ANDREW’S STORY

I came to be Andrew’s mother quite by accident. Actually maybe it was more like fate. I was a single mother. My daughter, Alexandra, is biracial. Her father is black. We never got married because he was a ladies’ man. I was very attracted to him but not crazy enough to want him to marry me when I became pregnant. I didn’t want to have to worry about where he was or who he was with the rest of my life. Actually, I was very happy about the pregnancy as I had been told by my gynecologist that I probably would never have children. I had fibroid tumors in my uterus and they took up a good deal of the room in there. He said it was nothing to worry about as I was getting close to menopause at 37; and when that happened, they would probably just shrink from lack of estrogen. So Alexandra was a miracle and a blessing.

When she was 4 years old, I bought a town home. This necessitated moving Alexandra from the daycare I had put her in when she was 6 weeks old to someplace closer to our new home. My friend, Donna, told me about a Montessori School that was convenient and so I enrolled my daughter there in the fall of 1993.

I’ll never forget the day I picked Alexandra up on my way home from work and she exclaimed, “Andrew and Katie’s mother died”. I didn’t know Andrew and Katie so she proceeded to tell me that they were two kids in her school and that they were from Korea. I got the rest of the story later from Donna. Apparently Andrew and Katie were adopted by Ed and Joan. Joan had died suddenly in May of a heart problem. The kids and teachers at the school were helping Andrew and Katie deal with the loss. Of course, as a single mother, my heart went out to Ed when I heard the story. I was also curious to meet him as now I knew he was “available”.

I saw him one morning coming up the walk. There was no mistaking him as two adorable little Asian children tugged at his arms as he walked. I said “hello” and looked into warm and sincere eyes. It was love at first sight as corny as it sounds. I was determined to meet him and talk to him.

My opportunity came in the grocery store—the produce aisle no less. I had Alexandra with me and he had Katie. The kids started to talk first. He was shy but nice. We didn’t talk much, but at least he knew who I was. I must also have let slip that I was single. Andrew was at a friend’s house. Katie had fallen in an ant pile and her face was all bitten up. Nice to meet you. My next opportunity came at a school parent meeting. Coincidentally I sat next to him. He drew for the door prize and won a sweatshirt for me with snowmen on the front.

My parents came from Ohio for the Thanksgiving holiday. I spent the day Saturday buying balloons, gifts and a cake as Alexandra’s fifth birthday was the next day. I ended up at Albertson’s buying paper plates and cups. There he was again—alone this time. We must have talked next to the potato chips for 20 minutes. I found out his kids’ birthdays were coming up soon too. Katie’s was in December and Andrew’s in January. I told my Mom went I got back home. All she had to say was “Stay away from him. Can you imagine going through all this three times instead of just once?”

When I heard about the parent Christmas party for the school, I was determined to attend. He might be there. I drove Alexandra to a friend’s house to spend the night and arrived at the party quite late. There he was looking as charming and handsome as ever. It was my lucky night. He walked me to my car after the party. We stood outside our host’s house for nearly two hours talking, me with a dish with some leftover sausage balls in my arms. He asked me out—to the Opera. Wow, was I impressed.

We had our first date December 10th. Almost immediately we started doing things with the kids. It was only natural as they were already friends. I had begun a kind of support group for people who were interracially married and/or people with biracial children. We went to their Christmas party and I remember telling people, “I fell for Ed because, with those kids, I could tell he wasn’t just an ordinary ‘white guy’”. My boss at work started talking about my little family as “We are the world”. I realized I was attracted to Ed partly because of his children. I knew he was open-minded about raising children of a different race. I always worried that Alexandra would feel “different” if I married a white man with white children. This was the perfect solution.

We got along famously from the start. The kids were a little bit of a problem, however, as neither of us were particularly “kid people”. We had both lived most of our lives without children. He was nearly as old as I was. People our age had kids in college and here we were with a 3, 5 and 6-year old. I wasn’t sure I could cope being the mother of all these kids. In my eyes, Alexandra was a darling, perfect child. Andrew and Katie were wild little hooligans.

So we moved in with them. In June of 1994, we put the town house up for rent and became a family. The first few months were very difficult. Andrew bounced here and there continuously. He ate food all over the house, spilling constantly. I was used to order and neatness. Now I had disorder and chaos. It was an adjustment to say the least. Aside from being a constant ball of energy, Andrew didn’t mind very well. He tended to do what he wanted to do when he wanted to do it. If he had schoolwork that was due, he either forgot to do it or forgot to hand it in. Aside from the constant movement, he picked on and teased the girls mercilessly. He couldn’t stand peace and quiet—the one thing I cherished above everything. But it was obvious; he was as smart as a whip.

My Dad tended to anger and sarcasm when he parented. He believed that making a child feel ashamed about his behavior was the best way to get him to change it. He never let us “get away” with anything. There was no talking back. There was no arguing. It was his way or no way. He was vigilant and never let up. Consequently that was how I tended to be. With Alexandra, no consequences for bad behavior were necessary. She wanted to please me. If I was upset or disappointed with her, it was punishment enough.

But with Andrew, I encountered another side of myself. I screamed and yelled. When he broke dishes because of his carelessness, I fumed. His room, in my mother’s words, “looked like a cyclone hit it”. He would send clothes back down to be washed that had just been laundered. He had neglected to put them in his drawers and they had gotten caught up in the tornado.

The only child I ever had was Alexandra. She didn’t act like Andrew. I was convinced from the beginning there was something wrong with him. Many people tried to tell me it was just because he was a boy. But I sensed it was more than that. Rules didn’t apply to him. If a reward was involved, there was a chance he would do as you asked. If a consequence was involved, there was no way. Consequences didn’t seem to matter to him—no matter how severe.

In September of 1994 when I got my birthday card from Ed, the message inside asked if I’d like to go look at rings. That was my marriage proposal, and I was thrilled. We got married in March of 1995 and in August of that year I adopted Andrew and Katie. They were “Ed’s children” no more. I was the mother of three.

Katie and Andrew had many similar character traits. In the beginning, I had more trouble with Katie than I did with Andrew. They were very independent, stubborn and strong-willed. They were not about to do what I told them to do just because I wanted them to do it. Alexandra was a “people pleaser”. Where she would do anything to please me, they would do anything to “get my goat”. I’ve come to know this type of child though my reading as a “power” child. Because they felt powerless due to circumstances in their lives (their adoption and death of their first adoptive mother), it was important for them to feel powerful whenever they could. These kids can’t stand being wrong and will point out to you every time they think you’ve made a mistake. Katie also lied about everything, and she would do little things that she knew annoyed me. Andrew would ignore what I told him to do so I would have to repeat myself over and over.

I realized early on in my first marriage that I’m the type of person who gets resentful. When I think things “aren’t fair”, I have a hard time forgiving and forgetting. Another of my endearing qualities, is I’m honest to a fault. I can’t tell a lie, and I can’t pretend. I often wish I could be facetious and two-faced like many of my female compadres, but it’s just not in me. These two character traits made it difficult for me in my interaction with my new children. Because they were intentionally making it difficult for me, I developed resentments that I found difficult to hide.

Because of Andrew’s inability to concentrate on homework and his constant movement, Ed and I decided to get him tested for ADHD—Attention Deficit Hyperactive Disorder. Ed was very against any kind of medication, and I doubt he would have put Andrew on anything even if the test had suggested it. He mainly wanted to get Andrew tested to prove to everyone that Andrew didn’t have ADHD. I had read a little about it and it sure sounded like Andrew. The father of one of Andrew’s friends referred to Andrew as “the poster child for ADHD”. So Ed took Andrew to Children’s Hospital to be tested. Much to my disbelief, the test showed Andrew didn’t have ADHD. He did demonstrate a lot of the symptoms in the hyperactivity area—Andrew is very impulsive. But the test showed that he definitely didn’t need medication. They concluded that Andrew had four out of the ten indicators and six were required before medication is recommended. So what next?

As time went on, it was clear that Andrew was a very angry child. He seemed to get upset at the smallest things. His moods would swing wildly. He became less and less cooperative. Since Andrew’s anger seemed to have a direct correlation to his mother leaving him, Ed decided on grief therapy. It was clear that Andrew missed Joan very much. He never really got to say goodbye to her. He would mention at times that he wouldn’t mind dying because then he could be with her. Katie also felt the loss, even though she was only three. She felt that I was an intruder and even exclaimed to me once, “You shouldn’t even be here.” She felt like I had taken her role. She was supposed to be the woman of the house and take care of her Daddy. The grief therapy went on for about a year and seemed to help some.

When he entered fourth grade, Andrew started a downward spiral. In Montessori school, there is a big jump in responsibility from the third to the fourth grade, partially because grades one through three are combined and grades four through six are combined. While Andrew was in the third grade, he wasn’t expected to complete and hand in assignments, but in the fourth grade all that changed.

Andrew had been playing different forms of baseball since I first met him—t-ball, coach pitch and then kid pitch. It was something he loved although he wasn’t one of the stronger players on the team. He struggled with his hitting one season and it was discovered that he was very nearsighted. After he got glasses, his hitting seemed to improve; however, there was no hope for his fielding. Andrew normally played right field. As most of the game nothing much goes on out there, Andrew could be found bent over studying bugs in the grass or head thrown back looking for animal shapes in the clouds. If a ball was hit in his direction, it was usually too late by the time he realized it. Consequently, his fielding left much to be desired.

When fourth grade began and Andrew’s homework picked up, Ed and I could see that something had to give. Andrew was given a choice—in order to continue playing baseball, he needed to get some of his homework done on the weekend. Andrew chose to quit baseball. He wasn’t about to give up any of his weekend playtime. He did, however, continue in Tae Kwon Do something he had begun when he was about five. Another of his talents was playing the piano. It absolutely astounded me that this disorganized, disheveled child could play with such finesse and control.

I can’t even begin to recount the number of times Andrew’s fourth grade teacher called to complain about Andrew’s schoolwork or behavior. According to our schedule, Andrew was to start his homework when he got home from school; and when it was completed, he could play. He never did get it finished. His grades were just good enough to get by. Ed and I tried various tactics to get him to do his schoolwork. At one point, tired of arguing and yelling, we decided to let him set his own schedule. For two weeks we watched as he played computer games, ran around outside, rode his bike and didn’t do one lick of work. We were miserable; he was in heaven. His grades suffered—he got an F in two subjects on his report card. We decided that wasn’t the answer.

Summers were always better. With few demands on Andrew’s time, he was a much happier child. That summer, however, Ed and I sensed the kids were ready to tackle “chores”. Everyday they were expected to practice piano, write in their journals, help with dinner or do dishes and clean their rooms. The girls dutifully performed their tasks. Andrew’s were never even begun. More chores were piled on. After all, there had to be consequences. The twice-yearly rides in the Jeep were getting difficult. That summer we spent a week in Corpus Christi. Andrew’s behavior was becoming intolerable. He couldn’t accept a “no”. He argued about everything and with everyone. He blamed everyone for everything that didn’t go his way.

In the fifth grade, Andrew was in a new classroom. His fourth grade teacher told us (in no uncertain terms) she wouldn’t be offended if we changed teachers. She’d had enough. Unfortunately, his new teacher had her own challenges. She was the mother of four adopted children and in the process of adopting two more. She was absent more than she was there. Andrew suffered for it. He wasn’t being held accountable when assignments weren’t completed. What we were trying to teach him at home wasn’t being reinforced in the classroom.

At Christmas that year, I sensed a big change in Andrew. He was almost 11 years old. His anger intensified. He began to fight and argue about everything. Adolescence was upon him. I remember our trip up North to visit the Grandparents. I remember thinking I was going to go crazy. Andrew and I started to become true adversaries. I was determined to “win” every battle. I was determined to show Andrew that I was the boss. I wasn’t going to let him get away with anything. I think that’s when he started hating me. Everything was a struggle.

I stopped by the health food store on my way home from work one day. I picked up a bottle of something called “Teen Active”. A gentleman explained to me how this natural medication (which included St. John’s Wort) along with a diet high in protein could calm kids who were hyperactive. I picked up the literature and Ed and I decided to give it a try. Of course, from the beginning, Andrew resisted. He couldn’t eat candy or cookies or drink soda pop or even fruit juice. His daily intake of protein needed to be higher than his daily intake of carbohydrates. For a year we fought over his diet. We found candy wrappers hidden in his pants pockets, stuffed in his mattress and under his bed. We found pills he had never taken behind dressers and wardrobes. It wasn’t working. We were all just becoming more miserable.

Andrew has always had many annoying little habits. For a time, he would write in the air with his fingers as you were talking to him. Then he started smelling his fingers. After that he cracked his knuckles—anything to keep moving and keep eyes and ears focused on him. He also developed fascinations. One of them was with fire. We knew he had played with matches and candles on a number of occasions. We became alarmed when he burned a hole in his rug while trying to put out a fire he made lighting a plastic bag. We called the fire station and were told of a program designed to educate and scare kids who had these tendencies. We took Andrew to the 4-week program and fortunately he was sufficiently frightened.

Shortly thereafter Ed heard of a grief group that was starting at our church. It was to be eight sessions on Monday nights. We enrolled Andrew and Katie. After the sessions were completed, Andrew’s group leader called us to express her concern. She wanted us to know that Andrew was crying out for help. All his acting out and attention-getting actions were designed to tell us he was hurting inside. She recommended ongoing counseling.

In Andrew’s fifth grade year, we got the school counselor involved. Ed and I were determined to find some counseling for Andrew that was affordable. We had a meeting with Andrew’s teacher and the school counselor. It became apparent from the beginning that the counselor didn’t understand the depth of the problem. She told us about withholding privileges, using consequences and rewarding good behavior all of which we had tried every which way. Some good did come from the meeting as we learned about Family Life Centers--free family counseling available to students in the Dallas Public School. Luckily there was a center quite near our house. Andrew went for weekly sessions. We also visited his counselor frequently for updates. Unfortunately, after four or five months, the counselor’s contract wasn’t renewed and Andrew was passed on to someone else.

Summer came along with a trip to Disney World and Universal Studios in Florida. Andrew continued in counseling. I got the impression from Andrew’s new counselor that he believed Andrew’s problems were easily fixed. I also got the impression that, as long as Andrew wasn’t going to become a criminal, he wasn’t going to put a lot of time and energy into helping him. At Andrew’s final session, he gave us two brochures. One was for a weekend boot camp that teaches kids respect and obedience the way grunts are taught in the army. The other was for a camp an hour outside of Dallas where an uncooperative child could stay up to eight months. Ed and I decided to give the boot camp a try.

We visited the camp with Andrew so he could see what was in store for him. The teens were in the yard going through various exercises. Drill sergeants barked orders. The “grunts” performed endless pushups, sit-ups and calisthenics in the hot sun. Katie looked on in terror; Andrew showed no emotion. I was afraid we were being too harsh. I was afraid Andrew would be destroyed by the experience. Were we doing the right thing? The administrator told me what we could expect—a more respectful, appreciative child. That part certainly sounded good. You could tell from the faces of the kids in the yard, these people meant businesses. They weren’t taking any “shit” from anyone. I was encouraged. Maybe this was the answer? We enrolled Andrew for two weekends.

At then end of the first day, parents were required to attend an hour-long lecture given by the founder of the camp. He was adamant—we were being too easy on our kids. We were doing too much for them. We were raising our children to become tyrants instead of responsible citizens. We were giving in to their every whim. We were buying them Sony Playstations, pagers and cell phones just to keep them happy. We were “sparing the rod and spoiling the child” making bargains with them just to get them to go to school. They were becoming ungrateful little monsters. It was our duty to them and to society to “get tough” with our kids. I more determined than ever not to let Andrew down. I was determined to get him to mind and be respectful. There would be no more talking back.

On the way home from the camp the first day, Andrew was rude and disrespectful. I asked him how his day went and he said, “It wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be”. He had adapted once again. Just as he had learned to adapt to doing without when privileges were denied him, he had learned to adapt to conditions at the camp. It actually buoyed his self-confidence. He was more determined than ever to “win” the war with me. To win meant getting me off his back. It meant being left alone. To win meant being allowed to do whatever he wanted at all times. It meant never having to do any housework or homework. It wasn’t going to happen.

So the “year from hell” was in full swing. I used money to try to get Andrew to stop talking back. I would deduct $.25 every time he talked back or said, “Shut up”. On our vacations, the kids would each start with $10.00 and I would keep a ledger. Andrew rarely got any money at the end of the trip. I took a four-evening course at Child Protective Services on parenting. The course suggested practicing certain expected behaviors. For example, we would practice Andrew asking for a candy bar and me replying “no”. Then he was supposed to say, “OK Mom”. The teacher suggested practicing at a time when the child was not upset; but when I mentioned practicing, Andrew would get upset. There was no good time.

Luckily or unluckily Andrew’s sixth grade teacher was very good-natured. She gave Andrew chance after chance to finish assignments. Many times he had homework that was a month or two overdue. She was very patient. He worked at his usual slow pace. Work that normally would take an hour, would take Andrew three and four. He had difficulty getting motivated. He read hours on end in the classroom and at home when he had countless, more pressing things to do. He became overwhelmed and he shut down. More F’s followed. Screaming and yelling matches were frequent. Even more frequent were Andrew’s “I don’t cares” and “whatevers”. He withdrew more and more. We couldn’t have a conversation without Andrew blaming and cursing. “Shut the hell up” and “I hate you” were two of his favorite expressions.

On weekends Andrew was left alone much of the time so he would have sufficient time to complete assignments. Instead he chose to play computer games, watch TV or read. His bookcase was hauled out of his room, as he would find ways to read when he was supposed to be asleep or doing his homework. The only thing that seemed to work was constant surveillance and constant pressure. I am convinced Andrew would have flunked sixth grade had it not been for our regular intervention.

In the spring of Andrew’s sixth grade year, Ed and I decided to get Andrew tested again for ADHD. I was sure this time they would find proof that Andrew needed to be on medication. We found a psychologist on our health plan yet still paid roughly $600 for four sessions of testing. The conclusion, again, was no ADHD. But the surprising finding was something I had not even considered—Clinical Depression.

As soon as the diagnosis was made, I felt relieved. At last, some things began to make sense. If a child/adolescent is depressed, nothing matters. Praise matters as little as punishment. Ed and I had often talked about Andrew’s lack of self-esteem, but Andrew always denied it. He had a superiority complex to hide his inferior feelings. He would brag about his brains and superior athletic ability. Ed also sensed guilt in his self-defeating behaviors. He would often spend hours on homework that he would never turn in because he felt unworthy of praise. When a child is depressed, he may think he’s never going to feel any better. He may also feel he is to blame for bad things that have happened.

In searching for a psychiatrist to prescribe anti-depressants for Andrew, we found ourselves being persuaded to enroll Andrew in a research project at Children’s Hospital, Psychiatric Department. They tested him extensively and determined he was a prime candidate. The four control groups consisted of Prozac, Prozac plus therapy, therapy only or placebo. Andrew was put into the “therapy only” group. We were hoping for Prozac plus therapy, but at least we knew he wasn’t getting a placebo.

Some of the sessions were for Andrew alone. Some were with Andrew, Ed and me. I learned a lot about Andrew’s condition and what I was doing to aggravate it. I learned that I could never “win” the power struggle with Andrew. My anger and resentment toward Andrew were keeping him angry and resentful toward me. The “never let him get away with anything” attitude I had was the worst possible thing I could do. Andrew needed to be encouraged even if his steps forward were baby steps. By not allowing Andrew “fun time” until he got all his work done, I was ensuring that he would never get it all done. Now we understood what we needed to do. We needed to reward Andrew constantly. We needed to give him incentives.

I had some serious problems with this. The girls had always worked hard and given me very little trouble. Since Katie started gymnastics at age six, her behavior had improved immeasurably. She and Ali both tried to follow the rules—Andrew tried to break them. If I told Andrew to do something, he would do the opposite just to aggravate me. And now I was supposed to reward him for having one shirt hung in the closet when ten others were wadded up on the floor? I didn’t think I was up to it. Andrew was also very perceptive. If I were lying, he would know it. Somehow I had to be genuinely happy about that one shirt and let him know it. This was definitely the challenge of a lifetime.

I knew if I intellectually understood the problems for his behavior, it would be a step in the right direction. Betsy, Andrew’s therapist at Children’s helped Ed and I realize the cognitive distortions that are present in Andrew’s condition. For example, one of the distortions is “Missing the Positive”. When I praised Andrew, he would ask if I was being sarcastic or if I was kidding. We were coached to emphasize the positives and make light of the negatives. Another cognitive disorder is “Jumping to Conclusions”. Andrew would always assume the worst. He had decided early on that I was “out to get him”. Consequently I couldn’t open my mouth without him assuming I was doing just that. “Black and White Thinking”—seeing things as perfect or terrible—would keep Andrew from starting a project because he was sure he wouldn’t be able to successfully accomplish it. “Shoulds” was another of Andrew’s challenges. Unless we behaved exactly as he thought we should, he was notorious for criticizing us. There was no reasoning with Andrew because his thinking was so jumbled and confused.

So we, with help from the therapist, set about helping Andrew change his thinking patterns. We tried to change our own “Negative Communication Behaviors” into more positive ones. We attempted to listen quietly to Andrew without interrupting and asked him to do the same for us. We were determined to stop lecturing, preaching and moralizing and strived to be brief in our explanations of what we expected. We pointed out when Andrew called us names, was sarcastic or rude noting how much he hated when we did those things to him. We tried to stop threatening and yelling. We tried to stop dwelling on what Andrew did yesterday or the day before.

But I felt I was failing miserably. I still I hadn’t learned to deal with my anger. I wanted to feel compassion, but all I felt was resentment. I knew my resentment wasn’t constructive and I truly wanted Andrew to get better. But here was a child who was making my life miserable. Our home was a battleground. Even though one of the affirmations the kids and I repeated over and over every day was, “I’m in control of my emotions”, I didn’t believe it. I knew Andrew was in control, not me. I prayed and prayed. What else could I do?

As a child, I was a very religious person. In High School I went to Mass every morning before school, even though it meant getting up very early and walking alone through the dark. Once I got to college, things changed. Boys became the focus of my attention, not God. Even after I got married at age 22, I never went to Mass. It wasn’t until my late twenties that I discovered “New Age” thinking. I was introduced to St. Alcuin’s Community Church and Father Taliferro by one of my co-workers. When I first heard him speak, I remember thinking, “this is it”. Thus began a journey that continued off and on until present day. What is significant is that I was open to the help for which I had prayed so hard. I sought and I found an answer.

My answer came in a cassette tape and book by Ram Dass, a former Harvard psychology professor who had gone to India in the 60’s and became a Western teacher of Eastern ideas. I am convinced, however, that everyone’s answer comes in a different package; and what works for one, may not necessarily work for another. The book and tapes were titled, “Spiritual Practices and Perspectives for Daily Life”. Three practices became the focal point of my efforts.

The first was saying a mantra. Easterners understand the effectiveness of repetition far better than Westerners who want instantaneous results and tend to be far less patient. Ram Dass instructed us to choose a mantra that felt right and repeat it whenever the opportunity presented itself. For example, when driving the car to work, repeat the mantra. When taking a shower, drying your hair, painting your nails, repeat the mantra. When walking, repeat the mantra—one mantra for each step. When you lay down to go to sleep or you wake up in the middle of the night, repeat the mantra. The mantra I chose was “Aum Mani Padme Hum” which means “The All is a precious jewel in the lotus flower which blooms in my heart.” I chose it because the purpose of the mantra is to open the heart center. This allows one to feel more compassion for one’s fellow man. I was hoping to replace my anger with compassion and understanding. I started saying the mantra at about the time we left for our summer vacation. I repeated it day and night. Surprisingly, almost immediately I sensed a change. My irritability and anger diminished appreciably; I felt calmer and more able to enjoy the kids without getting upset with them.

About the same time, I started chanting to some Hindu chants also designed to open the heart center. I chanted on my way to work and on my way home. If I were going anywhere alone in the car, I’d put in the tape and chant at the top of my lungs. After awhile, I even got the kids to chant with me on the way to school. We chanted Sri Ram, Jai Ram, Jai, Jai Ram. We sang of our love of God and we hailed him as our King.

I believe the most important step in my transformation was my return to meditation. I had meditated years before, but I had used my meditation to visualize events I wanted to occur either in my life or in the world as a whole. That process is actually more accurately described as creative visualization. It differs from meditation in that in meditation the point is to think of nothing. In order to achieve union with God, we must shut out our senses, including our thinking mind. It is an extremely difficult exercise to do but well worth the effort. Ram Dass teaches that one must learn to concentrate only on the breath as it is drawn in and expelled from your body. When a thought arises, you gently put it out of your mind—taking care not to get upset with yourself for being swept away by it—and return to your breath. In concentrating on the breath in this way, you achieve a certain union with another part of yourself—the real part. You become more able to clear and focus your mind and more able to control the emotions that so easily overpower you. After much practice, you begin to be able to quiet the mind enough to feel a peace and freedom from emotions that used to hold you prisoner.

So is Andrew any different? He has changed some, but he’s still much the same. He still curses and talks back. He refuses to do his homework and provokes the girls every chance he gets. The difference is I am handling it differently. I rarely raise my voice now. If Andrew talks back, I usually say, “I love you too much to argue” or I walk away. At this point, Andrew sees that the things he used to say and do that made me angry, don’t work anymore. So he has turned it up a notch or two. But after awhile he will see that he has to change his tactics. I am convinced that in the long run we are on the right track. I also feel more love for Andrew, and that has helped me more than anything.

So I thank Andrew for being the catalyst for my growth. If it weren’t for Andrew, I wouldn’t be the person I am today. I am congratulating myself on my newfound strength and serenity. And I am waiting for the day when Andrew will realize that everything I do and continue to do is because I love him and want him to be happy.