|Blogs > Frnds4Play > Sparks and Rivulets|
As I have stated before I didn't want children, but my husband did, and I finally got pregnant after one miscarriage in 1975.
Saying you don't want kids and having them are two different things. Once he was born I loved him and wanted the best for him. I chose to raise him differently than I was raised. I never wanted him to experience the kind of upbringing I had, but my husband saw nothing wrong in the way his dad raised him. So the fights began, yet again.
I am sure my husbands dad loved him, but punishments were severe in some cases and he was extremely strict. Punishments ran from being whipped with a stem off a tree to being thrown up against a wall.
I am not saying that I never spanked my son. I did when he deserved it. With my hand or a paddle. Mostly he was sent to his room. I believed in also telling my son the truth about things, any thing, and that included sex.
My son was born with a learning disability, that he had inherited from me. It made it harder to raise him, because he didn't understand some things that were said to him, so I was constantly trying to re word my sentences to him so he could understand what I was saying. He also had a severe temper.
My sister was the one that talked to me about my son having some kind of problems when he was young, before school age. I had not babysat much and I knew nothing about raising a child, so I didn't recognize things that my sister did. Once I realized that there was some kind of problem other than just a slowness, I started taking him to Doctors. I was lucky in that I found an excellent children's Doctor right off, that knew what he was seeing. He ran a variety of tests and came up with the learning disability. I had rims of paper work that I gave the schools when he started kindergarten. But schools being what they are would not take the Doctors advice, and ran there own tests, which in the end came up to being the same as my Doctors. But it had wasted precious time.
My son was put into a special ed class. 7 students and 2 teachers. Not to shabby. He remained in that type of class until the 6th grade. At 6th grade he was sent to his home school, and they tried to integrate him into regular classes, but he couldn't handle himself in them, so he was put back into special ed, which was fine by me.
The school system tried to have him attend regular High School, but he kept getting into trouble so he was transferred out of regular High school and sent to a school for troubled kids. (I can't remember the name). He graduated a year early from that school, then joined the work force.
That's the basics. What I haven't mentioned so far is what it was like raising him with no help from his dad. Yes, his dad was there for him during Indian Guides and Boy Scouts, But he wasn't any help with the day to day raising of him. It all fell on me.
My husband never diapered him, never gave him a bath, rarely fed him, never took him to a doctor, never went to school meetings, never sat up with him when he was sick, never read to him, rarely talked to him, rarely hugged him. I was the only parent at his graduation ceremony from grade school. He did manage to make it to the High School graduation.
I often have wondered why I got the child with all the problems and my sister had the perfect child.
I look back from time to time and wonder what it would have been like for me if I had been given a "normal" child. I will never know. But I did learn a lot from having him. I learned how to deal with children like him. I knew how there minds worked. And I knew how to re phrase words so they could understand better. It all came into play in 2 of my jobs.
When my son was older, in his early teens things got really bad with him. His temper was extreme at times. We could be having a nice conversation and just one little word would set him off. He would jump up screaming at me. As I tried to settle him down with a calming voice he would sometimes take a knife out of the kitchen drawers and point it at me. Saying how much he wanted to kill me. If it wasn't a knife, it was an ice pick.
Mostly he would get right up in my face, yelling his hatred of me.
When he was 15 he started drinking. I don't know where he got it. I suppose someone bought it for him. I searched his room when he wasn't home, and that's how I found the bottle. I did not confront him at the time, but I kept close watch on that bottle in his desk. I also read what he was writing down. He liked to write, but it was all evil, black stuff. He started using drugs about the same time. I didn't know what kind of drugs, and when I asked him about it he denied it. Of course. I found out later that he was using acid, tried meth, but didn't like it, pot of course also.
Did I have him in counseling. You bet I did. Several different ones at different times in his life. I made us all go for family counseling also. But that didn't last too long. Hubby decided he didn't like it, so refused to go. But I went with my son.
Through it all I loved him. He was after all my son. I had always hoped he would go on to college, but he choice not too. He is smart, he just doesn't use it wisely. His brain that is.
When he was 21 and still living at home we took in a border. A young man. With him came all his friends and the wars stared again.
This is getting way too long, so I will continue this also.
Take care everyone