Today was the first time I had to face the possibility that my kid might want to kill himself. Nothing in his behavior or make up ever gave me that impression before. He is generally a happy kid who gets ahead and works hard and has a lot of fun in his life. Still, that is only the kid I know.
He wrote an essay for school called ‘The story of my life’. The first line reads: ‘Life can be hard sometimes, but you just can’t give up.’ The essay goes on to cover memories, who he looks up to, and obstacles he has faced in life. The overall message seemed positive, Still, that first line…
I could be wrong about this. The first sentence could have been the prompt the teacher delivered–the same opening line everyone used. Regardless, the situation opened my eyes to real neglect.
I grew up a latch key kid. When the boy turned 12 I gave him the freedom to hang at home by himself. That slowly morphed into a form of my childhood. He spends his hours at home buried in video games and powerfully alone. When I was alone on the eighth floor of that apartment I wanted to run through the window more than once. Especially when I felt nobody cared.
So that is where I am: needing to know more and needing to give the kid an outlet.