From Good Housekeeping - January 1994

MY PROBLEM

Last year my husband, Paul, and I finally fulfilled a dream-thanks in part to lower interest rates, we were able to buy a home of our own. Not a palace by any stretch-it needed a lot of fixing up ­ but Paul and I were both handy, and since all our married life had been spent in a small apartment, the house felt like a mansion. The only one who wasn't thrilled with the move was our 14-year-old son, Bobby.

The change was rough on him. Both Paul and I work in the city, and our new location meant a longer commute. With less time at home and so much to do, we had to rely on Bobby for help with many chores. Worst of all, our new town was far enough away so that Bobby had to attend a new school, where he knew none of the kids. Still, I was sure
that having his own room, a nice backyard, and, eventually, a base­ment playroom would more than make up for the temporary downside. "And you'll make the football team just like you did in your old school," I told him, "and you'll meet scads of kids that way."

Bobby tried out for the team but didn't make it. Unlike his former school, which was quite small, his new one had no shortage of players, some of them very good. Many of the boys had been on the team for years and formed a tight, unbreak­able circle both on the field and off.

In fact, Bobby indicated, the school was filled with cliques-the athletes, the A students, the more af­fluent, the cutups-so that it was hard for any outsider, particularly a shy boy like Bobby, to break in. So, partly by choice, partly by necessity, my son be­came something of a loner. After school, he would come home to an empty house and his chores: laundry, yard cleanup, straightening his room. Sometimes Paul and I both worked late, so he'd have to warm up his din­ner in the microwave and eat alone.

Even when we were all home on the weekends, Paul and I were both preoccupied. Bobby would frequently complain, "There's nothing to do."

"Go help your father," I suggested one Saturday. I knew Paul was in the kitchen replacing pipes and fixtures on the sink.

"He says I'm no good at fixing things," Bobby said.

"Well, try again," I told him.

He did, but moments later I heard Paul criticizing loudly, "Bobby, that's no good. I'll do it!" This was fol­lowed by Bobby's footsteps dragging up the stairs to his room.

I hurried into the kitchen. "The kid needs something to do, Paul. Can't you find a way for him to help you?"

"For Pete's sake, Sally," he replied. "We should really have a plumber in doing this in the first place. I can't take the time to oversee Bobby too."

"Okay, okay," I replied. But before I returned to my job of patching up a decrepit ceiling, I went up to Bobby's room. "Dad doesn't mean to be im­patient with you, honey," I told him. "We're both just so stressed out. As soon as we get this house under con­trol, things will be better, I promise." Bobby just nodded.

Soon after that things did seem to get better because Bobby finally made some friends at school. The first Saturday they came over to the house, however, I was a little taken aback: They seemed on the rough side, nowhere near as well-mannered as his former school friends.

Then, a couple of weeks later, again on a Saturday, I was working around the house when Bobby and two of his new friends came rushing in, loudly whispering and laughing as they ran up to his room. Within min­utes I could hear his cassette player booming. Well, listening to music with friends wasn't the worst thing he could do on a weekend, I reasoned.

But one night during the week when I was in the kitchen fixing dinner, Paul came in, concerned. "Where did Bobby get all the new cassettes?" he asked. "I was just in his room and there must be a couple of dozen of them." I looked blank-I had no idea. "I didn't buy them for him," I said.

At dinner, Paul asked Bobby directly about the cassettes. "I got some with my allowance." he responded. "Some I trad­ed, some I borrowed from the guys." It sounded plausible and, besides, Bobby had never lied to us. Paul was satisfied and so was I.

But the very next day when I came home from work, I was surprised to find Bobby wearing a school-team football jersey. I knew only team members were given the jerseys. "Did you make the team after all'?" I asked eagerly.

"No. But the coach said I probably would next term, so he gave me one to wear," Bobby replied. Paul didn't say anything when he heard Bobby's story, but his expression seemed skeptical.

The fall flew by, and almost before we turned around, Christmas was upon us. Paul and I had decided to drive back to our old hometown to spend the long holiday weekend with my sister and her family. We were having a wonderful visit till, on the day after Christmas, my nephew Jamie accused Bobby of stealing one of his new videos.

Bobby's denial was furious. "Why would I take your crummy video'?" he demanded. "I don't even have a VCR! Search my things if you don't believe me!"

"No one's searching anything," I said, trying to be the voice of reason. "Jamie, you must have just misplaced the tape."
Since we indeed didn't have a VCR, even Paul agreed that Jamie must be mistaken, but the cousins refused to make up. Our holiday was no longer so wonderful; I actually felt relieved when we headed for home on Sunday.

After we unpacked, Paul took the suitcases down to the basement for stor­age. As he was stowing the case Bobby had used, he heard something rattling inside. On opening up the suitcase, what should he find but Jamie's missing video.

He brought it up to our room. "Oh, no!" I exclaimed. "You mean Bobby really did take it? But why'?"

"Maybe one of his friends has a VCR," Paul replied. "I don't know, I don't care. I won't have a son who's a thief, Sally!"

Paul wanted to confront Bobby imme­diately, but I felt I wanted to talk to the school counselor about the problem first
and promised to phone for an appoint­ment in the morning.

When I did, I learned that Mrs. Endicott, the counselor, had been trying to reach me. She'd sent a letter home with Bobby-who had never delivered it.

I went to see her right away. "I hate to tell you," she said after greeting me, "but a couple of our boys, including Bobby, have been caught stealing."

I sank back in my chair with a sigh.

Apparently, after Bobby had successfully stolen the football jersey-and yes, it was stolen-he and his friends had decided to rifle another boy's locker. Bobby had the boy's cap and his cassette player in one of his pockets when he was caught. "I just don't understand it," I said. "Bobby has always been such a sweet, good boy."

"Well, I know he's new in our school, which can be a pretty big adjustment," Mrs. Endicott said. "Have there been any other changes in his life as well'?"

I told her about our move, how uprooted and lonely Bobby must have been feeling-and his new possessions that Paul and I had noticed and been unable to explain. "My husband and I haven't been paying enough attention to Bobby," I admitted.

"Even if that's true, the problem may have arisen anyway," Mrs. Endicott replied. "Unfortunately, stealing is fairly common among adolescents.

“Teens are under so much stress today," she went on. "Sometimes, when 'kids feel their lives are out of control, they break rules just to give themselves a sense of power. In Bobby's case, all the changes in his life must have fueled his insecurity. I think his stealing was a cry for help. I think he wanted to get caught."

Mrs. Endicott advised that Paul, Bobby, and I come in together to talk with her. "But first," she said, "I want you and your husband to talk to Bobby. It's very important that he realize the seriousness of what he's done and that he must make restitution."

I called Paul and we agreed to confront Bobby that night. We saw to it that we were hOl1leearly. Paul greeted him with the stolen video in hand, "What do you have to say about this?" he asked Bobby.

"Jamie must have put it in with my things to get me in trouble," Bobby replied.

"Bobby, we know you stole it:' I said, "I didn't! I didn't!" he shouted, and then suddenly he began to cry.

"Bobby, we know you're a good boy and we want to help you," Paul said. "This has got to stop before it goes any further and you get into real trouble."

"I didn't mean it," Bobby sobbed. "I' didn't have any friends. You were always busy with the house. Then I met these guys in the school cafeteria and we went to a record store and they dared me to take a cassette. If I didn't, they'd have thought I was a nerd-so I did, And it was fun. So I went back and did it again."

Over the next half hour, amid- sobs and sniffles, it all came out-the stolen cassettes, the football jersey, Jamie's videotape, the personal stuff he'd tried to take from another boy's locker.

"It's good that you finally told us, honey," I said, "But that's not enough. You're going to have to make up for this. First, you'll have to tell every person you stole from that you did it, and that you‘re sorry. Then you're going to have to make restitution-even if it takes every penny of' your allowance for the next few months. And on top of that you're grounded for a month. I want you right home from school every day, no going out, no friends, no television. And I'll be calling you to make sure you're here. And," I added, "once you're back in circulation, you make some new friends. I never want you seeing those other boys again."

Totally dejected, Bobby agreed to all my conditions, A few days later Paul, Bobby, and I met for a family session with Mrs. Endicott. First speaking with Paul and me alone, she told us what we'd already figured out: We simply had to make more time for our son. "This problem could recur," she warned.

When Mrs. Endicott called Bobby in, she asked him, "How did it feel to apologize to the people you stole from'?"

"Awful," Bobby admitted.

"But you felt better about yourself afterwards, didn’t you?” Bobby admitted that he did. "I want you to feel even better," Mrs. Endicott said. "I think you should enroll in Shoplifters Anonymous:'

This, she told us, is a nationwide pro­gram for people with Bobby's problem. They eve n have a special home-study course for juveniles. Through the organization, Bobby could get appropriate help and reinforcement.

Bobby took her advice, and I think the program did help him. Shortly after he began it, we encouraged him to start an extracurricular course in shop at school. where he was both able to make new friends and learn some skills to help his dad around the house.

Paul and I tried to do our part as well.

Though we both still work – we have to - see to it that at least one of us is home every evening in time for dinner with Bobby. As much as we may need overtime money, our son needs us more.

He is 15 now and has not stolen anything more, but we still carefully monitor his friends and his possessions. However, we've made it clear that we are not doing it because we don't trust him. We are doing it because we love him.

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