Now? Tater asked Santa for math workbooks for Christmas. His most favorite gift (after the trip to Disney World, of course) was a game of chess. A game he picked up instantly and remains the undefeated champion of in our home. He does multiplication for fun and prefers reality shows about snakes, bugs, and critters over cartoons.

And he was referred by his teacher to be evaluated for the gifted program. He still has FOUR DAYS! of testing to pass before he actually gets into the program and I’m well aware of the chance that he may not get in. The referral alone is such a huge accomplishment though.

While I’m immeasurably proud of Tater for this, I am also proud of myself and Dick. Last fall was incredibly hard on us as parents and as spouses. We took our frustrations at Tater’s behavior out on each other because it was better than focusing our anger on our seven-year-old. We argued and fought and yes, even tried to blame each other. But when the chips were down we stepped up and did what we had to do for our child. We made the hard changes and we stuck to them. We recognized and admitted our own faults and took steps to correct them. Most of all, we were consistent.

The three of us have become closer than we have ever been. We work together and we play together. We fight, laugh, cry and celebrate. Together. We’re no longer three individuals. We are a unit….a team…a family.

My cup runneth over.

This entire situation is disgusting. As a parent, the details of what Jerry Sandusky did to those boys will haunt me forever. The thought of 10 and 11-year-old boys being raped by this unimaginable bastard is sickening. It’s every parent’s worst nightmare: trusting a role model with your child only to have that role model violate your kid in the most grotesque way possible. There is no justice swift or righteous enough to offset the hell those children have been though, and will continue to go through.

Joe Paterno’s supporters have plenty to say on this matter. Some of them simply do not believe the allegations that Paterno knew the extent of Sandusky’s crimes. And then there are the others. The others that believe that the coach did everything he could to intervene…by notifying school officials. After that, it was no longer his concern. He’d done his duty, met his obligation and what happened after that was not his problem. His hands are clean. It’s these people that I want to hit with a fucking sledgehammer.

Jerry Sandusky committed a crime. Anyone who had knowledge of that crime and did not report it TO THE POLICE is an accessory. And that’s the best thing they are. Joe Paterno is to blame for every single molestation that occurred after he found out (and did nothing). Telling the Athletic Director is not “doing something”. Telling the police would have been doing something. And what were his reasons for not going to the police? Since we only have speculation, I’ll take a guess: the sanctity of football? Well, guess what Joe? Your despicable actions in this case have done nothing but taint college football in a far worse way than if you had spoken up in the first place. If you had spoken up years ago, you would have been the football coach who stood up against “the sanctity of football” to PROTECT CHILDREN. That? Would have made you heroic.

There are plenty of other people who deserve this same wrath – from the athletic director to the person who decided to let Sandusky continue running a camp for young boys as long as he didn’t do it on the Penn State campus. I’m focusing on Paterno because 1) he’s the most “public” figure, and 2) the announcement of his impending retirement has his supporters screaming for everyone to just leave the poor man alone! For the boys who were savagely raped, and for their parents, Paterno’s retirement isn’t comfort. It certainly isn’t justice. It’s way too little. And way too late.

Maybe they can find a little comfort in the words of Martin Luther King, Jr.: “The hottest places in Hell are reserved for those who, in times of great moral conflict, seek to maintain their neutrality.”

I thought it was pretty amazing, too, that she had the courage and confidence to drive across the country for five straight days, spend two weeks with her sister in northwest Washington, and then drive another day-and-a-half only to board a ferry for two days. With three kids. And a dog. All by herself. Even more astounding to me was that she always said if she could go back, the only thing she would change is possibly waiting a few years until my older brother had his license so he could help share the driving. She never regretted a moment of it. In fact we both refer to that trip as one of the most magical times of our lives.

While looking through pictures this morning though, I was struck by another thought. It wasn’t so much the actual journey that required courage and confidence…but the decision to do it at all. My mom dreamed of returning to Alaska, her home, every day since she left. She spent 15 years in south Georgia and after the death of her mom and her second divorce she took a huge leap of faith and made a decision that changed all of our lives forever.

Now I’m sitting here in total amazement at the sheer guts it must’ve taken her to follow her dreams. I say all the time that my mom was the bravest person I’ve ever met but usually I relate that to her struggles with her health or the fact that she made a cross-country move as a single mom. But now I can see that it wasn’t necessarily her actions that were her most valiant, but her convictions. It’s so incredibly rare to find someone who actually follows through on a far-reaching dream. I can’t even imagine the fear and trepidation she must have felt making that choice and in the months following while we struggled to make a place for our family on the other side of the world.

 Turns out, she made the right choice. And I can only hope to hang on to at least a little bit of her courage for myself.

Last summer, the symptoms started to increasingly worsen and my inner voice screaming FAILURE rose to a deafening roar. Tater went through several medication changes and right after school started, he reached the absolute lowest point in behavior. He was miserable and I was physically sick from the stress. I spent the better part of a week throwing up every day, you know, in between phone calls from the school principal and counselor and our babysitter. Something had to change. When we had exhausted all the medication options that his doctor was comfortable with (and it was only three meds, by the way), I sought counseling.

We are now on in the middle of our third straight week of an absolute transformation in behavior. In the first two weeks, I was convinced that the shift was due to switching back to a more effective medicine and I was nearly paralyzed with the fear of Tater developing tolerance to that medication and ending up right back where we started. It hasn’t happened yet. Well, with every passing day I am more certain that his tolerance has built back up but that the changes we’ve made in addition to the medication are actually working.

It hasn’t been easy. We are a long way from an established routine. The new routine may not even work three months from now. But every day that grip around my heart loosens ever so slightly and the hope that one day we will be able to manage his symptoms without medication becomes more real. It’s been amazing to watch Tater’s self-confidence grow with every “green” day at school, every positive mark on his behavior charts, every word of praise, every reward.

And it’s a pretty damn good feeling to so often have my inner voice replace FAILURE with SUCCESS.

A little preface: My mom was always a dog person. The woman owned (and loved more than life!) a 220-pound Great Dane, for crying out loud. But one day she decided she needed a cat – so they got Sassy – the fattest, most unsociable cat on earth. After Jake and Molly died, they adopted George! (yes, you have to say it with the exclamation point) and he was a much better companion for Mom…despite the fact that they nearly killed him when he was a few weeks old.

April 8, 2006

I think George! is going to be alright.

Tuesday night we ran over his head with the wheelchair. I know, I know, we suck. We were coming out of the bathroom and when we went in, George was very involved with killing a little fuzzy mouse in the living room. Coming out, Don felt a little bump and looked down and saw George writhing on the floor bleeding from one ear.

To say we were mortified doesn’t even scratch the surface. We were annihilated. Don and Cody rushed him to the vet and the vet said, “WE ARE NOT GOING TO EUTHANIZE THIS KITTEN”. He said he had seen many cats much worse off than George! and they had recovered completely. He said George! had suffered a severe head trauma and concussion and gave him a shot of steroids and fluids. He then said they could leave George! there overnight or take him home and he would come by in the morning with more shots of the same. They brought him home.

He’s been slowly recovering ever since. At first we had to force feed him with a little syringe (baby food, beef and chicken), but this morning he ate quite a bit of salmon flavored canned cat food on his own. He’s still wobbly but he’s walking all around the house, following Don. He still is sleeping 90% of the day in a box with one of those gel packs that you can either freeze or microwave (the vet said, “He needs heat! He needs heat!”), but when he’s awake his eyes are bright and he wants to climb and play. He just can’t, yet.

We’ve already acquired a tiny collar with a bell.

Ten days later…

George! is baaaaaack, and is as good as new. Well, except for his meow. For a long time after the accident he didn’t meow at all and I was afraid his throat had been damaged. But now he’s starting to meow, just very faintly.

Nothing else he does is faint. He’s a kitten on crack, running and jumping and climbing and doing somersaults over catnip mice and attacking anything that moves and many things that don’t.

When I called the vet to tell him the good news, he said, “That’s wonderful. Now be careful because he’s only got five lives left.”

I’m happy to report that George! is still alive and well though his meow never fully recovered. He spent kittenhood terrorizing the house and then curling up and sleeping in the crook of my mother’s neck. Oh, how she loved that brain-damaged cat.

9.  Making out with your boyfriend in the hall between every class isn’t “cool.” It’s kinda gross actually.

8.  Your life will not, in fact, end if you miss one party.

7.  When your coach publicly humiliates you about your weight, you should report her instead of acting like it was no big deal. It is a big deal. And completely unacceptable.

6.  That guy friend of yours who always treated you well and looked at you like you were a queen was the one you should have longed for, rather than the hot jock who ignored you and made fun of you behind your back.

5.  Your mother always knew when you were out drinking, partying or cruising around town even though you told her you were spending the night at your BFFs. And that “trick” where you cleverly take the phone off the hook in case your mom calls to check on you didn’t fool her one bit.

4.  Your mother didn’t confront you about those nights because she chose her battles. The times you did get in trouble were the times you really deserved it.

3.  The classes you loved were enjoyable mostly because of the teachers, rather than the subjects. A good teacher can make any subject fun and interesting.

2.  Not all of your teachers will be good teachers. It will be up to you to find a way to learn from the bad ones. 

1.  Not one single, social thing that you did, didn’t do, cared about deeply, missed out on, took part in, cried about, screamed about, fought for, or were devastated over really, truly matters later in your life. High school is one four-year period of your lifetime. You’ll get over it.

Me: “Tater, do you know Grandad’s first name?”

Tater: “No.”

Me: “It’s Derry.”

Tater: “Derry?”

Me: “Yes, Derry. Like dairy farmer or Dairy Queen. Only not spelled the same.”

Tater: “But they sound the same? Dairy Queen, Derry Turner. Dairy Queen, Derry Turner. Dairy Queen, Derry Turner.”

Me: “That’s right. They sound the same but they are spelled differently. D-A-I-R-Y for Dairy Queen and D-E-R-R-Y for Derry Turner.”

Tater: “Okay. So they are homonyms.”

Me: “Uh, homonyms?”

Tater: “Yeah, homonyms. You know? Words that sound the same but are spelled differently.”

Me: [trying like hell to cover] “Oh…right…yeah…homonyms. Of course, homonyms.”

And English isn’t even his best subject.

Apparently that’s not the case. Last Friday’s behavior was a succession of deliberate, blatant defiance. He even told the teacher that he had pulled all of his cards (the school’s “discipline” method) already so there was nothing more that could be done to him. Now there’s a proud parent moment for you. Ladies and gentlemen….my son…..!!!!!

I talked with his teacher in depth about his behavior and his ADHD and we both agreed that this was different from his usual impulsive, hyperactive displays. This was purposeful. I called his doctor and we also spoke at length and she brought up another disorder that we’ve been volleying around for months: Oppositional Defiance Disorder. She recommended a change in medication which I agreed to but only after she agreed to a referral for counseling.

Of course, I then started doing research online about ODD and that’s when I came across this: “It is your oppositional child’s goal to escalate the conflict until you are no longer the one in control. What is important to him is not the issue being argued over, as much as what is going to happen during the argument.” CLICK. I cannot believe I didn’t see this before. I’ve said many times, “Tater just loves to argue” and I’ve meant it but not on this level of seriousness. After much more research, it became increasingly clear that he doesn’t so much love to argue as he thrives on it. He is most comfortable in conflict.

The more I read, the more I cried since what also came increasingly clear was that not only are Dick and I partially responsible for this disorder but we are also completely and totally on the hook for correcting it. There’s no magic cure or medication that will “fix” this. It will take time, commitment, counseling for all of us, and above all for the love of God, it will take CONSISTENCY.

I’m committed. Fully, 100% committed. I will not allow my son to become (or continue being in some cases) the kid that annoys everyone. The kid that people dread spending time around. The kid that thinks that rules and consequences don’t apply to him. The kid who everyone gives up on. My brother Danny was that kid…and the one thing his life has taught me is that ONE bad decision can change everything. If I ignore or deny the potential consequences of raising another “Danny”, then I am just as culpable as Tater is for any decisions he makes as an adult.

And if there’s ANYTHING I can do to prevent even a marginally similar situation for my son? Sign me the fuck up.