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ENLARGE
Inside a thick and weathered manila folder rests the details of a father's failed battle to save his son from drugs. There are scribbled notes on the cover that appear to be the father's efforts to better understand the complicated and, in his view, ineffective juvenile justice system. The notes — now 30 years old — spell out the few options for a father whose chances of saving his son were running out.
Today that father lives in Lake Wildwood and his son, now 46, is lost. “He's not the son I remember,” said the father. “He's not the good-looking, Pop Warner football All-American that was my son. I haven't heard from him in two years. I suppose one of these days I'll get a call that he's gone and that will be that.”
The father's battle to save his son caught the attention of a Northern California newspaper reporter 29 years ago. His story was published on the front page of the Nov. 7, 1980, edition, under a headline that read: “They Fought To Have Their Son Arrested.”
“For six months Bill and Sandra wrestled with the injustices being done to their son,” read the opening paragraph. “They talked to every official they could think of — narcotics agents, school counselors, medical experts — trying to get someone to listen. Finally, the officials relented; finally, they heeded the parents' pleas ... finally, their 16-year-old son was arrested ... with LSD in his pocket.”
The family's nightmare began perhaps in the late spring of 1979, when the son was in junior high school. There's a letter from the school inside the folder explaining to the parents that their son was being suspended for bringing a “bag” of marijuana to school. “Should (your son) become involved with marijuana or drugs at any time in the future,” read the letter, “the matter will be dealt with through the Police Department and Juvenile authorities and recommendation for expulsion ...”
Eight years later — when the boy was 23 and no longer a boy — a health official would diagnose him as having an “acute psychotic episode in a chronic schizophrenic.”
“He is a relatively heavy drug abuser, and most recently has been taking a fair amount of amphetamines,” read the August 1987 report. “His last dose was about three days prior to his admission. The patient says he has been using drugs since he was 9 years old.”
Before finally dropping out in his junior year of high school, the boy had filled pages of school stationery for his 36 unexcused absences during the 1979-80 school year. He'd been repeatedly warned for “horseplay, fighting and suspected of being ‘stoned' on occasion at school during activities.” He was eventually caught by school officials with almost 90 “hits” of LSD in his possession, which landed him in Juvenile Hall.
In a summary of that 1980 incident comes the boy's perspective. It's an all-too-familiar perspective of a rebellious adolescent crying out for attention.
“He frequently made the statement, ‘My parents don't want me anymore,'” read the Juvenile Hall summary. “He told officers that not long ago he'd considered himself a jock and that he began associating with a group of teenagers who used drugs.”
He also told officials that he had no plans to stop using or selling drugs. “He informed the probation officer that it was alright for him to sell drugs if someone wanted to buy them from him. The minor said he believed in ‘doing his own thing' as long as it did not interfere with others.”
A doctor would conclude that the boy was, “being immature, seeking self-gratification through anti-social means, exhibiting irresponsible behavior and his admission to using drugs.” The report went on to say that the boy “lacked the necessary strengths to avoid being involved with anti-social behavior” and recommended family counseling.
The boy was also sent to a juvenile offender camp for 120 days. It would be the first of many programs, treatment facilities and other failed efforts to save his life.
The dad is convinced his son's problems began when he was introduced to marijuana. “The argument that marijuana is not a gateway drug is just insane,” he told me.
He also said he documented everything so that his son could one day look at it and understand what happened and how much he tried to help him.
The juvenile system, he says, needs improvement. “Parents don't have a place to go,” he said. “There is very little help out there and we were just lost.”
If it's true that it takes an entire village to raise a child, what happens when the village fails? What happens when we lose the child? Do we run and hide, perhaps circle the wagons under the pretext of protecting the very child we failed to protect in the first place? Or do we use the loss as an opportunity to learn from our mistakes — to open the village to the public inspection that is needed to ensure that we don't lose the next child in line. And ... yes ... there are more and more of our children standing in that line as the village sleeps.
Jeff Ackerman is the editor/publisher of The Union. His column appears on Tuesdays. Contact him at 477-4299 or jackerman@theunion.com.
Today that father lives in Lake Wildwood and his son, now 46, is lost. “He's not the son I remember,” said the father. “He's not the good-looking, Pop Warner football All-American that was my son. I haven't heard from him in two years. I suppose one of these days I'll get a call that he's gone and that will be that.”
The father's battle to save his son caught the attention of a Northern California newspaper reporter 29 years ago. His story was published on the front page of the Nov. 7, 1980, edition, under a headline that read: “They Fought To Have Their Son Arrested.”
“For six months Bill and Sandra wrestled with the injustices being done to their son,” read the opening paragraph. “They talked to every official they could think of — narcotics agents, school counselors, medical experts — trying to get someone to listen. Finally, the officials relented; finally, they heeded the parents' pleas ... finally, their 16-year-old son was arrested ... with LSD in his pocket.”
The family's nightmare began perhaps in the late spring of 1979, when the son was in junior high school. There's a letter from the school inside the folder explaining to the parents that their son was being suspended for bringing a “bag” of marijuana to school. “Should (your son) become involved with marijuana or drugs at any time in the future,” read the letter, “the matter will be dealt with through the Police Department and Juvenile authorities and recommendation for expulsion ...”
Eight years later — when the boy was 23 and no longer a boy — a health official would diagnose him as having an “acute psychotic episode in a chronic schizophrenic.”
“He is a relatively heavy drug abuser, and most recently has been taking a fair amount of amphetamines,” read the August 1987 report. “His last dose was about three days prior to his admission. The patient says he has been using drugs since he was 9 years old.”
Before finally dropping out in his junior year of high school, the boy had filled pages of school stationery for his 36 unexcused absences during the 1979-80 school year. He'd been repeatedly warned for “horseplay, fighting and suspected of being ‘stoned' on occasion at school during activities.” He was eventually caught by school officials with almost 90 “hits” of LSD in his possession, which landed him in Juvenile Hall.
In a summary of that 1980 incident comes the boy's perspective. It's an all-too-familiar perspective of a rebellious adolescent crying out for attention.
“He frequently made the statement, ‘My parents don't want me anymore,'” read the Juvenile Hall summary. “He told officers that not long ago he'd considered himself a jock and that he began associating with a group of teenagers who used drugs.”
He also told officials that he had no plans to stop using or selling drugs. “He informed the probation officer that it was alright for him to sell drugs if someone wanted to buy them from him. The minor said he believed in ‘doing his own thing' as long as it did not interfere with others.”
A doctor would conclude that the boy was, “being immature, seeking self-gratification through anti-social means, exhibiting irresponsible behavior and his admission to using drugs.” The report went on to say that the boy “lacked the necessary strengths to avoid being involved with anti-social behavior” and recommended family counseling.
The boy was also sent to a juvenile offender camp for 120 days. It would be the first of many programs, treatment facilities and other failed efforts to save his life.
The dad is convinced his son's problems began when he was introduced to marijuana. “The argument that marijuana is not a gateway drug is just insane,” he told me.
He also said he documented everything so that his son could one day look at it and understand what happened and how much he tried to help him.
The juvenile system, he says, needs improvement. “Parents don't have a place to go,” he said. “There is very little help out there and we were just lost.”
If it's true that it takes an entire village to raise a child, what happens when the village fails? What happens when we lose the child? Do we run and hide, perhaps circle the wagons under the pretext of protecting the very child we failed to protect in the first place? Or do we use the loss as an opportunity to learn from our mistakes — to open the village to the public inspection that is needed to ensure that we don't lose the next child in line. And ... yes ... there are more and more of our children standing in that line as the village sleeps.
Jeff Ackerman is the editor/publisher of The Union. His column appears on Tuesdays. Contact him at 477-4299 or jackerman@theunion.com.
