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Copyright © Jan Cadieux 2000
A fifty year old should not have to live with an eighteen year old on mega hormones! Testosterone turned my angelic little guy into a raving imbecile who smoked mind-altering substances, stayed out all-night and flirted with death. I'm not exaggerating!
The police brought him home saying, "He and his buddies were pulled over because they were driving down the highway like drunks". They hadn't started driving lessons yet, being only fifteen. Next he woke us up like a fury at 2 am with a tale of being attacked by drug dealers, who turned out to be plain-clothes policemen. The police apologized for the false arrest, but the battle lines were drawn. Then the hospital called to say our Superman received head injuries while trying to save a damsel in distress. The drunken boyfriend had kicked Leo's head against a brick wall for his efforts.
As my son says, "living together is ruining our
relationship." I didn't say a word. To reduce
stress I watch wildlife documentaries. One evening I caught a "life
transforming" program about leopards. A mother leopard cares for her
young and teaches them how to hunt for two years. Then it's time for the
teenage leopard to have his own territory. The mother carries a fresh
antelope and leads the way to a new area. She puts the carcass in a fork
of the tree, and goes back to her old territory. The young leopard feeds
on the carcass for several days until even the tough hide is devoured and hunger
encourages him to hunt for himself.
Having a competent late teen bellowing for independence, I immediately saw the
similarities. It appeared the steps are: teach the young to hunt, that
will be job-hunting; find an attractive new territory, that will be an
apartment; leave food translates to fill the refrigerator; and then depart.
Hallelujah!
Now, don't mistake this as a hasty way to shove a kid out of their home. I
did after all spend 18 years of tender loving care, and never complained about
the fridge being emptied or the cost of designer clothes - well only a
little. I only started to winge in earnest when my teen became a strange
nocturnal creature I never saw; who woke up in time to hit the clubs and had a
police escort home in the wee hours of the morning.
The last straw was his cooking at one am. and leaving messes that looked like
road-kills in the kitchen. These remains revolted us at breakfast.
When he finally did appear in late afternoon, I'd greet him with a snarl,
"Clean the kitchen!"
I saw my future as a cranky old timer, saying, "My thirty year old son is
making my life hell at home."
What would a good leopard mother do? For a great new territory, I chose
Surfer's Paradise - a name only a teenager could love, but an easy drive from
his parents planned new territory on the sunny Gold Coast of Australia.
The classifieds showed that there were lots of cheap apartments, low prices for
meat, and lots of jobs requiring simple skills.
Of course my hints at this idea were met with typical teen derision,
"There's no way I'm traveling with you! I'll stay here and take care
of the house."
"You know you can't. We have to rent the house to cover traveling
expenses."
"I'll stay at my girlfriend's place then!"
I'd never heard about a girlfriend. All my friends were saying,
"You're crazy! Taking an eighteen year old anywhere is hell.
Just go and enjoy yourself."
So my reply to Leo was, "Great! I'll pay for your room and
board." But beneath this bravado was a sense of failure. A good
leopard mother would never abdicate responsibility like this.
Several weeks later Leo told me that not one of his friends could take him -
surprise, surprise!
"But", he said, "My new girlfriend is coming with
us."
And so a leopard family of four now planned to invade the Land Down Under.
Mom and Dad preceding as scouts looking for transportation and a place to stay,
then the royal cubs arriving a month later. We practiced family travel a
couple of months before the big trip, with a weekend to Whistler,
B.C.. I don't think my leopard mentor would have approved, especially
considering the stress this little weekend trip produced.
Angela didn't answer the door when we arrived at nine am to pick her up for
the ferry. Leo went in and finally reported, "Angela's
comatose! You go ahead. We'll take her convertible and catch
up." I had a strange feeling this had all been planned?
They didn't catch up at the ferry. We waited for the next ferry and then gave up
and went on ahead to Whistler. The extra car meant an extra hundred
dollars in ferry charges, but we figured maybe two cars were needed for
breathing room. There we sweated in a 40-degree room until midnight.
Finally we collapsed on top of the bed with all the windows open for some
air. The sound of skate boarders clattering over bricks sounded like
trains heading for the bedroom. Hours later, we finally dozed off and then
the phone rang. It was three am.
"Hi! We took the wrong ferry! Where are you guys?"
After three deep breaths I managed to give instructions. I stood on the
balcony in my boxers waiting for them so I could toss down the apartment
keys. Angela's white convertible turned into our street and stopped at the
corner store. Twenty minutes later they emerged heavily laden with
slushies and soft drinks. By this time I was turning strange shades of
purple and growling quite appropriately like a leopard.
Half asleep we listened to their tale of going to the wrong ferry terminal,
arriving south of Vancouver instead of north at Horseshoe Bay and getting lost
in Vancouver! I considered all this in stunned silence. They
had gotten lost on 4 hour trip, half of it by ferry! Imagine how
lost they could get flying half way around the world to Brisbane, Australia via
Los Angeles and Kuala Lumpur with stop-overs! It was impossible to predict
where they would end up, but I didn't imagine they'd make it as far as
Australia!
***
Surprise! Surprise! The Royal cubs made it to Brisbane, and on time no less,
although they did get lost in LA airport and the plane out of Kuala Lumpur had
to wait for Leo to finish his five course breakfast.
How did we compare to the leopard mother? We found the cubs a furnished apartment within their budget, half a block to the beach and six blocks to downtown Surfer's. We filled the fridge with nutritious food and gave them a substantial gift certificate to the veggie and fruit store and even put a large pot of tomato plants on the balcony. But we were dismal failures at leaving them to do their own job hunting. We ran down for the paper at dawn, eagerly circled potential jobs and even wrote glowing resumes - while the royal pair slept until opening time??.
After a long month of sleeping in the dining room, we headed south 100 km. to Byron Bay. Every night we phoned and they were sleeping and eating, but not working. After a week Leo said he missed us doing the shopping and emptying the garbage. There were ants everywhere and creepy things crawling in the overflowing garbage. The fridge must have been empty, because when we called the next night, Angela had a job and Leo had two part time jobs.
How do mother leopard's figure all this out, without a family therapist or even a parenting book? It must be in their spots.
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