Jason's Mom

When my son Jason was 14 years old, I made so many trips to the principal's office, strange kids in the hallway knew me by name. They would point and say, "There's Jason's mom!"

One day as I sat in the school's outer office area, I noticed two teen boys who were also waiting to see the principal. Giving each other sideways glances, these boys grinned slyly. They chucked each other in the shoulders and laughed, the way partners might react when they are happy with their accomplishments.

When my turn came to meet, I sat in the chair across from the principal. He was a young man in his early thirties, but he looked old and tired as he ran his hand through his hair. He called my son into his office.

"Jason," he said, "You have to stop acting up in class. Do what your teacher tells you to do."

Then the principal paused and looked sternly at my son. "How many times do I have to call you in here?" he admonished. "Two more days of detention."

As I left the school that day, I hoped this would be the last time the principal would have to discipline Jason for his unruly behavior. However, several days later I received a call from his teacher.

"Maam," she said to me, "Your son is laying on the floor in my classroom. He says my class is so boring, he's going to take a nap."

I pulled the rollers out of my hair, whipped off my housecoat, put some pants on and pulled a heavy sweater over my head. Since it was winter, I slipped my feet into my boots and grabbed my coat. When I got to the school, I found his teacher in passing period.

"Pull me up a chair next to my son's desk," I said to his teacher.

The class was full when Jason finally straggled in, carrying some books and a folder. A look of shock flooded his face, and he dropped his folder, papers scattering across the floor.

"Mom," Jason said, "What are YOU doing here?"

"Well Honey, I heard you were having problems doing your work, so I decided to come here and help you," I replied, squatting down, assisting him as he picked his papers up off the floor.

Beads of perspiration popped out on Jason's forehead as he looked downward and took his seat. Sitting next to him, I leaned forward and put my hand over his.

"Don't worry," I said. "I'm here for you."

When the bell finally rang, my son tried to ditch me in passing period. I caught up to him, though, and giving him a big hug, I told him I was enjoying our time together. Just so you get the right mental image here, my son wore a medium in men's clothing and he towered above my five-foot-two-inch frame, but at that point in time, I never felt more in control.

As the day wound down and it was time to go home, I hugged Jason tightly as we walked past the lockers toward the exit. He reddened a little as some girls in the hallway pointed and whispered.

"Mom, those girls are from my class," he said.

"Should I talk to them?" I asked.

"God, NO!" he said emphatically.

Once inside the car, I turned to Jason to speak with him before driving off.

"I am really glad I came today," I told him. "I enjoy spending quality family time with you, right here at school. Plus, the teachers really like me. They're always happy to see me. I just can't wait to see them again tomorrow."

"Oh, God, NOOO!" Jason said, feverishly. "Mom, if I promise to behave will you promise not to come?"

I paused. "Well, if you promise to be good, there will be no need for me to come. But if I get one more call from a teacher, I don't care what time it is, I don't care what I'm wearing, and I don't care if I still have curlers in my hair. I'm going to be right there to help you."

I could see the mental image flashing through Jason's mind as he pictured me in my housecoat with curlers in my hair walking beside him at school.

"Okay Mom," he said, "I promise I'll behave."

From that time forward to his graduation day, I never got another call about Jason acting up at school.