an open letter

So there we sat, your step-dad and I. The only two white people in the room. And I was so sincere and heartfelt, and he was so skeptical. But I plowed on, understanding that he and I see different sides of you, understanding that I'd known you longer, and in a different context, and really wanting--needing-- him and of course your mother to know how much I appreciated you. Wanting them to know that unlike the other kids who had just gotten older, theirs was the boy who had grown up. So gratifying, even as mere witness. The highest praise I had, my best gift to you--to tell your parents, directly, how well you were coming along even if it didn't always show on paper, and how much it meant. We were at a party, in the summer. That was Allison talking, not Ms. P.

Thanks for nothing, you idiot.

And then a year later, sitting again with your family because you asked me, because that's where I belonged, I watched you graduate with such pride and satisfaction. On my daughter's birthday, I was there without question: we'd been through so much, for so many years, and we both wanted to see it through. Good times.

Which, as I second-hand understand it, is what you're having now. I won't condescend to say, "You think you're having fun," because between the hormones and the drinking and the who-knows-what, oh, I'm sure you are. It would sound like a typical freshman year to me if you had bothered to enroll. Did we not just spend the last year getting you ready for college? Was that just not a mere matter of weeks ago that you were so excited to go? Am I missing something?

I already knew, by the way, that you had let me down. When the start of the semester passed without any contact or questions, well. That seemed to be a sign. That's not the way things go. I've got a folder full of Sent and Inbox evidence that show the contrary. And when my quick, "So, are you in school?" went days and days with no reply? Well. You know you know. Listen to yourself.

Because I'm sure, at the moment, you're not going to listen to me. Especially now that I'm serious rant mode, inspired by the news from our mutual friend that you don't even have a job. Good grief! No wonder your step-dad tried to throw you out; I should call him and commiserate. Or hear his I-told-you-sos.

I am so disappointed.

Not that this is about me. Not that you aren't smarter than this. I know you are only temporarily playing the part of the fool. Because trust me: this is seriously stupid. So far it's only a semester wasted --and, oh some goodwill of some people who love you--and money you haven't made, but you of all people should know life is hard enough without going and making it harder! And yet, there you are, doing exactly that, there on the road to nowhere.

As you surely must know. When you're ready to admit it and want to try to fix it, you let me know.