I Called The Cops on My Son

Syndicated

It probably sounds strange that I don’t regret calling the cops on my son, but I don’t. I really don’t. It needed to happen. We called his bluff.

It’s been building for years. He doesn’t give a damn about school. He stays in bed watching TV all day. He refuses to get a job. He refuses to do homework. He refuses to do any chores unless we absolutely make him … yet he wants us to hand out money for designer clothes and for him to go places. Um … no! Not just no …. HELL NO!

Semester report cards came in the mail on Friday. (Do you see where this is going?) He “earned” three D's as semester grades and flunked several of his semester tests.

So when he got home, I calmly asked for the cell phone. He brought it to me. I calmly asked for the iPod. He brought it to me. He asked if he could go to the movies with one of his friends on Saturday. We said no. He blew up. I don’t just mean a little bit … I mean …

HE BLEW UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUP!

The words that flew back and forth are a blur right now, but I told him if he didn’t like our rules then “there’s the door.” He walked out.

I called the cops.

Police Car Lights

Here’s the thing: As the parents of a child under the age of 18, Derek and I would have been responsible for any crime or damage he caused after he walked out of our house … unless we called the cops and reported that he had “run away from home.” So we called.

We really wanted them to take him to a youth shelter for the night so he could see what it was like to live without cable TV and a warm bed and good food, but they don’t do that any more. Instead they stand in your living room, telling your bad attitude kid stories for hours on end.

After being yelled at and cursed at by my ungrateful son, I didn’t want to spend the weekend with him. So he went to a friend’s house … or we assume that’s where he went. To people without teenagers, that probably sounds harsh but we had had enough. We all agreed (him, me, and the cop -- Derek was in the other room with his blood pressure so high that I thought his head was going to explode) that Bryce could be gone until Sunday at nine o’clock at night.

We spent all day Saturday and Sunday wondering if he was even going to show back up and in so many ways it would have been easier if he didn’t … but parenting isn’t about what’s easiest. Oh how I wish it were.

 

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Read more from Gina at Slappy In The Face.

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