little bit stupid for the difference in his and my vocabulary. That night was no different; he played the board like a master and created words that I was sure were made up but weren't.

On the other hand, I know I'm going to lose to him, so I tend to relax and just let it happen; when I relaxed, so do the kids, and they start talking. We got to hear about that last week of school, the fun injected into classes after the exams were over, and the friends who wouldn't be returning to school next year because they were either moving or transferring to public schools.

Eventually, they wanted to know about the friends we had when we were growing up. Were we still friends? Did we keep in touch? And since then I've been thinking a lot about high school and the people who mattered.

The reality is that I only keep in touch with one person from my youth. There would be two, but the person I connected with the strongest, and who was my best friend from eighth grade on, died when I was 20 years old. For a long time I was sure that my first born son would be named after him, until the time came to actually ponder baby names and the only other person from those days convinced me he would have hated that.

Anyway, the kids wanted to know about him. What he was like, why we were friends. Did I think we would still be friends even today? Would they have liked him? Did I still miss him?

Yes.

Truth be told, it's not as if I think about him every day. I still miss him, but it's been 29 years and the pain of losing my best friend has faded from sharp to wistful. I don't doubt that we would still be friends today; I strongly suspect that he would have followed the same paths I took in life, although he came weighed down with a lot more baggage.

As the kids picked my brain about him, I realized that his life was a good lesson for them. He represents the sharp divide between having been loved and searching for love. He was adrift in his own family, virtually abandoned to raising himself, and because of it, he made choices that he otherwise wouldn't have.

In intellect, Alex reminds me a lot of him. By our junior year he was emancipated from his parents and living in the dorms at a local university, having graduated early. But he ached for family, and what he couldn't have by right, he tried to create. When he was sixteen, newly emancipated, he got his sometimes-girlfriend pregnant, and in trying to do what was right, he married her.

Yeah, at sixteen.

He wasn't in love, but he wasn't going to walk away from his child, not after having been left behind by his own parents. But he was just sixteen, and struggled. He dropped out of school and scrambled for jobs that didn't pay enough for rent let alone food for his new family. He lived on adrenaline and the generosity of his friends' parents.

Even so, he had a future. He hit bottom and was climbing his way back up with a job that gave some relief, and after the birth of his son he was offered a scholarship. There was hope.

And then there was a horrific car wreck that ripped his family from him. Where he wasn't in love when he got married, he did love his young wife, and his son was like breath to him. He was seventeen years old, and lost everything.

He could have given up, but after nearly a year of agony, during which he had hidden himself away from life so well that we all really did think he'd gone off somewhere to die, he resurfaced, determined to live. He still wanted what he had been cheated out of twice, he wanted a family. He wanted to grow up more, finish school, get the golden job, and then find someone.

When I started college, he transferred and had stepped onto that path with me; we had the same terms to our scholarships and the promise of post-college emoployment. By my sophomore year, his junior, he had solid plans. He knew what he wanted, and he was pretty sure how he wanted to get it. And an idea of with whom.

We were nineteen, and we had everything to look forward to.

He was nineteen, and he felt a lump. And he ignored it. He never mentioned it to anyone, not until it was of a size that was so uncomfortable that he had to tell someone. He went to my father first, and didn't fight it when my mother dragged him off to see a doctor.

Nineteen. He'd been abandoned by his parents, married, fathered a child, been widowed and had his son ripped from his life, and he was suddenly looking at a diagnosis that gave him only six more months to live.

If he had paid attention to that lump and asked for help early on, he would probably be alive today, because even then testicular cancer had a high cure rate.

I do think of him often enough that the unfairness of his life stings; He died when he was just twenty, and his son should have been three and a half. But I also don't think of him often enough that when I do, I feel a little guilty. He wanted what I have; he deserved what I have.

None of that even comes close to saying why we were friends, and the kids are still picking my brain about him, looking for stories about why we were friends and what we did to get into trouble together.

But where things fell short for him, that's what I've been thinking about.

I want the kids to grasp how much promise he had, and how a few bad choices made getting anywhere hard as hell, and I want them to see how hard it was for him to get to the few places he was able, and how horribly things can go wrong. Because when you're sixteen and you crave love that badly, you just don't see how anything can go wrong.

Countdown to Thursday

A cliche as it is, the last 10 days have been busy as hell. Between work on my dad's house, field trips, dance and TKD classes, and helping Alex and Rachel prepare for finals, we're tired enough that ten o'clock rolls and around and we just fall into bed. This is the last week of school, though, and today is the last field trip to chaperon. I went on three last week, two with Kevin's class (zoo and museum) and one with Rachel's class (museum) but Ian went today: to the amusement park. He agreed to go, I think, because 1) there's a ton of junk food there and 2) Rachel really wanted him to.

He also went because the Parent In Charge asked him to, specifically. Seventh grade boys aren't all that intimidated by the moms that typically go on the field trips, but they're usually wary of Ian and do what he says. The kids like him because he lets them get away with a lot, but he's physically intimidating enough that when he tells them to do something or stop doing something, they listen. Not that they don't complain, but they listen.

I may wish later I'd tagged along, but frankly after last week, I've had enough for this school year. The field trips were fun, but wrangling all those kids is very tiring, and it just makes a person realize that there's no amount of money good enough for the teachers who deal with them 5 days a week.

I'd like to go to bed now

Yep, long week; I am borderline exhausted and would really like to be asleep right now. I was, in fact, for an hour or so, but Mz. Horny Hands pushed her way to the middle of the bed and is now lying there with arms outstretched as if awaiting crucifixion. She's also snoring lightly, but it sounds like angry bees are about to sprout forth from her head and I don't really want to be right there if they do.

So, I got up and risked waking her up by turning the computer on. I doubt the sound of typing will wake her; she's used to it by now, although it's been a long time since I've crawled out of bed in the middle of the night.

Fortunately, Brad has to work tomorrow, so I won't be dragging my sorry ass over there to haul his construction crap all over the place. This is going slower than the other renovation work we've done; a bathroom is more involved than the painting, floor work, and wall moving we've done. It's slowed a little more due to holding back on certain aspects because Brad wants to teach Alex how to do some of it, which means we'll be doing some serious work on Saturday.

Tomorrow, also, TK returns from his mini-vacation, and I think the students will be happy about that. I've been a tired grump during classes this week and rather than teach I've been conditioning: they work out hard while I stand there and pretend I'm doing it for their own good. I don't have to pay such close attention to technique during conditioning classes, I only have to make sure no one gets hurt.

Only one person had to leave the floor to throw up, so I'm not convinced it was a successful week.

Char is right, however; I'm not sure why we ever thought spending so much time on the dojang was a stellar idea. It certainly lacks importance to us now.

A week full of Mondays

Busy doesn't even begin to cover the last few days. Between Ian and my Dad practically demolishing part of his house and the beginning of the rebuild, the kids all needing to be taken to dance, TKD, the library, and them needing help with year end projects, trying to get things done around our own house, and having Erin and Miko and the kids over, I don't think we've had much chance to just sit still since Saturday.

Ian has been running ragged, helping my Dad completely rip out one of his bathrooms, and they're taking the construction slowly because Alex wants to learn how to do everything, and he's been filling in at the dojang so that TK can take a few days to spend with his kids sans Mom; I think I saw him for all of 45 minutes on Monday and maybe an hour yesterday, and he won't get home tonight until after 8. It reminds me too much of when he was working and I was teaching at the dojang, and I'm not liking it at all. I really don't know now why we sandwiched our family life into such a compressed time frame for so long, and why we thought it was even remotely worth it. I really would like to find the us from 12-13 years ago and slap the living daylights out of them with the warning that the dojang is not worth all the time it will take away from family.

At least we figured it out before the kids were full grown and it was too late.

I'll be glad when this week is over.

Hope, just a little bit

In old movies and TV shows, Dad comes home from a trip and the kids all run to the door to greet him, happy and excited, asking Did you bring me anything? I walked through the door today and Rachel barely looked up, Alex grunted, and Kevin was bellowing Turn, turn turn! to whatever video game he was playing.

Char walked in, and was greeted with a chorus of Hi, Mom!

I see how it is.

Craig is all right. He's not great, but he's not awful; he's right on track, although some physical issues that have become apparent are giving him fits and starts. They still haven't fully addressed his blood sugar issues, and I'm not sure if they think it will stabilize and they're leaving it alone for right now or if they're waiting for some magic number, but they are keeping track. He's lost quite a bit of weight because he hasn't been able to keep much down, but yesterday he was able to eat, which perhaps not so coincidentally coincided with him finally starting to open up and talk.

My brother has some deep issues, most of which I was unaware, a few that I was acutely aware of. A few that directly involve me, and some that are indirectly caused by me. But he's talking, unpacking the baggage, so to speak. Even when he's out of rehab he'll be in therapy for a long, long time, I think.

Something that really jumped out at me: he started drinking when he was 13. That's Rachel's age. He hadn't even gotten through puberty and he was getting trashed on a fairly regular basis. He had no clue then what stepping into the party lifestyle would do to him as an adult, or how it would mold the decisions he would make in regards to simple things like homework, graduation, going to college or not. He resents the hell out of realizing that he drank his way out of any chance of getting a scholarship, effectively drinking himself into only having a high school education when deep down he wanted more. He resents the hell out of the idea that of all three of us, I was the only one who went to college; he knows I went on a scholarship, but it's muddled in his brain as me being the chosen one, the golden boy our parents anointed with a baccalaureate degree and a job clear across the country.

I had what he wanted: the degree, the job, and the girl. He has no idea what getting that degree cost me, why I agreed to the terms of the scholarship and the job, and I won't tell him because it wouldn't help anything; it's enough to know that even though he does understand that the road I took was nothing personal, to him it felt personal. To him it felt like I was getting it all, and he was getting a minimum wage job bagging groceries.

And the girl; he despises the fact that I dated Kathy all though high school and then married her. She was the one thing that mattered more than anything to him, and he always held out hope of "someday."

He also knows that hoping for that someday never made much sense. He married very young, too, had three boys, and in spite of himself tried hard to make the marriage work. When it didn't, it was just another thing he felt like he'd screwed up.

His list of things he thinks he screwed up is long, and it's a bit self-pitying, but I can understand that. He's barely scratching the surface of himself and has a long, long way to go.

He wanted to know how many times he's been in rehab, and I couldn't answer. Six? Seven? Twelve? I know he's tried it more times that I've strong armed him into it, but this is the first time I've ever felt like he's committed to it. Even so, right now I'm only giving him a 50-50 shot at carrying this off. He has too many demons, and while he accepts his own role in most of those, the weight of it all might be too much to bear.

Still, I have hope. This is the first time I'm not hearing excuses from him. He knows he stated this 37 years ago, when he was too young to accept that first drink, but he no longer blames the person who gave it to him. He's embarrassed for the things he's done and ashamed of some of his behaviors, but most of all, he's talking and it's not coated in BS.

And yes, he is the charmer and flirt Char mentioned, but that is who he is. It's been a part of his personality since he was very little. He very well could use his charm to gain trust from some woman, but to his credit that hasn't been one of his worst traits; I think I've mentioned before that he is very respectful of women, careful and considerate. It's with other men that he can be a real son of a bitch, where the drinking escalates and the testosterone rears its ugly head. He knows this; he knows he has to work on it.

But, 50-50, and to be honest, a year ago I would have guessed he had less than a 10% chance of ever being sober for more than six months at a time.

Vee Hav Vays

I've had some good reminders over the last couple of days on why I don't want to be in the position where Ian feels like he has to draw something out of me. He is very, very good at sitting down with someone who has something to tell but doesn't want to and getting them to spill it without them realizing that he's gently manipulated the conversation into going in the direction he wants. I've watched him these last couple of days sit there with his brother and his brother's counselor, and draw out of him things he just didn't want to talk about or couldn't bring himself to talk about; they've all been issues the counselor has tried to pull from Craig but just couldn't get him to talk about.

Ian makes it feel like such simple, social conversation, but for whatever reason, he can subtly nudge things into getting him the information he wants. I don't quite know how he does it, but he knows it's as skill he has, and I never want to be on the other end of it (anymore than I already have been; I'm sure he's gotten me to talk without me realizing it before.) He's usually not persistent about it; he doesn't manipulate the kids into talking about things they don't really want to talk about and wouldn't unless he thought it was critically important, but they probably wouldn't realize what was happening until they'd already told him what he wants to know.

I don't think Craig realizes what Ian has been doing, but he's talking to Ian and letting the counselor listen in. This afternoon I wasn't sure if my being there was a hindrance or not (because Craig is really getting into some deep territory) so I came back to the hotel to call the kids and then kick back for a while. It hasn't been all super-intense picking at Craig's brain; at least from where Craig sits it's been more like his brother happily came to visit, has taken him out on a pass to get some lunch and just get out for a little bit, and like they're just getting to know each other again. And I'm starting to see how they were when they were kids; they were very close then, even if they fought a lot, and I can see how easy they can be with each other. I can also see how much Craig loves Ian, and how very jealous he is of Ian. There's a lot of conflict there, like he doesn't quite get why he wants their relationship again, but resents it all the same.

We're going to head home tomorrow; Craig seems to be all right and even managed to eat and keep food down today, and Ian will come back once in a while when he thinks Craig needs him to. I'm not sure how often I'll come with him, but I've been very surprised to realize just how charming Craig can be and how much I actually like him.

I promised him I wouldn't abandon him...

It's been, what, a week and a half since Craig entered rehab? This past week has been a flurry of activity for him, most of it medical and mental health screenings, and he's not doing as well as he had hoped. His blood sugar is all over the place, he's still having issues eating without nausea, and they had to remove a polyp from his sinuses.

He's an addict; there was a question of whether he should take pain medication afterward or not. He didn't think it mattered, because it's been a long time since he was able to feel anything from narcotics; I'm guessing that's because his liver is probably barely functioning.

In any case, he feels like shit, sounds worse, and needs someone. So tomorrow Char and I are heading out for a few days, for moral support if nothing else. I don't know what we can do for him other than talk to his doctors and find out how he's really doing, and then just be there for him, but that might be all he needs right now.