This week, I learned the results of the latest Child and Protective Services (CPS) investigation. Because of allegations made by David, we believe he was attempting to manipulate the system to get to live where he wants rather than at home, there was a complaint made against me. The complaint said that I “was exploiting my son, that I threw him to the sidewalk, that I hugged him too much, as well as told him “I love you”, and that I was antagonizing him to provoke a response.” I wrote about it when I first learned of the investigation. Remember? There was an investigation before that regarding washing David’s mouth out with soap. Initially when the complaint in October came out, I met with a detective from the Sheriff’s office. From that meeting, I stated that I would change my son’s name to David for the purposes of this blog.
Remember the story a few months ago about the 15-year old girl who was forced to get up in front of the whole school and announce that she was pregnant? Or the 14-year old boy whose parents forced him to stand on the street with a sign declaring that he’d receive Fs on his report card? New research is just now confirming what most sane parents already knew: humiliating punishments actually do more harm than good. And that’s certainly the case with the newest entries into the “it-seemed-like-a-clever-idea-at-the-time” category of parental stupidity. A teacher in Florida made students who arrived late to school wear a wide dog collar that she called the “cone of shame.” And we certainly don’t want to overlook the Minnesota parents who, upset about their 12-year old daughter’s school performance shaved her head and made her run around outside wearing a diaper. The mother and her boyfriend
Yesterday, you may recall I told you about a robbery. Today we will talk more about my early life. And why I think fathers are so important in a child’s life. Mom did the best she could at the time by us kids. I can’t fault her for that. We had a roof over our heads, food in our bellies and an education. Some aspects of our lives were less than desirable. I ran away from home the first time when I was 8 years old. Seems like ages ago. And it was. My mom was married to her second husband. We called him dad, but he wasn’t really. He was our abuser. He was also our provider. His rules taught us respect. He taught us that children are to be seen and not heard. He taught us that if we took it, we had to eat it. He taught