Carol
Marks
The Boy
_____________________________
The car is pointed south and doing 80 down I-65. My new husband
and I are headed to the beach for a few days. I want to open the passenger door
and hurl myself out of the car and onto the hard, gritty pavement, and into the
oncoming traffic... instead, I continue to flip through the pages of InStyle
magazine. I am not reading it. I only brought the stupid magazine to distract
myself on the trip. You see, earlier this morning we left our home in Huntsville,
Alabama with another passenger. We made a pit stop in Opelika to abandon my
12-year old son at his new school, a military boarding school. My son will
start the 7th grade at Lyman Ward Military Academy. His name is
Tyler. I left Tyler with those wolves and I am now headed to the beach.
Now, I know what you are thinking. I get it all the time when I
tell people that my son is away at military school. You all get a horrified
expression and ask, “Oh my, what did he do that was so terrible where you felt
you had to send him to military school?” I know that you expect me to tell you
that he did drugs, or stole a car, or constantly skipped school or some other
form of juvenile delinquent or criminal behavior. The fact is Tyler was 12
years old at the time. He had not yet done anything to warrant sending him
away. So why did I do it? Why did I send him away to military school?
In June of 2005, Michael, my husband and the father of my two
children, suddenly passed away. Until that moment, I was a stay at home mom and
housewife. Yes, two children. The girl is 18 months older than Tyler and seems
to have adjusted to our new life without too many bumps in the road. Tyler, it
seems, would not be as pliable.
Before getting married I served 5 years in the United States Navy
and had worked in the corporate world. So, while the death of my husband was
quite shocking, I also knew I had a job to do. There were two children that
needed my attention. I had to get busy with what life decided to bestow upon
me. Doesn’t that sound nice and tidy? Well, I was a wreck. I had no clue what
the hell I was doing. I was scared out of my mind. I was all alone, responsible
for two human beings. I knew the type of person that resided deep down inside
of me and I had never managed to summon up the courage to confront her. I was a
failure at everything. Was I now pretending to be a mother? My parenting skills
were lacking. My kids suffered. It is not their fault.
That first year after Michael’s death was a nightmare. I do not remember
parenting my kids. It was a dark time. I feel sick to my stomach recalling that
time in my life. How did my kids manage? They lived like orphans that first
year. I was not present in their lives or any form or fashion during that first
year. Then my feet managed to find ground again. I landed a decent job and, as
time moved on, life started again.
Cary and I met several years back. We were just friends for the
longest time. Cary even knew my Michael. We all ran around with the same circle
of friends. He was a true gentleman to me after Mike’s death. In fact, he was
the only one I felt safe with whenever all of the friends would get together. The
safety turned into affection and in November of 2008 we married. I still say to
this day that Cary is a saint because he decided to take us on with no prior
experience.
Our lives began to lift off but we discovered that Tyler had
forgotten to buckle up for the ride. He began to get attention at school and
not in the good way either. His grades began to suffer. Remember, I told you
earlier that he had done nothing bad in order to land himself at a military
school, but now I could see the path that he was headed down. I knew I had to
throw up a detour sign for him but I had no clue what I was doing either.
We decided to seek out family counseling. Maybe I had not handled
their father’s death the right way. I did not know how to help the kids at the
time so I did nothing. I just tried my best to keep moving forward. Was I
paying the price for it now?
After many months of wasted dollars, with no real tangible result,
I remembered that one of Tyler’s preschool teachers tried to tell me that my
son displayed ADHD behavior. Tyler was 3 years old at the time and this
non-qualified preschool teacher was trying to tell me my son had ADHD? He was 3
years old for crying out loud, he was a normal boy, just doing his thing. I
ignored her. I decided, as a last ditch effort, to have my son tested for ADHD
when he was 12 years old. He scored high in the impulsivity category. This
explained so many things. I was now armed with something real, an explanation
of sorts. Now everything will be OK, I told myself. But it was not. While
having my child on medication was not my ideal way to deal with the ADHD, it
did seem to help a little, but Tyler needed something else. He needed something
I could not give him. He needed structure and routine. Try as I might, I failed
again and again when it came to structure and routine. I could not do it. I had
to find an alternative to save my son. I mean it when I say “save my son,”
because the path he was on was leading to nothing but heartache fast.
I had to come to a point of surrender. I could not help my child.
I had to call upon strangers– the military school. I did not want to do this,
not one single bit. I would be a failure as mother, I thought, if I could not
get a grip and solve this myself. Finally, a good friend of mine stopped me one
day in the middle of one of my rambling, whiny monologues and said, “Carol,
this is not about you. This is about what’s best for Tyler.” My friend had just
switched on the light switch.
While the light bulb came on for me, it was still not an easy
decision. I knew I had to send him to military school. I knew it with every
ounce of life in my body, but my heart was still holding out. I had made so
many bad decisions in the past with my own life that I was paralyzed with fear
to make a decision that concerned my son. What if I make the wrong decision? What
makes me so sure this is the right one for my son?
No one could help me with this decision. I had to make this one by
myself. I had always sought validation from others about my life choices. My
husband could not make this decision for me, my friends could not make this
decision for me, and even God seemed to remain quiet on this one. I have always
felt alone in this world but this was pure silent torture.
I decided to make the initial phone call to Lyman Ward Military
School. Good God, even the name of the school sounded like a prison. I was only
calling to get general information but the lady on the phone was nice to me,
much to my surprise, and recommended that we come down for a tour. A tour? Is
this how it works? I feel I have betrayed my son with just a simple phone call.
Cary and I set a date to go down and take a tour of the campus, meet the
faculty, observe current cadets, and get a feel for the campus life.
The first person we are introduced to is Major Joe Watson, the
Dean at Lyman Ward Military School. He is a tall gray-headed, good-looking man
with a mustache. This told me right away he was not a real military man. No one
wore a mustache when I was in the Navy, it wasn’t allowed. Major Watson wore a
uniform anyway. He has a kind and friendly face, not what I expected to find at
this school. He even smiled, a lot. It turns out he is an Auburn graduate with
a major in music, another unexpected piece of information. Major Watson’s
office was inviting and decorated with humor. He sat behind his desk while we
sat in two cushioned chairs facing him. Major Watson told us about the school
and its history. He also told us that the boys get open weekends where they are
allowed to go home if their behavior warrants the time off. At this piece of
information, my heart falls to the bottom of my stomach and I think to myself,
“Oh please, Tyler, be good.” It turns
out that Major Watson was a great sales man. He sold us on the school.
I began to wonder what it was going to be like to tell my son he
was no longer going to be living with us, that he was going away to a boarding
school, a military school. This was even harder than making the decision
itself. How will he react? Will he hate me? Will he think that I do not want
him anymore? Will he cry and throw himself at my feet, grabbing my legs begging
me, “Please Mommy, I’ll be good! Don’t send me away!” Or will he get so pissed
off that he threatens to run way, refusing to go? I waited until it was the middle of July when
I tell him. We were at the dinner table when I blurt it out, “Tyler, remember
how we once talked about sending you to private school? Possibly, a military
school?” Tyler stops chewing his food, puts his fork down, he folds his hands
in his lap, not even swallowing his food as he awaits the blowing news. I
continue, “Well, you’re going, we’ve decided to send you to a military school,
it’s 3.5 hours away from our home which means you will be staying down there.
School starts August 17th.” I pick up my glass of tea and take a
sip, trying to seem normal. I look at my son over the rim of my tea glass, and
then glance at my husband, trying to get a feel for what is about to happen. I
return my tea glass to the table, pick up my fork and take a stab a piece of
meat on my plate. Tyler slowly finishes chewing is food. I take this for a good
sign. He swallows his food and asks, “Can I go now?” This was followed by a
whole slew of other questions, as his excitement escalated, his eyes big with
curiosity. I cannot believe this; he is actually excited. This cannot be right.
Wait, he is a 12-year-old boy, and what does he know about going away to
military school? He does not realize this will not be anything like summer
camp.
August 17th makes its debut and we load up the car with
his bag full of plain white tee shirts, underwear, black socks, white socks,
tennis shoes, and toiletries. What we do not pack is his Xbox and games, iPod,
or any sort of regular street clothes. He will not need them.
The drive is 3.5 hours south of our home. I expected to see a ton
of parents with their boys trying to check in but it is only the three of us.
We start the check in process right away. The staff greets us with smiles and
calm demeanor. They direct us from one place to another. First check-in is the
administration building where my husband writes his first of many checks to the
school. Next we go see the doctor and check in with medications, forms, and
insurance information. After the short visit with the medical staff we are then
escorted downstairs and out the back to the supply office. Everything is going
smoothly and I am starting to feel a little okay with my decision. It is funny
how the Colonel is always at the next station waiting to greet us. How does he
do that anyway? We walk into the supply office and right away a nice
grandmotherly sort of woman welcomes us and directs Tyler to the back to try on
his first set of Lyman Ward Military attire; a physical training uniform that
consists of a bright yellow tee shirt and blue shorts, emblazoned with the
school logo on the front. The uniform lady escorts Tyler back out to the
waiting area where she promptly hands me a Wal-Mart bag that contains my son’s
street clothes; the clothes that he was wearing just minutes ago. In some sort
of natural reaction, I take the bag from her but I am almost having an out of
body experience. I can see myself taking the Wal-Mart bag from her, the
Wal-Mart bag that contain my son’s regular clothes, but my head and heart were
just catapulted, in a matter of seconds, to an unknown place. What the hell was
I doing? My poor little baby boy, what have I done? He stands there looking at
me with a half-smile on his face but I can see the fear. He is a trooper and
acts the part of big boy. Before I can react to any of this, the Colonel
escorts us quickly out of the supply office and onto the next place – the
barracks.
Sgt. Davis awaits us at the barracks and takes us all up to
Tyler’s room. It is a small square room about the size of a prison cell. It is
set up to house two boys. There are twin beds, one on each side of the room.
There is one desk that is up against the far wall separating the beds. The room
has windows at the top of the wall that face out to the parking lot. There are
two big closets located at the end of each twin bed where the boys will stow
their belongings in neat little stacks of folded underwear, tee shirts, and
socks. The walls are cinder block and painted off-white with the bottom portion
being painted in a light sky blue color. There is no air conditioning. Sgt. Davis gives us the run-down of what his role
will be for Tyler. Sgt. Davis is in charge of Echo Company and he will be the point
of contact for everything.
There is nothing more left for us to do but leave. We walk Tyler
outside and stand on the sidewalk. The Colonel and Sgt. Davis walk off a few
feet and let us say our good byes. I have to make it short and quick before I
break down in front of my child. I give Tyler a big but short hug. I tell him I
love him and we will see him in three weeks at his orientation graduation. They
call all of the new boys; “Scrubs” and they have to go through an orientation
the first three weeks to learn the ins and outs of the school system and this
new military life. I know what orientation really is; I have been in the Navy.
My first eight weeks of being in the Navy was called “Boot Camp.” I have done
the best I can to explain to Tyler what this orientation is all about. Cary
shakes Tyler’s hand and gives him a little hug too. We turn away from Tyler and
head to our car. I plaster the best smile I possibly can across my face until
we get inside the vehicle and drive off of campus. I do not look back. I cannot.
I have to be strong.
The first few minutes after leaving the campus I make small talk
about how long it will take to get to the beach, what route we are going to
take, and hoping the weather will be good. I take out my InStyle magazine. We
get to Montgomery and I have finished flipping through every single page in the
magazine. I sit in silence letting the scenery whiz past. I have no other
choice.
My husband reassures me this would be the ideal time to go to the
beach. I can use the time to process what just happened. I have abandoned my
son at military school. Four years earlier my son’s real father died. I am now
remarried and I have just left my son at military school. I’m headed to
the beach with my new husband. What kind of mother takes this sort of action? I
am a horrid mother. I am a horrid person. Breathe, just breathe Carol, in and
out; deep breaths. I cannot breathe. Any second now my heart is going to
explode. I wish it would explode. I look over at my husband who looks calm and
serene, almost relieved. Is he happy that we just dumped Tyler off at this
military school?
Oh sure, we did our research on the school. We interviewed the
staff weeks in advance of making this stupid asinine decision. What on earth was
I thinking? It is too late now to turn the car around and go back to get him.
We have paid the first few months’ tuition. If my life were a movie it would
not be too late. The heroic mother would make her husband put the brakes on,
turn the car around, go speeding back to the school and bust in to break her
son out. But nope, I am weak and say nothing, allowing my husband to continue
in the direction of the beach. “What do you think Tyler is doing right now?” I
ask my husband and trying to sound like a sane person. “Oh, he’s probably being
issued his bedding, being shown around the campus, waiting and hanging around
for other boys to show up and process in.” His reply is empty. My husband is a
mere man, a man who does not have children himself, and so he does not understand
anything about what I am going through right now. I am a mother!
Three weeks until I can see my son. We are not allowed any sort of
communication with him during these three weeks. I can call Sgt. Davis and
check in with him, but this is little comfort to me. Still, I hold on to it for
dear life.
We spend our couple of days at the beach. I cannot remember much
about that beach trip. We return home and I find that I cannot concentrate on
anything. I go to set the dinner table and bring out four plates and four forks
and then I remember there will only be three of us. This reminds me of when
Mike died and I kept expecting him to walk through the door any minute or to
call me on his way home from work asking if we needed a gallon of milk or
anything from the grocery. Three weeks of torture. Yes, I called and emailed
Sgt. Davis many times and he told me Tyler is doing fine. Of course he is going
to tell me Tyler is doing fine.
I will be able to tell if Tyler hates me when I see him at the
Scrub graduation, in three weeks. I will see it in his face. But will they have
brainwashed him so that he will not recognize me?
At night, I lay in bed and cry silently thinking of what Tyler
might be going through. Is he all huddled up in a ball on his bed, crying and
wanting to come home? Are they yelling at him or beating him? Yes, I realize these are irrational thoughts,
but it is what runs through my head.
The day arrives for us to go down for Scrub graduation. I am a
ball of nerves, full of worry; I do not know how I made it through three weeks
of pure hell. Other parents are at the graduation too. The other parents seem
like pros at this. They are all cool and calm, mingling with the staff and
other parents. I have never had a panic attack before but this must be what one
feels like. My heart is racing. I cannot catch my breath. I keep looking and
looking in a sea of shaved heads for Tyler. I cannot find him but see his name
is on the program so I know he must be here. I do not get a glimpse of him
until they call his name and he walks on stage. The parents are allowed to go
up on stage to pin the boys’ new military rank insignia on their shirt collar.
My eyes are targeted on Tyler as I walk up to the stage, climb the steps, and
then I am in front of Tyler. I hold my breath. He is bent
down on one knee while I take the golden chevron pin from the company commander
to pin on Tyler’s collar. Now I am face to face with my son, our eyes are only
inches apart. He cuts his eyes over at me and I see that all too familiar
comical smirk that only Tyler can display cross his face. In an instance I know
he is OK and that everything is fine and will be fine from here on out. He is
still my boy.
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Bio:_____________________________________________
Update on The Boy: My son, who just turned 15 a few days go, is still at the military school and thriving. In fact, when he started high school, he wanted to come home and attend public school. We agreed and I relished in the fact he would be home again. However, just three weeks into the gigantic, over-crowded public school system, my son came to me and asked if he could return to military school where he excels in the structure, routine, and a smaller class room. I am proud of him.