Matt once again called me from the detention center, damn that cursed 619 area code number. I truly hate seeing 619 on my phone and again the woman’s stern voice told me that the call would cost 32 cents a minute and the conversation would indeed be recorded. “Hey dad it’s me.” I replied, “Hi dear, you know exactly why you got 30 days added. Please don’t insult my intelligence.” The usual excuses started…
This incident took place in October and no wonder there was a high bail set this last time, he didn’t show up for his court appearance. See, now I understand why for stealing a bag of chips, they threw the book at him… Of course the meth pipe wasn’t his and he went on to say, “These guys followed me around town and put it on me!” I hate when that happens… I replied, “If it doesn’t make sense, it didn’t happen.”
He then told me how his mother and I should not listen to his parole agent because she wants to make us turn away from him. I told him, “Just stop!” He went on to tell me how I didn’t give him as much money as I gave my other children. I replied, “I gave you 14G’s and you blew it on pot, booze and caps. I’m done. You had better clean up.” He hung up… This too will pass.
PS… I forgot to mention how he told us that we don’t care about him. Everyone cares about him and worry about him but he thinks he’s just fine. It’s us with the problem. He hangs out with scum of the land, other equally sick people and takes their side over those who do care what happens to him. This last trip to New Jersey, I saw the tears in his mother’s eyes and felt her pain.