One of my children has detention today. It’s a first for this child. Hopefully, it will be the last visit to room 319. There have been problems with this child completing classwork, so it’s hoped a serious consequence like detention will make his overhead lightbulb rival a solar flare.
I am not freaking out.
The first time a child of mine got detention, I was completely torn up, convinced I failed as a mom. I was raising someone who would someday stand in front of Judge Judy as the defendant. I internalized the detention, analyzed where I went wrong, and made that child feel pretty awful along the way. Detention was served, kid was contrite, I braced myself, and…it never happened again. Believe it or not, this child hasn’t dropped out of school and set a former roommate’s rental couch on fire. Banks haven’t been robbed. “Room 319″ hasn’t been tattooed on a wrist. Our detention trailblazer was a great kid before and remains a great kid. Sometimes, our babies screw up.
Another kid got detention, twice, for a similar reason as today’s Detentionite. I wasn’t happy and the kiddo knew it, but I wasn’t measuring any ankles for shackles.
I will join the other parents who must sign out their boys and girls at 4:15 pm today. I’ll make eye contact with my schoolwork shirker and sign a paper. My signature is his bail. My hand won’t tremble.