Last night, I searched the internet looking to find the full name of your son. Lucky for me, I used to skip trace at my previous job, and so did Mike. I happen to know some cops and other people who can get information. So now I know who he is. And I know who you are. (The internet is the damnedest thing. You can find ANYTHING on it…IF you know where to look.)
I wanted to come to your house last night. Not because I think that you knew what your son was up to…No, I wanted to come to your house last night to ask you that you kindly tell your son that he is not welcome at my house. Or my daughter’s dad’s house. Or anywhere near my daughter, regardless of her location.
I was angry. REALLY angry. I considered calling the cops. I even asked some of my friends who are cops if I could have your son arrested for trespassing. In retrospect, that was hasty. And my anger took over my rational thought process. While this may have been your son’s idea (according to my daughter, who is prone to lying and whose credibility and integrity is completely shot), I realize that your son may also just be an immature child struggling with boundaries and the way of the world.
And so I found you, and through the miracle of the internet, I have the opportunity to send you a message. And I was going to...Except I couldn’t figure out what I really wanted to say to you. Because you, like me, probably didn’t have any idea that your son was at my daughter’s house. Because you, like me, probably didn’t have any idea that your son and my daughter had devised this secret plot to “hang out”. Because you undoubtedly didn’t know that my daughter was already grounded for “hanging out” with your son on a clandestine meeting at 1am a month ago.
But I wonder: do you, like me, want to know that this is what your son was doing? Because if the situation were flip-flopped, I WOULD want to know.
So I’m going to tell you what happened:
Yesterday I went to the bus stop to pick my daughter up to take her grocery shopping with me (2:30pm). She refused. She didn't want to come. Weird. Because she ALWAYS wants to come. So I drove her and her brother to their dad's house. I dropped them off and drove two doors down and I got a funny feeling. I even sat there for 10 minutes trying to figure out if I should just make her come with me. I was in a bad mood, and figured that was the reason for the hairs standing up on the back of my neck. So I left and went to the grocery store.
About an hour later (3:30pm) I got a text from my son asking if he could go to his friend's house to stay the night. He's been really good, doing very well in school and I had no reason to say no. I just forgot that he had been the only barrier between Lilly and her being left to her own devices. I said ok, we cleared it with his dad, and his friend's dad came to pick him up. Which, because I wasn't even thinking, left Lilly alone.
When my ex-husband, Brandon, got home yesterday evening (approx 5:30pm) there was a strange car parked just past his house. He went to it. There was a boy inside. He knocked on the window and asked if he could help him. The boy lied, "I'm just waiting here for my mom who's in that house right there." Brandon left it alone but apparently it still had his hairs standing on end because he took a picture of the license plate.
He went inside and was promptly greeted by a cheery and chatty daughter (which was weird in and of itself). Something still seemed off and he went into her room, where the window was wide open. He asked her why the window was open and she lied (it's 25 degrees at this point). He walked away, and was still bothered. He took a flashlight outside and there were footprints in the snow out of her window to where the car had been. BUSTED!
At first, she lied about anyone being there, but finally fessed up. It was your son, the same boy that she snuck out to see a month prior with her friend. The boy that my daughter was no longer allowed to see or talk to had been IN HER DAD'S HOUSE!
She doesn't even know your son. She says she had only met him that one other time. She didn’t even know his last name or really anything about him and now they are exchanging bodily fluids with one another.
So I got a phone call. “Can you come over here RIGHT NOW. I think someone has been in my house (this was before she confessed) and I need you to calm me down and keep me away from our daughter.” So I went over to his house. On a Friday evening. Right when I was making my dinner. When I should’ve been relaxing.
That’s what happened first. Here’s what happened next…
I wanted to find out who you are and where you live and pay you a visit. So that you could potentially help me to keep your son from contacting my daughter ever again. And, in fact, when I thought I found out who you were, we DID drive there to confront your son. But we had the wrong name. And the wrong address.
So I had my daughter call your son. I wanted to ask her to set your son up. To tell him that she had gotten out of the house and to meet her somewhere. But I thought better of that. I had her call him and tell him that we were sitting in a car, in Lake Stevens, and that her parents wanted to know his last name and his address. Because we were on our way to his house.
Like any typical teenager he refused. (To be honest, I probably would have, too.) He said he wasn’t home. He begged us not to go to your house because you were at work and your husband was sleeping and had to get up very early. He again refused to give up the information we were seeking. So Brandon took the phone.
Your son confirmed that the car parked at his house, the car we have a picture of the license plate, was YOUR car. A car registered in YOUR name. Brandon told your son that we will find out the information we want, the easy way or the hard way. At that point your son gave up his last name. But would not divulge your address. (He said he didn’t know it – “it’s on 56th St I think?”) He again begged Brandon not to show up at his house. Armed with your last name, and my connections, I found out who your son was. And I found out who you are.
But I was still angry.
And not thinking rationally.
So I haven’t contacted you. And I don’t know if I will.
Brandon and I did, unconditionally, unwelcome your son from either of our houses. We also asked that he stay as far away from our daughter as possible. I hope that he will heed our warning. Frankly, we’d rather never have to deal with him, or you, ever. We’d like you to be able to live a long, healthy, happy and prosperous life without ever having to meet us; to deal with this shit.
Only time will tell how that will end.
Here’s what I wonder about your son:
(I apologize in advance if I seem crass, or uncaring. I’m still pretty angry. Mostly at my daughter – but anger doesn't often accompany rational thought - so I'm mad at your son too.)
First, how desperate is he? He’s a senior in high school. At a big school. With nearly 2000 students. Roughly half of them are girls. Seems like he’s a loser if he can’t find anyone interested in him there. Why is he interested in my 14-year-old, freshman daughter? I can only think of one reason. I mean she’s pretty, and a pretty dynamic human being, but I doubt that is what has him so captivated.
Second, what gives your son the right to come into someone’s house without permission? This, on top of the fact that he knows that my daughter is grounded, in part, because of him! And, for all he knows, the father of this teen-aged girl is armed and dangerous; a man likely to shoot people he finds sneaking in or out of windows in order to protect his family.
Third, does your son lie like my daughter does? Is he a natural manipulator? Does he know that my daughter battles depression and anxiety? Does he know that she struggles very much with acceptance and craves affection? Does he know that she is very gullible with the prospect that someone “actually likes her”? Because if he knows any of those things, and is still manipulating her into “hanging out” with him, then he’s a total piece of shit. And you should be ashamed. (There’s that crass, unfiltered anger I was talking about.)
In some ways, I hope you see this. It’s embarrassing. To me. To my daughter. To our family. But I wonder if it will help even one person. Perhaps a parent, so that they know they are not alone in feeling like a failure (like I do). Or maybe a kid, who might accidentally bump into this post and have an ah-ha moment of clarity and make some adjustment in their life. Or maybe it will help no one but me – because it is cathartic for me to feel like I got to tell you this, even if it never reaches you. (Which, in other ways, I hope it doesn’t.)
Funny, my friend posted a link to this blog post this morning, and part of it said this:
“I think parenting young children (and old ones, I’ve heard) is a little like climbing Mount Everest. Brave, adventurous souls try it because they’ve heard there’s magic in the climb. They try because they believe that finishing, or even attempting the climb are impressive accomplishments. They try because during the climb, if they allow themselves to pause and lift their eyes and minds from the pain and drudgery, the views are breathtaking. They try because even though it hurts and it’s hard, there are moments that make it worth the hard. These moments are so intense and unique that many people who reach the top start planning, almost immediately, to climb again. Even though any climber will tell you that most of the climb is treacherous, exhausting, killer. That they literally cried most of the way up.
And so I think that if there were people stationed, say, every thirty feet along Mount Everest yelling to the climbers – “ARE YOU ENJOYING YOURSELF!? IF NOT, YOU SHOULD BE! ONE DAY YOU’LL BE SORRY YOU DIDN’T!” TRUST US!! IT’LL BE OVER TOO SOON! CARPE DIEM!” – those well-meaning, nostalgic cheerleaders might be physically thrown from the mountain.” (Click here for the link to the full article)
This couldn’t have come at a more apropos time. As I sit at my computer crying, I think this author nailed it. Right now I’m only half way up the mountain. And I want to quit. I want to be warm and comfortable and not struggling to move forward. But I am not a quitter. And I will not quit the hardest, most challenging job I’ve ever been awarded.
And I don’t expect that you will either. We can’t. It’s built into us as mother's to continue to help our kids be successful, decent human beings. But it’s harder to do that when you don’t know what they’re up to.
THIS is the letter I would send, IF I was going to send it. Would you?
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