A Story I Wish I Could Share

I so wish that I could tell you all about my morning. 

To share with you my defiant child's attitude so that others in the same situation may know that they are not alone, but I am afraid to do so.

Social media has made life stories: the good, the bad, the ugly, the teachable moments- into all bad situations.

Okay, maybe not all of it, but a lot of it is.

When did we become a nation of whining pansy ass babies?

Where did our backbone in America go?

Just yesterday I was called white trash because I posted a comment on a news media link that simply said, "Because the police have nothing better to do....".  I'm sure you have seen the story if you are online at all.  It was about the dog who's owner duct taped it's mouth shut to stop it from barking.  Two police departments are spending time and money into this because "THE People" are outraged.  And I'm called white trash because I think animal control should be the ones investigating it and the police should be responding to, oh, I don't know, crime that affects people.

But I digress.

I often wonder what growing up would have been like for me as a kid in the 1980s and 90s with facebook and twitter and whatever else.  Would I have dared looked my father in the eyes in the middle of an argument and told him flat out that I was going to call the police on him because he hit me?  

Ha! Hell No!  

I also would not have dared to tell mother that I wasn't going to go to school (that I can tell you about this morning's activities).

Never in a million years would I have woken up on a school day and said, "I don't feel like going to school today, so I'm not going to and you can't make me."

But my daughter did.

And she is right, I can't make her.

I can argue in circles with her.  

I can lock her in her room.

I can not allow her to eat.

I can beat her and make her fear me.

I can call the police on her.

I can empty her room.

I can call her bad names.

But the one thing that she needs to do that I can't get her to do is go to school.

The things I can do, won't work with her.  They never have.

I can't even share all the details because someone somewhere will blow it all up out of proportion without knowing my daughter and her story.

So here I am begging God to guide me as that is the only thing that I truly can do for both of us.  

At this point, there are no answers, no warm fuzzy feeling as to what to do next: just dried streaks of tears on cheeks, fluffy red eyes, and a very hurt heart.