I held Sam after class today. He stared out the window and cried.
He tells me that he just wants to go home. We discuss his behavior. Sam knows his behavior is disruptive, but he hates his Ritalin because it “flattens his affective range” — in other words, the pills keep him from feeling anything.
A week or so ago, his first decision was that he wouldn’t take his meds on Fridays, so he could have fun with his buddies after school. I warned him against this then.
But Friday was so much fun that he decides, for this whole week, he will not take his meds at all.
I ask about his folks. His mother kicked him out of the house, and just placed him in foster-care. The problem is that the current foster-mother is a drunk. Sam and his new foster-brother wait until she is asleep, and get into her liquor. Last night was the first time he had ever been drunk. He really liked it.
He’s 13. And he mourns the loss of his birth mother with a pain that only God can measure.