Tuesday – Put Me On Speaker Phone
Nov. 16th, 2010 09:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ninanevermore.
.
.
When my cell phone rang this afternoon at about a quarter past three, I thought maybe the school was calling to confirm how my son would be getting home today. I could tell as soon as I answered that they wanted him picked up. Not that I could understand what was being said or who was saying it to me; my son was screaming pretty loud in the background. I heard the assistant principal trying to outline the series of events and behaviors that led to him being taken to the office, but it was difficult to make what she was saying.
“Can you put me on speaker phone and let me talk to him?” I asked.
“Okay. Hold on. [Sweet Pea], your mom’s on the phone. Can you talk to her?”
The line went silent, like someone had flipped a switch from hysterical to off.
”[Sweet Pea]? Can you hear me?”
I heard him start to protest that he was angry and that he didn’t want to be where he was. He was not happy about being in the office, or about the fact that the assistant principal had called me. He does not like for his father and I to know what happens at school. He does not like to displease us. The fact that she had dared make this phone call to me upset him.
“Are you calm now?” I ask.
“Yes, but I’m angry.”
“I understand that. What’s the matter?”
“I’m just so angry! I don’t want to be in the office! I hate the office!”
“I understand. Calm down. You’re in the office because you were acting up and attacking people. If you do that, they are going to take you to the office.” I was dialing my home phone number on my work phone, and getting my answering machine. Jeff has tonight off, but he worked last night and the middle of the afternoon is the middle of the night for him. I hung that phone up and redialed, still talking to Sweet Pea on my cell.
“Okay,” he said.
“Can you stay calm?”
“Okay.”
“I know you’re angry. But you aren’t allowed to hurt people when you’re angry. Remember? You can shake and you can feel angry, but you can’t throw things or hit or kick or bite. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” His answers were curt and sounded like they were being said through a clenched jaw, but he wasn’t shouting at me. We talked like this for a few more minutes, and then I asked if I could take to the assistant principal again.
“One more thing before I go: do you know what?”
“What?”
“I love you. Someone’s going to come and get you, but I need you to be calm while you wait for them, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Next time, call me before he gets that out of hand,” I said to the assistant principal, “You saw how he reacted to the sound of my voice?”
“Yes,” she said, sounding weary, “I will. I’ll do that. Can you come pick him up?”
I told her I would either have my husband or my father come to the school. Jeff had still not woken up after numerous attempts, but I reached my father on the first ring. It took some frustrating time for me to give directions to the school to my cranky, half deaf father (at one point I asked if his wife were there because I knew that she would easier to talk to, but she wasn’t). When I finally got off the phone with my dad, my husband called me back. I briefed him on what was happening, and he said he would head down to the school. I called my father back and told him he we didn’t need his help, after all. He sounded relieved.
“I’m willing to help, though. I want you to know that. I love the little guy. I don’t know what we’re going to do with him, but I love him.” My father is 78 and in recent years as grown as frail as he is cantankerous (meaning he is on the extreme end of both).
“We’re going to figure this out and we’re not going to give up. He just had a little meltdown. They happen with him sometimes. Thanks for being willing to drive out there, dad. I love you.”
He said he loved me, too.
I put my face in my hands for a few seconds, but didn’t sob. I’m a lot tougher than I was back in August when I got the first call like this. I was shaken up, but not too frothy from it. I tried to remember what I had been working on before the phone rang, which of the dozens of little projects on my desk had been in my focus, but none of them seemed as urgent as they had before. I decided to take a walk to the restrooms to clear my head.
This stuff doesn't seem to be killing me inside anymore like it did for awhile, so I guess this means I am getting stronger.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * # * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
.
.
When my cell phone rang this afternoon at about a quarter past three, I thought maybe the school was calling to confirm how my son would be getting home today. I could tell as soon as I answered that they wanted him picked up. Not that I could understand what was being said or who was saying it to me; my son was screaming pretty loud in the background. I heard the assistant principal trying to outline the series of events and behaviors that led to him being taken to the office, but it was difficult to make what she was saying.
“Can you put me on speaker phone and let me talk to him?” I asked.
“Okay. Hold on. [Sweet Pea], your mom’s on the phone. Can you talk to her?”
The line went silent, like someone had flipped a switch from hysterical to off.
”[Sweet Pea]? Can you hear me?”
I heard him start to protest that he was angry and that he didn’t want to be where he was. He was not happy about being in the office, or about the fact that the assistant principal had called me. He does not like for his father and I to know what happens at school. He does not like to displease us. The fact that she had dared make this phone call to me upset him.
“Are you calm now?” I ask.
“Yes, but I’m angry.”
“I understand that. What’s the matter?”
“I’m just so angry! I don’t want to be in the office! I hate the office!”
“I understand. Calm down. You’re in the office because you were acting up and attacking people. If you do that, they are going to take you to the office.” I was dialing my home phone number on my work phone, and getting my answering machine. Jeff has tonight off, but he worked last night and the middle of the afternoon is the middle of the night for him. I hung that phone up and redialed, still talking to Sweet Pea on my cell.
“Okay,” he said.
“Can you stay calm?”
“Okay.”
“I know you’re angry. But you aren’t allowed to hurt people when you’re angry. Remember? You can shake and you can feel angry, but you can’t throw things or hit or kick or bite. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” His answers were curt and sounded like they were being said through a clenched jaw, but he wasn’t shouting at me. We talked like this for a few more minutes, and then I asked if I could take to the assistant principal again.
“One more thing before I go: do you know what?”
“What?”
“I love you. Someone’s going to come and get you, but I need you to be calm while you wait for them, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Next time, call me before he gets that out of hand,” I said to the assistant principal, “You saw how he reacted to the sound of my voice?”
“Yes,” she said, sounding weary, “I will. I’ll do that. Can you come pick him up?”
I told her I would either have my husband or my father come to the school. Jeff had still not woken up after numerous attempts, but I reached my father on the first ring. It took some frustrating time for me to give directions to the school to my cranky, half deaf father (at one point I asked if his wife were there because I knew that she would easier to talk to, but she wasn’t). When I finally got off the phone with my dad, my husband called me back. I briefed him on what was happening, and he said he would head down to the school. I called my father back and told him he we didn’t need his help, after all. He sounded relieved.
“I’m willing to help, though. I want you to know that. I love the little guy. I don’t know what we’re going to do with him, but I love him.” My father is 78 and in recent years as grown as frail as he is cantankerous (meaning he is on the extreme end of both).
“We’re going to figure this out and we’re not going to give up. He just had a little meltdown. They happen with him sometimes. Thanks for being willing to drive out there, dad. I love you.”
He said he loved me, too.
I put my face in my hands for a few seconds, but didn’t sob. I’m a lot tougher than I was back in August when I got the first call like this. I was shaken up, but not too frothy from it. I tried to remember what I had been working on before the phone rang, which of the dozens of little projects on my desk had been in my focus, but none of them seemed as urgent as they had before. I decided to take a walk to the restrooms to clear my head.
This stuff doesn't seem to be killing me inside anymore like it did for awhile, so I guess this means I am getting stronger.
