How do you make a human being human? I don’t know the answer to this in total, only in small parts, bits and pieces gleaned from endless reflection back on my own life, the lesser and greater moments and more the losses there then the gains. Were it the story of someone else, I admit, I would not much wish it on another, perhaps even if it was the correct prescription for the distance, disconnection, and psychological dissonance that might keep them from an increased depth in their humanity. Normally, such a thought in me would be, at best, a musing, or perhaps the seed of one of the many undeveloped, and as yet unwritten, works of fiction that pass through my mind. But, last week, it became a real question.
I was in eastern Oklahoma, on my way from Dallas to St. Louis when I pulled into the fuel island of a large convenience store. No sooner had I set the brakes and shut off the engine when a young man walked up, introduced himself, and asked if he could ride with me. I said “don’t you want to know where I’m going?” He replied, “no I just want to get out of here, anywhere but here”. The reason was at least half-obvious. His left eye was bruised and partly swollen shut, and when I asked who had been beating on him, he replied “my momma, when she was drunk”. He looked to be about twenty, and coming from someone else, I might of thought he could be making it up, but he had an unassuming country-boy way about him, one that said simple honesty, along with an aura of pain and shame, more than any hidden agenda. I paused to think, and said, “well, here’s my problem with that. I have a few more hours to drive and then I’m going to stop in Joplin and I don’t have a second bed in the truck, so you’ll be on your own, and frankly, I’m not sure I want to be responsible for turning you loose away from home”. He said something about being mostly on his own since he was eleven, but I knew it wasn’t the same as being truly on the road. At that point, I told him I’d think about it, and I went inside.
Since it was a small town, I asked the people inside the store if they knew anything about him, but they didn’t, and so I went outside again. I said, “Isn’t there someone you can stay with for awhile, someone who cares about you? He said “his Gramma”, but explained that she lives right next door to his mother. I prodded him for anyone else, and he finally said he had a friend in the next town over. “Ok”, I said, “I’ll take you that far.”
It was a short ride, maybe twenty minutes. He asked me how long I’d been trucking, I said about seven years, and he added that his grandfather had been a trucker and that maybe he wanted to do that. I asked him how long his mom had been abusing him. He said his whole life. Then I asked where his Dad was, and without hesitation he said “in prison”. At that point I figured I’d better round out the list and asked if he had any aunts or uncles. He said “yes, but they don’t want to deal with me”. “Why’s that?”. “Because I fight”, he said. I felt like saying “no shit” but didn’t.
At that point I gave whatever sage advise I could muster on short notice and told him that he needed to learn how to get his anger out in ways that didn’t hurt him or anyone else, and that if he didn’t do that, that his anger would shape his life. There was a short silence. I asked him that if he wasn’t going to drive a truck (turns out he was only 18, and he needs to be 21 for that) what else he might want to do. He said he wanted to go to a local tech-school and become a mechanic, and he added that he did graduate high school. That’s a small miracle I thought (considering his level of family dysfunction). I even asked him if he went to church, and he said he had when he stayed with his cousin, but his cousin was a bit of a stoner and so he wanted to get out of there. We talked about that for a minute, and it was interesting that he was self-aware enough to have noticed that he got really demanding of other people, in a childish way, when he was high, and so decided to quit doing that. To me, that was quite an astute self-insight and action.
I pulled onto a gravel shoulder in front of another convenience store in the next town, shook his hand, and wished him good luck. He got out, and walked straight down the side road toward some houses, and didn’t once look back. I thought about the whole thing for the rest of the day and then some.
My first thought was whether or not I had done him any favor by just moving him twenty miles away without any more resources available there. I presume he’d stay with his friend(s) for awhile, or as long as they would let him, but that he couldn’t last there indefinitely. On the surface, what this kid needed was a plan, and a responsible, supportive adult to help him work through it. I told him that there were student loans and grants available at community colleges, but I don’t think that in his state of mind he was listening to that, or thinking very far ahead.
What really bugged me was his demeanor, that is, his lack of emotional range. He wasn’t very expressive. This is understandable considering his dysfunctional family history as well as the state he was in – wanting to high-tail it out of town with a downcast black eye. What it really said to me was that he was an odd mixture of half beaten-down and half-angry underneath. And though he didn’t show the angry part much to me, obviously he erupted with a short temper toward people who got on the wrong side of him. Aside from the problem of his immediate circumstances, that seemed to me to be his bigger problem. I didn’t to tell him that if he didn’t learn to deal with his anger that he might likely land in jail, but that thought did cross my mind.
What really bothers me is that there doesn’t seem to be any obvious resources (aside from the occasional do-gooder) in a place like that, or even much that I could probably find back in my home in Phoenix. Legally, that kid is an adult, and since he did make it out of high school, he’s supposed to be ready for the world. What I saw was a kid who had a very narrow, but obvious stripe of early, forced maturity, along with the likelihood of acting out in anger and dysfunction later-on when life hands him the usual trials and challenges. In short, a kid who isn’t much ready for life, at least not the way life happens with its roller coaster ups and downs. Maybe I was wrong not to take him out on the road, but it wasn’t like I would have taken him to some new and wondrous far-off place, just Joplin Missouri, a town slightly bigger then the one he came from (or worse yet St. Louis the next day). Of course, if he really has an itch to hit the road, it’s not like I’ve stopped him, just not helped him do it on that particular day.
One of the reasons I don’t like to play counselor is that I forget to tell people about obvious things, things that occur to me later on. In this case it was that his mom should be in AA, something he may know (but has no control over), but also that HE should find an ACA group (adult children of alcoholics), something he probably doesn’t know about. ACA would at least be an intro to the larger world of counseling and personal growth, something that, it’s a fair guess, he also knows nothing about and has little or no community resources to point him toward.
When I get home, I may talk this through with someone I know from the personal growth organization I’ve on and off been to, but it’ll be academic at that point. The part I didn’t mention is that I told him he should stand up for himself. I don’t know how physically large his mother is, but this kid was about my size (5-10) and strong enough that there isn’t any reason that he has to allow himself to be abused. I did say that I wasn’t talking about beating up his mom, just letting her know that he isn’t going to allow her to abuse him any more. I should have also explained was that he should only do that in as non-violently a fashion as possible, something that, given his experiences there, he may not have had the ability to do (or control), were he to cross that line. Of course at that point he’d probably have to leave home anyway, but it’s a symbolic act where he walks out into the world with at least a small shred of self worth, based on being able to say “no” to his mother at least once. His response to this idea was that he would never hit a woman, and never his mother or sister (I wondered why he would include his sister in that statement). In any case, from my perspective this kid is majorly messed up, and has a long road ahead of him to get out from under where he’s been and how he’s been raised.
This brings me back to my original question. In a normal (if there is such a thing), or even somewhat stilted towards dysfunctional average upbringing (Dr. Phil stuff) there’s a tradeoff we all go through between care and nurture and what our parents, and the world, imposes on us as discipline and consequences for our undesirable or otherwise arbitrarily unappreciated actions and behaviors. The trade off is measured in loss of love, nurture, care, and concern. It’s the root of conditional love, and unfortunately, it’s inevitable. Somehow, more or less, we learn to make as much sense of the whys and wherefores of this bargain as our parents and society has before us, because, in a functional home, there are usually at least some apparent reasons for it, which we can and do eventually see and buy into. The result is that we are given most of the same tools everyone around us has in order to be able to get along in the world. Think if it as part of out social and cultural DNA, the part we get from the people we are closest to.
But in the case of the kid from small town Oklahoma, what he gave up, and just plain didn’t experience in parental love has probably got him so hurt and angry and fearful, deep down inside, that he doesn’t have much of a clue what normal is. The reason for this is that he probably had very little way of making sense of it when he was young. Given enough abuse, that is enough trauma from whatever level of abuse, physical or otherwise, is sustained over a given period of time, people from highly dysfunctional homes not only have poor experiences of love and nurture, and so develop limited, fearful or volatile temperaments as a result, but get emotionally confused into thinking that the love they need should also come with undercurrents of the abuse and anger they experienced early on. In short, they end up being at least a little bit mis-wired, because the person that they knew from birth as the one who is supposed to provide love, and nurturing, mom (and or dad, where dad might also has a security role), gave whatever she could (probably in this case when she was sober), but then turned it upside down and inside-out when she wasn’t. The fact that the kid isn’t a total drug addict or a seething, malevolent, would-be criminal is a small miracle, but it still doesn’t say much for his functionality in the real world, let alone his chances for a decent, happy life. What he did seem to have going for him was a certain level of maturity beyond his years, albeit an unsophisticated one.
The cure for him (if you could call it that) would be some form of family therapy involving his mom (not much chance of that) along with years of appropriate individual and group therapy and counseling, that in conjunction with some vocational training. Where all that might come from is a mystery, since, in this society, we’ve so mortgaged our future to the wealthy that we can’t even pay for the normal services necessary for ordinary functional citizens. Of course, if he can’t make it on his own, we’ll end up paying for his incarceration and other costly services anyway, but that’s another subject.