He Was Pissed At Me. Good.

Mari texts me a screenshot. 

It's an e-mail from Milam's Language Arts teacher.

Apparently he has been disrupting the class for the last two weeks. Repeating her words back to the class. Interrupting when she is trying to give students directions. He even had a screaming outburst where she had to send him out of the room. She wanted to handle it herself, but nothing was working and her patience was growing thin. She was considering detention and ISI.

She closed the letter with: "Do you think there may be something else going on?"

I'm sure most would look at the situation and think there are plenty of reasons and justifications for why he is acting this way. The upcoming move. The weekly jumping between two divorced parents households. Sitting in a school that isn't designed for him. Instability for a child who requires stability and reliability (he is a 4/6 in Human Design, for those familiar with the framework).

Mari had spoken with Milam and asked him why he has been acting this way, and his response was "I'm bored."

I knew that was a copout and so I told her I'll call in a bit.

When I get Milam on the phone, I don't lead with what the teacher said. 

"How's school going?"

I didn't want to put him on the defensive before he had a chance to open up. However, we very quickly ended up at the issue. He gives me the same answer he gave Mari: He's bored. 

"School can be boring sometimes, for sure. What are you doing with that boredom?"

I can see the anger rising in him (we are speaking on FaceTime). In his eyes, I quickly went from stepfather and confidant to enemy. In my time with him, I recognize that gentleness is something he sees as an opportunity to disrespect, manipulate, and take advantage of. And so I went with tender, but firm. Challenging. Unmovable.

I tell him to show me exactly how he has been misbehaving in class so that I know what it looks like. He keeps dancing around it. I stay firm and repeat my request again and again. He starts to tear up angrily, eyebrows furled, eyes bloodshot, understanding I am not going to let him run away from accountability (I very recently had a 1:1 talk with him about our relationship changing now that he is 12, and how I will be taking a more "annoying" role in calling him forward on his immature behaviors in order to prep him for mature manhood.)

He states out loud what he is doing and I notice he doesn't like what he is hearing. 

The previous day, I explained to him (in person, at the airport before flying back home) that he is no longer allowed to think only of himself. He must understand that every action has a consequence - a ripple outward - and he must take accountability for that. He doesn't get to hurt others and avoid consequence. He doesn't get to do anything he wants without it affecting some other person or thing. This is how a child thinks. And he is no longer a child. He is becoming a young man. And that transition doesn't just happen miraculously overnight. Without healthy masculine intervention, boys will continue to be boys in grown adult bodies. I told him the entitlement will be broken, the harmful behaviors will be corrected, and I am choosing to take that responsibility on, if no other man in his life will. 

"How does your behavior impact the teacher? The other students?"

"I don't know," he says.

I challenge him, and make it very clear that I will not be giving him any answers, and I've got 4 more hours to sit with him on FaceTime and wait until he figures it out. He doesn't like that. He's pissed. He's used to the men in his life caving when he is either super sweet or ridiculously belligerent. He doesn't know what else to do. He feels exposed. Exposed by a man who cares deeply enough to go beneath the surface, no matter how much destruction he causes to dodge and deflect from the truth. 

Slowly, he begins to find answers. Some of them are good. He understands now that his actions make her job and her life more difficult. And that she is choosing to spend her energy and her time on guiding these children. He now sees that he is robbing the other students of learning. Robbing himself of learning. 

I tell him that there will be no screens until he fixes this. Because verbal apologies are no longer enough at this age. I give him three criteria. First, he must apologize - not only for what he did, but also the impact his behavior had. He must do this out loud. I explained that public harm requires public apology. Secondly, he must ask the teacher to give him a responsibility to take care of until the end of the school year. Apologies are shown through meaningful action. And lastly, the teacher is the one who must let us know when she feels that he has made up for his behavior. We will not be the ones to decide when he can get back on the screens because we are not the ones he offended. 

Something else came through him at this point. It wasn't about boredom. It was about social currency. 

"If I apologize out loud, the other students will make fun of me, please don't make me do it."

I explained that his teacher didn't have a choice in being made fun of because he thought it would be "cool" to embarrass her and disrupt the class. He doesn't get the choice to avoid whatever embarrassment might ensue either for taking accountability. He knew I was right, but he really didn't want to lose that social capital. I stood firm. He is more pissed than I'd ever seen him. 

"Goodnight." His last attempt to gain control of the situation so he doesn't feel powerless. 

I catch this, and I want to encourage him to sit in the discomfort of that. I asked him where he's going. 

"Aren't we done?" he says angrily.

"No. We aren't," I say softly. 

I sit with him in silence for a minute or two. I stay calm, with a loving gaze. No anger, no overpowering posture or glances. I take a deep breath, hoping he catches the intention of calming his own nervous system from across the screen. "Now we are done. Goodnight kiddo. I love you." He says goodnight and goes to bed.

I loop Mari in and explain to her the importance of being on the same page. He will try to find a gap between us. That's his job. Our job is to make sure there isn't one. We e-mail the teacher and fill her in on the requirements. We let her know that she is the one holding the standard. 

One week later, we receive an e-mail from the teacher. Milam has apologized. He has asked how he can be of service. And his behavior has improved drastically. 

Note: He kept asking if he could go on the screen throughout the week. Pretty dramatically. Screen addiction is real. Each time we were firm and reminded him of what's required - the last thing being the teacher holding the keys to his privilege access. He eventually calmly asked, and when told no, he would go make himself busy with handiwork or creativity. And now, with the teacher's confirmation, he has regained access to screens, still honoring our house rule: Contribution and Connection before Comfort.