Sunday was one of those heartbreaker nights at The Bad Ass Boy’s Home™. I’ll be the first to admit I’ve lost a bit of my naivete since I started this job. A bit, mind you, not all. And there are times when some of the urchins pull one over on me, times when I truly believe what they tell me, only to find out later that I’ve been shoveled a healthy load of shit by one of them. However, Sunday night wasn’t one of those occasions.

Red came through the door of his cottage, his freckled cheeks streaked with dried tears, with a stony expression on his face. His mother followed him in, emitting anger with every breath. The first words from her mouth were, “It was an awful weekend. He snuck out of the house. He’s grounded from everything, including his room. He’s a horrible boy.” I cringed at the last bit,noticing Red’s chin hit his chest.

His house parent checked through his belongings and told him to go to his room for a moment. We tried to find out exactly what had happened over the weekend. Apparently, Red snuck out to go to the mall with several of his friends to see a movie and play video games. While she was telling us all the sins of her son over the weekend, she also threw in every misstep the boy has taken apparently since birth. She didn’t care who was there (Red’s peers were milling around during her theatrical debut) when she blurted out information regarding his recent suicide attempt or troubles with drugs. It was at this point that Red reemerged from his room, in an attempt to get her to not broadcast his past to the entire county and to say his goodbyes. He leaned in to hug her goodbye and she stood stock still, neither allowing him to hug her or making a move to return his overture. He was devastated. He turned, sobbing, into his room.

Now, I understand that the boy disobeyed his mother. I understand that some of her anger stemmed from her fear upon realizing her son was gone. I understand that Red needs to be held responsible for rule breaking. I understand all this and more.

I do not understand, however, this woman’s attitude and actions. He is a troubled boy, reaching out to the one person who should show him unconditional love. She denied him that, and even tried to defend herself to me, saying, “I’m angry at him. What purpose does it serve to hug him?” I bit out the words through clenched teeth, “You don’t have to love his behaviors, but you love your child, regardless.” I barely bit back the word, “bitch,” at the end of the sentence.

She left and I went into Red’s room to do damage control. He was sobbing into his pillow, trying to muffle the sounds of a broken heart. I whispered his name, and he jumped up. I opened my arms and he fell against my shoulder, crying harder. When he had cried for a bit, we sat down and talked.

He knows what he did was wrong. He admits he was stupid and he’s sorry. We talked about how well he’s done on his program goals at the Bad Ass Boy’s Home™, how his grades are the envy of all the other boys, how proud I am of his progress in such a short time. But the only thing he could say over and over again was, “Michelle, you just don’t do that to your fifteen year old son. Why doesn’t she love me?” I couldn’t get past the hurt that woman inflicted with a few words and the withholding of her affection for him to see the good and valuable person he is,how far he’s come from where he was only a few months ago.

Sometimes I think these boys will survive and thrive in spite of their parents, not because of them.