The Slippery Slope of Life Posted by:Jenn--Thursday, August 22, 2013

Living with Beaver: The Slippery Slope of Life

written by June

I have reviewed my previous writing attempts in trying to let you know what life is like with 20 year-old Beaver, and how I’ve handled it. After the initial initiation into the world of juvenile incarceration, the road hasn’t become smoother. The dog-gone slippery slope of life sometimes turns out to be a real pain in the butt. It’s actually grating at times.

Beaver was finally released from the revolving doors of various juvenile facilities in 2011. After 8 years in and out of placements, I thought that I could once again breathe freely, hear birds sing, and enjoy seeing the sun make my pearls gleam. Ah, the ugly face of deception rose up once again. The beginning was a lot of tiptoeing around each other, then it became tolerable; even okay. Until little Beaver told me that if my fiancé ever told him to do something, he would tell him to "go ride a fire truck" or at least something that sounded like that. This really made me take a hard look at what life was becoming, and it didn’t look rosy.

June once again pulled her big girl pants up, took a deep breath, and told Beaver he had finally broken the camel’s back and would have to move to Dick’s house—NOW. Conceivably not the best retort, but June hadn’t finished the "Lloyd Woodward School of Appropriate Responses" yet. But June has now! It’s hard to remember all that she’s been taught, but nevertheless . . .

The outcome has proven to be far less than perfect. Beaver left Dick’s house because one night while Beaver was asleep, Dick had drunk a little too much cider and punched little Beaver in the face. And Beaver responded in kind. Again, not the best response.

What June [and new hubby] felt was the best scenario for all was to set Beaver up in a room for rent that could be paid by week or month. Beaver got a good job [benefits, 401K, union]; car; new apartment September 1 -- life was good in Cleaverville!! Couldn’t tell Dick where Beaver was living though, because the fear of retaliation was smothering. Deception again crept into the picture.

The picture began to spiral downward. Since February, in just 6 short months, Beaver has managed to lose the job; his car is broken; he got the job back only to quit it because he found a better job. Doing what, you ask? Why--- delivering pizza. Not in the town he’s living in. A town that is a 20-minute drive away. "It’s full time, and I get tips and I figure with the tips I’ll be making more money" Beaver said to June, her head spinning around faster than Regan’s in the movie The Exorcist. The same day he got the pizza job, he quit the good job and his car broke down. Thus, he had to quit the pizza job.

June has now hit bottom, or close to it, once again. Never ever thought I would be thinking about jails, fines, getting a phone line installed for the phone calls; at least hoping that I wouldn’t. June found out today that she was deceived. Beaver felt he was trying to "handle it himself" by not telling me that he received a citation for public intoxication. I believe there were more charges considering he’s only 20, and the fine was around $650. Beaver called me this morning as he was being told that he was a day late [had to be there within 10 days to pay] and would be going to jail unless the fine was paid in full. And if I didn’t get into my jet van and be there 2 hours ago that he would be going to jail. Not thinking, just reacting, I went to the bank and withdrew the money. June’s jet van was blasting along when her cell phone rang. Boy, a lot of PSST violations just in the last 2 sentences, Mrs. Cleaver! It was Beaver on the line, who then put the constable on the phone. Turns out I didn’t need to be going there at all. Beaver was already cuffed, shackled, and about to be loaded into the car and taken to jail—for 30 days. And thus, a transportation fee was added onto the fine, which now brought it up to around $750.

I slowly turned my jet van around, and crawled slowly back home. No sunshine, no birds, no pearls. The tough love message of "I can not financially afford to help you. I’m sorry" tastes bitter as it rolls off my tongue. I also found out that he has a court hearing next week too. The fine for that one . . . $440. The police stopped him because they felt he was acting "evasive" and searched his car when they asked him to get out. They found an empty baggie that had contained some weed. I’m not exactly sure what the citation was for that they issued him, but he is beginning to collect them like squirrels do nuts. Beaver said that they took all the baggies out of his car, which were his lunch baggies. June did find a tad bit of humor in this, thinking about the bags going to be analyzed and them coming up with ham and cheese.

I’ve now removed my heels and pearls, combed my hair and sit here numbly typing my story. Tomorrow I will look outside and see if I can see the sun. For now, I will try to accept my tough love choice. Lloyd Woodward School has taught me well. If only the FDA could make a L.W. pill for easy acceptance of one’s choices . . .