17 Years

The story I’m about to tell is true. It really has happened, and in a very real sense continues to unfold to this very day.

It all began on a specific day, November 1, 1999. As I recall, I had just gotten home from the gym and a strenuous workout. I had just stepped out of the shower when the phone rang. It was one of those phone calls that every parent dreads. The local police called to tell me that they had my 16 year old son in custody. They were bringing him home just for the purpose of searching his bedroom. Numbly I disconnected the call and dressed and briefly waited for my son and the officer escorting him. I only had enough time to put the dog in the backyard before they arrived. It was disturbing to see him with zip tied wrists. I ushered the officer to his room which was in its usual trashed state. The officer spent about an hour going through everything as I helplessly watched. My mind was too numb to think of why he’d been apprehended and what the potential charges could be. Without much conversation my son was taken back to the police station and so was the collected evidence. I asked if I could accompany him and was told no and a detective would be contacting me for follow up information. All that left was for me to contact my soon-to-be ex-husband and tell him of the morning’s event. My son knew that I would always allow police to search without a warrant if I thought that he was innocent. He wasn’t.

Eventually, after speaking with one police detective and a district attorney investigator, my son’s court appointed attorney finally told me what was going on. Apparently my son and three of his friends decided that they wanted to emulate the kids in Columbine, Co. They wanted notoriety! They were planning on blowing up the local high school. This town is so small that we only have one high school. Someone overheard their planning and informed school authorities about what they overheard. Weeks turned into months. I went to visit my son every Saturday. I had to share the visits with his father. The courts awarded his dad the first half of the visitation session and I had the second half. I guess they didn’t want any parental confrontations to take place in juvenile hall. They would not allow my daughter, his sister, in to visit except for one time when she was allowed to bring in her own baby, my first grandson. My son hadn’t seen the baby for months by that time. 

Eventually the trial was over and he was sentenced to two years in a group home. Not for the original charges, but for the more than 150 kiddie porn photos in his possession at the time of his arrest. Once there, he was to receive counselling which, I think, failed him miserably. In the group home, all he learned is how to be a better criminal. By this time, I had decided to enter college. The divorce was final, and I would eventually need some way to support myself. I decided to study Criminology largely because of the experiences with my son’s first trial. Over the next two years I visited him as often as allowed. I purchased what he needed and sometimes went overboard with giving him the best quality of goods I could afford. After all, the child support I was receiving was paying for it. 

Now he is 18 and was released two weeks prior to his 18th birthday. He moved in with me. Not to the house he left because it was sold as part of the divorce, but to a smaller house that only had two bedrooms and one bathroom. I informed him that he would need to get a job and pay rent. Time for him to grow up! He did get the job...working at the neighborhood gas station. It was only two doors down from the house we shared. All appeared to be going well for a while. Soon he wanted to have his own computer and internet access. That is when it all started to go sideways. He took advantage of my being in school and started his criminal activities via the internet...again. 

Time wore on and soon it is time for me to graduate with my Associate of Arts degree in Criminology. One week prior to graduation there was a loud knock on my door. It was 8 AM and the FBI was there. This time they had a search warrant. I escorted them into the house and woke my son and informed him that we were being searched. He wasn’t too happy. Neither was I. I remember one agent sat in the living room with me while the rest of the house was visually searched and my son’s bedroom was once again deep searched. They took all the computers in the house, including mine. At this point I was glad that I no longer needed it for term papers. It took about an hour. I spoke with three of the agents outside on my back stoop and told them of the things I had observed regarding my son, including some disturbing behaviors of his. He was being charged this time with possession of kiddie porn. And he’d used interstate websites to get it. I told the agents how I noticed his interactions with my young grandkids and how he was beginning to groom one of them. He was not arrested this time. He was also now 20 years old. When I got home from school that day and he got home from work, I informed him that he had 30 days to find a new residence. I just couldn’t take the chance with my grandkids being around him any longer.

Twenty-eight days later I asked him where he was planning on moving to. He looked at me with an expression that said, “holy s*** she meant it”. Two days later he left and I haven’t laid eyes on him since. He went to the local homeless shelter for a couple of weeks. He called and asked for “gas money” and I told him that I would meet him at the gas station and pay for the gas. He said “never mind” and hung up on me.

Days turned into weeks then months and years. Two years later I received a package in the mail from a state penitentiary. It contained a letter from him and his clothing which smelled strongly of smoke from a grass fire. He was spending the remainder of his sentence in prison for violating his probation. I knew about the second trial, but when I attempted to see him in court his attorney asked for a continuation as did most attorneys that were in court that day. I never got to see my son because of that continuation. I never knew about the outcome because by that time he was over 21. I washed the clothes and searched the contents of his pockets and wallet. No clues as to what he was doing to support himself or where he was living except the city name. Months pass and I get a notice to ship the box back to the prison.

Twelve years pass and I finally get a response to one of the emails I kept sending him. He was ok and working as a residence hotel manager. That was it. Another year passes and I get a surprise from him. He sent me a Mother’s Day gift! Christmas comes and goes without a word. My birthday was the next time I heard from him. Months later he responds to an email with more information. We spend several emails catching up on life. He never knew that he had two more relatives...a niece and nephew. He also finally confides in me that he handled my putting my foot on his fluffy white ass and pushing him out of the proverbial nest not too well. He says that he remained away because he was embarrassed by his actions. I told him of all the good things his actions created. I implemented a support group for parents of felons in our home community and spent years in private security because of his criminal activities causing me to study criminology in the first place. That degree led me to work as an advocate for the handicapped and as an ombudsman for seniors in assisted living homes in our home community. Good things can come out of bad. 

It has been 17 years since I last laid eyes on my son. But the last four years he has finally started to communicate with me and it is my hope that someday I shall actually see him again.