"It is strange," the old man said. "He never went turtle-ing. That is what kills the eyes."
"But you went turtle-ing for years off the Mosquito Coast and your eyes are good."
"I am a strange old man."
"But are you strong enough now for a truly big fish?"
"I think so. And there are many tricks."
"Let us take the stuff home," the boy said. "So I can get the cast net and go after the sardines."
They picked up the gear from the boat. The old man carried the mast on his shoulder and the boy carried the wooden box with the coiled, hard-braided brown lines, the gaff and the harpoon with its shaft. The box with the baits was under the stern of the skiff along with the club that was used to subdue the big fish when they were brought alongside. No one would steal from the old man but it was better to take the sail and the heavy lines home as the dew was bad for them and, though he was quite sure no local people would steal from him, the old man thought that a gaff and a harpoon were needless temptations to leave in a boat.
Temptations are a strange thing. They're always present. Perhaps, if there's some cold pizza in the fridge, you are tempted to get up in the middle of the night to have a slice. Or if someone's gossiping, you may feel the impulse to stop and listen and participate. Temptations can be small (a frozen Hershey bar in the freezer) or huge (Internet porn).
It was day three being at home with my son. He's in a better place than he was on Tuesday, when I was ready to hide the knives and medications in the house. I think he actually had a good day. We watched a bad Bigfoot movie in the morning, and, this evening, we went to an escape room with some family and friends. He laughed. A lot.
As I said a couple days ago, I know my son is not perfect. He's a 13-year-old boy with 13-year-old boy temptations. He also has ADHD and impulse issues. Perhaps, if you've been reading my last few posts, you think that I'm a parent who's being fooled by my son. That he's a kid who manipulates and lies. All teenagers do that. I did. If you're any distance from teenagehood, you did, too.
However, this situation with my son was not handled properly, from beginning to end. He wasn't given the opportunity to tell his side of the story. Instead, classmates who have been bullying him for over five months were interviewed, and my son was punished solely on their version of events. That may work in countries like North Korea. It doesn't quite work like that in the United States. In fact, there's a little thing called the Constitution that kind of insures things like that don't happen.
Nothing I do from here on out will reclaim for my son the experience of his last middle school chorus concert with his favorite teacher (who's retiring). Or his eighth grade school trip to Great America. The temptation now is simply to try to ride out the rest of the school year, get my son to his eighth grade graduation ceremony, and then breathe a sigh of relief when he walks out the school doors on the last day.
But here's the thing that bothers me: if this happened to my son, it has probably happened to other kids, as well. And it will continue to happen, unless enough people stand up and raise their voices, Howard Beale-style, and say, "I'm as mad as hell, and I'm not going to take this anymore!"
That's what Saint Marty is going to do.
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