It’s a Boy
Scott Norton
Copyright Scott Norton 2011
Published at Smashwords
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It’s a Boy!
Chapter One.
I’ve always believed in fate. Believing in coincidence seems too easy and doesn’t explain why, at ten, I distinctly remember thinking one day I’d make a great father. What would make a ten year old think this? And why would I remember it so clearly for the rest of my life? Surely it had to be fate.
The other less romantic explanation is that I was a precocious arrogant little ten year-old born with a silver spoon in my mouth. Of these two explanations I’d much rather chose to believe in fate.
At sixteen I began a battle with my sexuality. At twenty-two I lost it, or won it, whichever way you look at these things, and came out.
In 1987 I spoke to my parents twice about important life issues. Once in June to tell them I was gay. My mother cried and told me she still loved me. My father hardly lifted his head from the morning paper as he made it clear what I did in my private life was my business. He wasn’t thrilled he now knew what I did in my private life and made the point others may not enjoy knowing either, but I was certainly still his son and he made sure I knew he loved me.
The second meeting was to tell my parents I was dropping out of my economics degree, one year short of completion. My parents hit the roof. When I told them I was going to try being a writer instead, I came within an inch of being disowned. If I had any doubts about it before, their reaction confirmed what I’d always privately feared – we were a stereotypical middle class family.
In 1990, at a nightclub, I met a drunk eighteen year old named Brett; an amateur gymnast standing five foot seven with dark hair and piercing blue green eyes. I agreed to stay the night at his place provided we only slept. He’d heard the line before but it surprised him when I kept my word. I was waiting to see what sort of person he’d be when he sobered up. I wasn’t disappointed and ten years on we own our own home and remain very much in love. I still battle with being gay sometimes. When it’s said it isn’t something you choose, it’s meant. Many of us fight like we’ve never fought in our lives to deny the way we’re feeling. Once you make that giant leap and admit to yourself who you really are, it comes with huge relief and some ongoing regrets.
Not being able to have a child is my greatest regret. I’m not saying gay couples can’t adopt, or find a way to have a child. These things can be overcome and in cases where they are, the children involved have as much chance as any of an ideal development. However, the bottom line is, if you’re gay you can never have a child with the person you love. Often this miracle is taken for granted, a fact attested to by every unwanted child in this world. Unfortunately for Joel, Brett’s cousin, unwanted is exactly what he’d become.
Joel was twelve years old and early in 1996 Brett asked if I’d consider taking him on. Joel’s mother had recently died and he was now uncared for. I jumped at the opportunity. I had us at football matches and playing cricket. I had him coming to visit us at the old age home and letting me baby sit his children. I tend to let my emotions run away slightly and thinking of the future before I’ve even begun the present is a telltale sign. For days I was like an expectant father. I went to work, jumping if the phone rang. Did we have a child?
Finally one day, on my return from work, Brett was waiting for me. Joel had been given the choice of coming to stay with us or his older brother. He chose his brother. The thought of living with two gay males was too much for him I expect. I put on a brave face, but I couldn’t help feeling down. I’d almost, so very nearly had someone I could raise as a son.
Ten months passed and I threw myself back into work. I was working as the Script Producer on an Australian television show called Neighbours. I was in charge of every aspect of the script department including running the team responsible for thinking up and plotting every story going to air. It helped to lose myself in the work. We had no news of Joel, nor did we have any way to get information about him.
Suddenly we got an avalanche and none of it good. Joel’s brother had been waging his own personal battle with life and Joel had been a casualty of war. Brett came to me again. Did we want to take Joel?
He didn’t have to ask, he knew how I felt. He only asked out of politeness, feeling responsible for the situation because Joel was his cousin. Joel’s brother lived in a small country town and had a drug problem on top of a diagnosed mental disorder - not a great start when taking on a troubled teen. While in his brother’s care, Joel had been used to crawl through small windows and unlock houses so others could rob them. He’d also been beaten for any number of things. It wasn’t a great environment and for the sake of his preservation, he’d moved away a few months before without us ever knowing.
Joel moved on to his father’s house to live.
Again it was in a small country town. Joel’s dad was out of work and now had even younger children to care for. The experience was difficult for them both and Joel rebelled. He was arrested with a friend for breaking into a bike shop. Fearing being sent to a boy’s home, the two stole a car and drove to Sydney. They were caught when they parked the car in front of a security camera and tried to upgrade to a better vehicle. The irony is, their efforts to avoid being sent to a boy’s home, got them sent to a boy’s home. Joel’s friend was sent to a detention centre outside of Sydney, while Joel, who was a few years younger, only stayed in the home for two weeks before he was ordered out of the state and placed on probation for twelve months. He was returned to Victoria and placed with government approved carers.
These carers were both heroin addicts and Joel tells how he got to hold a spoon being heated to ready a hit. He slept on a couch during his time there, as the spare room housed a hydroponic dope crop; the source of the money from the harvest going to buy the couple’s harder drugs. Joel was receiving money each week from welfare. But this money wasn’t going to him - it went to the household budget - a budget covering few of the usual household items. The pivotal moment arose over a pair of runners. Joel’s shoes had a hole in them. When he walked outside on a wet day, his feet got wet. He asked for twenty dollars for runners he’d seen on sale. There was no money to spare and an argument broke out over who should be getting the welfare money. It ended with Joel being thrown out of a house he should never have been allowed to enter in the first place.
Joel gave Brett’s name to authorities and they tracked us down; Iiving with two gay men was now the only choice he had. Brett went to pick him up. I sat on the couch of our perfectly cleaned house. I watched television, trying to stay calm. I must have been up and down every few minutes, looking through the window to see if they’d arrived. I thought of a sight I’d seen nearby when I was jogging - on brown paper stuck to the front door of a quaint weather board house was a message to the world from a proud father, it read;
“It’s a boy! Max arrived today at five am, delivered at the Mercy Hospital.”
I stopped and read that message as the family dog barked, protecting the family who had either just brought home or were about to bring home a new little boy. At the time I was reminded of something I’d always wanted to experience, and now, here I was, my very own “Max” on his way home.
Brett and Joel arrived and I concentrated hard on the television. I didn’t want Joel to know how important the moment was or how nervous I was about it. We were introduced.
“Ughh,” Joel said, as he nodded in my direction before quickly looking away. Our first dialogue together!
Brett showed him to the spare room. A short time later he re-entered and we sat and made small talk. Well, I talked, he made noises like he was in pain.
I asked what things he liked, what he disliked and how he was doing at school. All the things a thirteen year old hates talking about and all the questions they get asked almost every time they meet a new adult. I couldn’t help myself. It’s one of those things you swear when younger you won’t do and then, when you get older, you realise there’s no alternative.
The ‘getting to know you’ session continued and I’m sure Max, when he’d arrived to that nearby family, was not making nearly as much sense as Joel. Although I’m equally sure in his own way, he was also the centre of the family’s attention.
I smiled all afternoon. I even went to sleep with a smile on my face. I remembered the thought which had stayed with me through so many years. The one I’d had as a child about what a wonderful father I’d make. I’d often thought how unfair it was I’d never be able to test this theory out - and here it was, the opportunity I’d been waiting for. Unfortunately I’d soon find out it wasn’t fate making the memory so vivid over the past twenty something years. I had just been a precocious arrogant little ten year-old, born with a silver spoon in my mouth and not a worry in the world. And now I was about to get my fair share of worries in very quick succession.
It’s a boy! Joel arrived today delivered at three fifteen PM at our front door and I would never be the same person again.
Chapter Two.
March 1997.
Every person I know, especially our families, have warned us about what we’re doing. Some spend hours trying to talk us out of it, others cut to the chase pretty quickly.
“You’re idiots and taking on too much.”
They all think a street wise thirteen year old with a record and a temper is nothing but trouble. All we can tell them is, ‘We have to try’.
On our first day together I was building a large set of shelves in my study and Joel hung around the door watching. I think he wanted to help but when I invited him, he shied away.
He finally entered asking if I’d like a drink. This wasn’t the fiery street kid I’d been warned about. I gladly accepted and asked him for cold water. Joel baulked.
“Don’t you want that sports drink in the fridge?”
I told him water would be fine. He seemed disappointed, but quickly left, bringing me back my drink.
Joel wandered around the house, occasionally checking what I was up to, but mostly passing time in his room.
I have a feeling behind his tough and angry facade, he may be an ordinary thirteen year old finally able to act his age.
Joel’s taken a few days to settle in and now he has, he spends most of his time moping around the house; when you talk to him he replies with, “Whatever” and even this he sort of grunts at you.
He’s not the most positive person I’ve ever met, even for a thirteen year old, an age notorious for seeing everything in shades of black. Joel claims to hate life; he finds every aspect of it boring. The only time he really sparks to life is when he hears from his friends, Ryan or Tully.
Ryan is a young man we can’t get a fix on. Joel told Brett he was thirteen and then told me he was sixteen. We have a similar problem with Joel’s second friend, Tully. We don’t know who these people are or how they influence Joel. The only thing we’ve worked out is they were there for him at his lowest moments over the past year so he sees them like his own family. We’d love to know more about them, but these junior phantoms are slick and elusive. Sometimes, we don’t even know they’re around until, accompanied by Joel, they nod goodbye on their way out of our house. Brett and I look to each other, amazed they were even in our house. How long had they been here? We didn’t hear the door. By the time we realise who it is, who it is has gone and taken Joel with them.
What we’d like to do is sit these people down and find out what they’re about - but you don’t do that sort of thing without blowing all credibility with teenagers. And without any good reason, we can’t stop Joel seeing people who are obviously important to him, so for now, we’ll keep doing what we’ve been doing - nothing.
The next day Ryan came over to our house late in the afternoon. He did more than nod, because this time, I noticed him arriving instead of leaving. He didn’t look any of his sixteen years; in fact he looked younger than Joel. He’d dropped over to swap the rim to a bike. I have no idea what was going on although I did detect Ryan carrying something past the lounge room door and doing his best to conceal it from me. Joel asked if he could go to Ryan’s house. We gave our permission along with a generous curfew. Joel still thinks of himself as a temporary guest in the house, which is a little unnerving. I had to explain he didn’t need to ask for food, he could just help himself when he was hungry. He’d gone most of the day without eating thinking to ask was pushing our very tentative relationship. You get the feeling he’s not expecting much from us - or to be staying very long.
Joel went out for the evening and Brett and I sat back marvelling at how wrong everyone was about him. While his language was largely guttural, he was at least grunting in a polite manner. He’d caused very little trouble during his first few days and when you did manage to communicate with him, he seemed quite intelligent. Things were working out better than anyone could have hoped. I was sure we were on track and Joel would prove all the sceptics wrong.
While he was out, Brett and I took the opportunity to clean his room and move all the linen from the old spare wardrobe so he could use it. While collecting his shoes and giving the place a general tidy, I found my sports drink bottle under his bed. It’d been emptied and made into a bong, right down to the rubber seals secured in its side - a very professional job. A cone sat in place and the whole thing was well used. Suddenly his eagerness to get me a drink on his first day made more sense - at the time, it was the perfect bottle in every way except one - it wasn’t empty. I never would have guessed a thirteen year old would be so desperate to choof away, without mates, in the privacy of his own room. The world has changed since I was that age.
Joel arrived back from Ryan’s house so stoned he could hardly walk. His eyes were glazed and he went straight to his room. I didn’t know what to do. It didn’t really surprise me he’d be into drugs and I hoped smoking was the extent of it. When I first met Brett he was always high on something and for the first three years of our relationship, going out entailed taking a substance of one kind or another to ensure a good night. Eventually when our fridge was only considered useful for preserving foil wrapped chemical substances, I decided enough was enough and, luckily, Brett was nearing the end of whatever stage it is that sees every night as a party and every party an opportunity to take something to ensure a good time. Now we were to travel the same road again with Joel.
Interestingly enough, the person most concerned by Joel’s use of dope, was Brett. Joel slept. It was a pointless task trying to speak to him about smoking the stuff in the state he was in. Brett lectured me instead.
Already my understanding of Joel’s social life was ringing alarm bells to Brett. I figured we had to win this kid over and if he smoked dope, we’d have to convince him it was something he shouldn’t do. I was aware, given my past experiences, giving up would take time. Brett had a much tougher line. The boy was thirteen. At thirteen to smoke tobacco was bad, to smoke dope was way over the line. The law would be laid down tomorrow and as much as I tried to plead understanding and time for Joel to get used to the new world of rules and expectations, I knew Brett had a very valid point.
Joel didn’t help his cause any when we laid down the law next morning. He claimed dope was harmless, having no affect and only helping to toss off the boredom of life. We reminded him he could hardly walk when he got in last night, he countered with an excuse stopping us in our tracks.
“Oarghhhhhh, I wasn’t like that from smoking! Youse two don’t know what you’re talking about. I was pissed! The two of us drank a whole bottle of black Jack!”
Joel wasn’t even sure of the exact name, which turns out to be Jack Daniels, but he honestly thought the argument would help his case. He has no understanding of normal behaviour for a thirteen year old. And why should he? He’s never been asked to behave that way before. He’s never had those things spelt out to him or demonstrated by anyone taking responsibility for him. The closest he’s had to parental guidance came from the judge:
“Don’t steal cars.”
We felt he needed just a little more direction and set our first rule - well, Brett did. I stayed silent, completely overcome by a feeling of pity for this young man who’d been forced to grow up so quickly without any help whatsoever. Joel was no longer allowed to smoke dope or drink alcohol. Joel told us we couldn’t stop him and stormed to his room. I consoled Brett; he’d done the right thing. Already our respective roles were emerging - Brett would be the disciplinarian and I would undermine him.
We spoke about what we should do next. We’d both been brought up differently. In Brett’s family indiscretion was met with corporal punishment.
Brett was the product of a broken home; broken by a violent alcoholic father who, at one point spent time evading police with his infant son in tow. All Brett recalls of the experience is weeks of eating Coco Pops. I guess his father saw it as food for children. After Brett was returned to his mother there are stories of shot gun blasts into the house and violent abuse directed towards the family until a prison stay gave them relief. Brett’s mum had no time for children misbehaving and to her credit she’s now the mother of four exceptionally well adjusted and successful young people.
I was brought up the son of a surgeon. My mother came from overseas and is well known in some of the more well to do circles of Melbourne. We had everything we could want. The house was full of good humour, cheer and love. When we were in trouble whatever we’d done would be met by lectures. We’d listen as our parents explained what we should have done and what would be expected in future. If a situation had to be resolved by negative reinforcement, my parents felt they’d failed.
This meant, as joint carers, Brett and I were express trains on the same track, heading in opposite directions.
During a quiet time I sat down with Joel and explained at thirteen smoking dope and drinking bourbon wasn’t on. I explained the physical damage it could do to someone his age and asked him to stop on both counts. He promised he would. He assured me he understood why I was so worried - I felt I’d achieved a breakthrough. When I told Brett he thought I’d lost my mind! Joel had simply told me what I’d wanted to hear. In Brett’s view I was being played for a fool. I was certain this wasn’t the case and in a show of faith I let Brett know I’d given Joel permission to go out again tonight. I argued it’d give him a chance to prove he could be trusted. Brett rolled his eyes and walked away; shaking his head in disbelief. In spite of the reaction I remained confident Joel wouldn’t let me down.
Joel didn’t come home stoned or drunk; he didn’t come home at all.
In the morning, at around nine am, just short of the point where Brett and I self combusted with worry, he arrived. He was still stoned from the night before although he swore he’d had nothing this morning;
“It’s just the stuff wearing off from last night.”
Given this, he didn’t understand why we were upset - after all, we told him not to come home stoned and technically, he hadn’t. He went to his room and slept for the rest of the morning.
To his credit Brett never once said “I told you so”.
I was left to learn a valuable lesson; Joel’s middle name should be ‘loop holes’. I was also starting to learn a little more about Ryan and what I’d learnt I didn’t like.
The afternoon was spent lecturing. Now it was Joel’s turn to roll his eyes. “Yeah” and “Whatever” were the only two words he said the entire time. He said them many, many times. It didn’t matter what you threw at him - one of the two covered all bases.
After we finished closing down all the “smoking” loopholes we could think of, Joel went to his room to sleep some more. Brett and I could only wonder if he’d been listening to anything we’d said.
Later that night, when Joel woke, I showed him how to use my computer. This was a breakthrough. He finally liked something which wasn’t illegal. As he raced around the world’s rally circuits in a suped up Porsche, I finally got to see him act his age. Something usually hidden as he battled with a world he wasn’t equipped for.
Joel and I spoke about what he liked and disliked and he mentioned he loved bass. As far as music went he thought the thumping sound of the bass was the best. I asked if he was talking about a bass guitar. He said he was, but any bass was good enough for him. I asked if he’d ever had the chance to play bass guitar. He said he had at school, but he didn’t know what he was doing and they only got to try it for a second before passing it on. Besides, he could never afford to get his own - “So what’s the point?” he said.
I knew what I had to do. I would save this boy with music. I’d argued with Brett since Joel’s arrival, one; that the job of turning him around would be long and arduous and require constant pressure before we even began to see any change. And two; we had to find him something to captured his imagination. We had to find something he could become obsessed with. If we could do this, half the battle would be won.
Following this logic I went after work to a Cash Converter store. I peddle some twelve kilometres to work each day for the sake of my fitness and I’m usually far too optimistic about carrying things home from anywhere. I’m always certain I can manage and even when I can’t, I do, somehow. This was to be one of those times.
I bought a small guitar amp for eighty five dollars and a second-hand bass guitar for one hundred and twenty five. The store gave me a large nylon bag, similar to the large toy bags that appear at Christmas time. I placed the guitar in the bag and hooked it over a handle bar of the bike with the amp hooked over the other handle to try and balance. I tried to ride home. The best I managed was to stand on one peddle and push with the other foot like a scooter. Each new push swung the guitar enough to destabilise the bike in a pendulum motion. In this way I pushed and swung my way through four suburbs over twelve kilometres. The last twenty minutes I spent hiding under bushes and then ducking out towards the next point of cover to avoid the light rain. The trip took me almost three hours. I arrived home at nine O’clock.
Joel was waiting for me. He hadn’t eaten and after I’d hidden the gift in my room, I got dinner underway. Once dinner was served I went to set the guitar and amp up. I wiped everything off with a rag and was ready to give this kid the best surprise he’d ever had. I came into the living room where Joel was watching TV and began with small talk. I thought I’d try and set up the surprise I’d gone to so much trouble to arrange and carefully guided the conversation around to bands and playing music. Joel took the bait, but his response hit me like a bolt of lightning.
“Playing in a band sucks. I only like listening to music.”
“You told me last night you liked bass guitar.”
“No I nefer, I said I like bass. Like in the songs I listen to. ”
“So you don’t want to learn how to play a guitar?”
“Nup, it’d take too long. It’d be boring.”
Have you ever jumped into water only to discover it was colder than you imagined? The air gets sucked out of your lungs leaving you desperate for breath and unable to breath at the same time. I sat on the couch next to Joel for a good minute in that state. I didn’t know what to say or do. I’d rushed in and made a huge mistake. My options flashed by, each one seeming the right thing to do and then not, all at once.
I wouldn’t tell Joel what I’d done, instead I’d take the guitar and amp back and he’d never know what a fool I am. A moment later I decided this was a ridiculous plan.
I took the plunge and explained when he’d told me last night he liked bass, I thought he’d meant he’d like to learn bass guitar. Joel was quick to suspect what I’d gone and done and as I led him to the bedroom he’d already worked out what lay waiting for him. Now we both felt awful, because Joel only moments ago had said the idea “sucked”. He tried to backtrack, but I let him off the hook.
He loved the guitar. He loved it because of the shinny chrome and the electric amp. He loved the fact it was his and it looked cool. He never had any intention of playing it, but he appreciated the gift, although what he thought of me I can only imagine. This street smart kid had been given a clear view into my soul and I’d left the door wide open for him to pick me clean.
Brett was extremely distressed for exactly this reason. He was worried I’d be used and battered by the time Joel finished with me. I explained I was prepared for that, something which appalled Brett. But I still think my logic’s sound. If I can be taken advantage of, it means I’ve given someone enough trust to do so. If I don’t give them that trust, I’ll never know if they’d take advantage or treat me with respect. I was giving Joel a chance to show me what sort of person he really was. I don’t think anyone had trusted him like that for a long time.
He took the guitar to his heart, polishing it, restringing it and disassembling it in order to fix the electrics. I was impressed with the later considering I regard changing a light bulb as an electrical feat worthy of publication. Joel didn’t really want the guitar and I knew it, but he was going out of his way to show me he appreciated it.
He even invited a friend around to show the guitar off. I gave him the name of a guitar teacher and ‘A teach yourself guitar book’. He thanked me, but looked pained. I knew the look. My parents put that look on my face a few times. Most notably the two Christmases in a row when I was struggling through and hating my economics degree and they gifted me a business suit.
I quickly told Joel it was entirely his decision what he did with the guitar. If he really didn’t think it was for him, we’d trade it in. His eyes lit up knowing there was two hundred dollars at stake.
Eventually I initiated the end of the guitar as Joel was having trouble taking the final step. I asked if he’d rather trade it in and he said he would, apologising as he did, something I appreciated. We took the guitar and amp back to the same store, not two weeks after I’d purchased it. I explained the mix up and the store manager was very sympathetic and said he understood the misunderstanding completely. Then he offered sixty dollars for the lot. At another music shop we were beaten down from one hundred and fifty to one hundred and twenty. We took it, much to Joel’s disgust.
I put on a brave face and explained some people were happy to take advantage of a situation. I knew nothing about the instrument and therefore couldn’t argue about its value. I told Joel not everyone was so merciless or selfish and some would actually go out of their way to help you out. What I needed really quickly was to find one of these people to back this statement up. It was pretty obvious Joel had encountered many of the former, but very few if any of the later recently. Hopefully it wouldn’t be too late for him to give up on everyone.
Chapter Three.
I’m looking for a way to reach this kid and I’m finding I’m not nearly as cool at thirty-two as I thought I was. Joel acts like he’s a boarder in our house. There’s no sense of belonging yet and we’re miles from having his respect. The job with ‘Neighbours’ grabbed his attention for a while, but apart from watching the show in support, he’s still very distant.
I bought Joel a football. The truth is I bought it for me. At school I was captain of my high school football team and made the combined school’s team. After school I went on to play in a reasonable league before giving the game away when I came out. That was almost ten years ago and I hadn’t kicked a ball since.
Brett played elastics with the girls at school, so kicking a football with him was out of the question. Suddenly I had someone to kick with and I was going to jump at the chance.
We took the ball to the park and Joel was surprised that I seemed to know what I was doing. For once in my life showing off worked in my favour. Sending him back to the goal square, I got onto a long kick and sent it sailing through the sticks at post height.
The look on Joel’s face was priceless. His understanding of a gay man was being challenged. When I took the ball to the boundary line and bent the ball through the goal, the only legitimately difficult football skill I’ve always had a knack for, he was dumbfounded and wanted me to do it again. I did and as luck would have it, the second kick followed the first straight through the goals. As we walked home the conversation was different. I can’t explain why, it just was. I guess he was looking up to me. It’s crazy something so meaningless could achieve this, but it did and I loved it.
The weekend came and again Joel went to Ryan’s. We told him to be home by six and to ring if he was going to be any later. He rang at about four and left a message on the answering machine. When Brett and I got home at five, we found the message. That was the last we heard of Joel for the night.
When he arrived the next day it was obvious he’d been smoking again. Ryan had been dealing dope for his mum; an interesting way to supplement her welfare cheques. The boys had been given an amount of dope to sell, twelve twenty dollar deals, but before starting their sales run - they took one for themselves. This thirteen year-old and his sixteen year-old mate have very mature and expensive tastes. However, they only have a little boy’s self control. Together the one deal for them grew until they’d smoked everything they had. Selling the stash seemed far less exciting than getting off their nuts. Even the smokers at work were impressed with this feat. They were of course impressed in an incredulous manner, much the same as a reporter writes about a blood alcohol content from a drunk driver - it adds to the story. But I bet the same reporter is pleased the culprit isn’t known as a friend and thrilled they’re not living with them in the same house.
The next morning, when Joel arrived home, he got a full lecture about staying out and making us worry. This was coupled with the more familiar and now very repetitive smoking dope rant.
Brett laid down the law - again, and added a few new rules to keep the whole tirade fresh.
No smoking dope and he must let us know at all times where he is. Also, Ryan’s house is off limits for the time being. Joel wasn’t interested in listening to any of this. He countered with his most repetitive response, “Whatever”. It’s an infuriating word because it addresses nothing and implies apathy; apathy to what’s being said, apathy to the person saying it and apathy towards what’s just happened.
Brett was growing tired of the boy. Joel was his cousin and he felt everything offered was being taken for granted. When Brett threw this at him, he came back with, “I never asked to be here!” and he was right. He didn’t. I kept telling Brett these first six months were going to be the hardest. We had to gain Joel’s trust and make his relationship with us so strong he wouldn’t leave, even when we got strict with him. I didn’t feel we were anywhere near that stage and implored Brett to temper his hard line attitude. It was going to take time and it would probably be the worst six months of our lives. My argument for putting ourselves through it was to try and give Joel the best future possible. It’s not something someone Joel’s age gives much thought to. What thirteen year-old cares about tomorrow, let alone years from now? Joel’s future was something we’d have to think about for him.
We decided the lure of getting money from selling dope could be countered with an allowance. Hopefully the gesture would make him feel we trusted him as well as giving him some legitimate independence and hopefully a sense of responsibility to us. Thirty dollars a week seemed ample. After all, the boy was only thirteen - what could he possibly need more than that for? The answer of course is dope. Joel’s old friends circled. The kid had fallen on his feet and they all wanted a piece of him. The phone calls started thick and fast and Joel was being courted by the two boys he looked up to and relied on most. His pocket money was quickly spent on deals and the weekend and occasional school night would be spent getting high.
For all its seriousness the situation had become ridiculous. At work, a friend was having trouble finding his own dope and, having exhausted all options through his regular suppliers, turned to me with this gem.
“There’s a bit of a drought on. You don’t suppose Joel could ... no forget I asked.”
It was meant as a joke and I took it as one. I needed every laugh I could get. But the comment made it clear Joel was connected in all the wrong ways and it would be very difficult getting him to break those ties and be satisfied with being an ordinary kid of thirteen again.
Brett and I discussed the pocket money situation. We also gave Joel another chapter from the lectures he now knew by heart - smoking dope was out.
Things had become so warped in the house that his twenty a day cigarette habit was never even raised as a problem. I guess we’d figured we should crawl before we tried a full out sprint to the line of goodness.
Finally I tried my parent's method with him and sat Joel down, trying to be as understanding as possible. We discussed why he smokes and what he gets from it. His reasoning was simple -
“It stops me being bored. It makes it fun to do nothing.”
Joel was an expert on doing nothing. He had few friends and fewer possessions because he’d moved around so much. He was a thirteen year old nomad without a stockpile of anything his own. Perhaps I saw this as a major problem because I was so spoilt at the same age. I felt had Joel been like others his age he’d have a box of toys to go to instead of a local dealer.
I implored Joel to lessen the smoking of dope. I set myself up as understanding, better than Brett, the lure and the difficulty of saying no when friends were offering. I’m sure this wasn’t the case, but Brett was running around doing a great Nancy Reagan impersonation with his, “Just say no,” stance. I didn’t believe Joel could just say no. I was hoping he could at least say “not so much”.
Chapter Four.
I’ve never been on welfare. I was brought up not to take handouts unless there’s no alternative. My attitude to the government and all its various forms comes about, I’m ashamed to say, through current affairs programs. I’m fully aware of the way these shows manipulate opinion and show a certain type of story because the viewers get some sort of satisfaction from this tried and true content, but it’s hard not to be subconsciously influenced when the barrage is so relentless. I had little time for government departments as a result.
Now we were taking care of Joel; Joel who had nothing. The departments responsible for his welfare, the people who assigned this specific task, their help and understanding have been and will no doubt continue to be extraordinary. Surely, rather than another story on ‘greedy’ welfare recipients, welfare that goes undistributed, officers who do little or no work and still get paid or departments who simply don’t care, it would be more beneficial to show a couple of the stories these people deal with every minute of every day and deal with successfully. They make the world of difference.
Andrea was assigned to Joel as his probation/juvenile justice welfare officer ... and she was tough. Joel resented her from day one. He didn’t look forward to their meetings and he didn’t enjoy it when she tried to push him into shape. But he continued to go to her. Perhaps he could tell she genuinely cared about him. Or perhaps, as he always tried to argue, the court order was his only motivation. What was disturbing for me was the welfare report we were issued with from the department of Juvenile Justice after they’d done an analysis of Joel. Suddenly I had the facts behind the bits and pieces of information we’d picked up from Joel’s own telling or from others who knew something of his background.
The assessment is a twelve page document - those portions which stand out are listed.
Joel presents as an initially shy but confident young person.
At this point in time, Joel has rather low expectations about his abilities and future goals.
Joel has lived with a number of family members over the past year and has appeared to develop a pattern of avoiding problems and conflict when they arise by leaving each placement. This has constrained Joel’s ability to form and maintain relationships with various care givers, as Joel has stopped contact with all family members he has stayed with. However, this also highlights Joel’s survival skills and independence, as he left placements when he felt unhappy or unsafe.
It appears Joel has been extremely independent from an early age.... Joel is finding it difficult to accept the importance of having friends that are closer to his own age.
Over the past month, Joel has begun to develop a positive relationship with his new care givers, Brett and Scott. He is able to openly discuss problems without avoiding them, or feeling the need to leave. Possibly the reason for this is the importance for Joel to feel that someone actually “cares” about what he does and what happens to him. He had previously stated to the worker that he hasn’t had this since his mother died.
CIRCUMSTANCES SURROUNDING OFFENCES:
Joel’s mother died in September 1995 after complications from haemophilia. She had been in poor health for a number of years and struggled to give him the home life a young person requires while growing up. Early in 1995 she received a liver transplant. While initially the transplant made a positive difference, it was ultimately unsuccessful and she died from complications within six months. Joel’s offending began less than a month after his mother died. He was twelve years of age and was the only child in her care.
Joel went to live with his brother, where he met co-offenders X and Y. Items from houses were regularly stolen and sold for cash. Joel stated that his brother received money from this to cover his expenses.
He committed his first offence with his co-offenders because “Everyone needed money, and that’s how we got it”. He also stated he was competing with his co-offender, X over Y’s girlfriend. He believes he was trying to impress her because “Whoever came back with more money was treated like a god”.
Joel left of his own accord, particularly as his brother was becoming violent.
Joel went to live with his father. He had previously lived with his father when he was two years old. Joel was enrolled in school but rarely attended. Joel began offending on his own. All of his offences related to stealing bikes and bike parts.
It appears Joel became obsessed with having a “good bike”. Joel’s mother brought Joel a very expensive bike not long before she died. His brother sold the bike without Joel’s permission.
Joel’s father is now caring for three younger children from another relationship..... Joel’s offending behaviour caused a great deal of strain on him and his family.
Joel ran away and was apprehended by police.
I assume this is where he stole a car and went to Sydney only to receive a very generous penalty of not returning to the state for a period of twelve months, but the offence has largely gone unrecorded and is not listed in the welfare report.
Joel’s father offered for him to return, but Joel agreed to go to A and B’s house instead. A and B have three children aged 2, 6, and 8 and B’s older brother is living at their home. Joel did not have a bed and was sleeping on a couch. Joel expressed, “I do not even know where I should put my bag when I get home”. The family is also under considerable financial strain, as A is unemployed and relies on social security benefits.
On the 18th of June, Joel left A&B’s house after an argument over finances. He is now staying with his cousin and his cousin’s partner.
Joel’s offending occurred during a time when he was still grieving over the death of his mother. ..In a short period of time he had to deal with many changes. ... Simultaneously he was making the transition from childhood to adolescence, without the support of parental supervision and close bonds with others. Before Joel’s mother died and he moved away, Joel had not been in any trouble with the police.
On reading this report I took the money Joel and I gained from the sale of the guitar, I added another fifty dollars of my own and we grabbed a trading post. By that afternoon, Joel was riding around the front yard on a ‘good bike’.
Chapter Five.
Every time we walk into Joel’s room we find another bong. The temptation to find reasons to search is overwhelming and I realise I’ve turned into my mother who was a master at inventing reasons to check out my room when I was Joel’s age.
Brett’s a hair and makeup artist and the opportunities for Joel to take, empty and recycle all manner of containers for his ‘bong conversion company’ is very high. But he took his life in his hands when he found and emptied bottles of Isi Myaki and a Jean-Paul Gaultier cologne to make a bong.
When we confront him with each new find, he claims he hasn’t used them to smoke. He just likes the challenge of making a bong out of such odd shaped bottles - I tried to calm Brett down when he heard this, it was an impossible task. I tried to express to Joel of the dangers of pouring out a gay man’s designer cologne, but he didn’t seem to understand how very lucky he was to still be alive.
Joel and I are having long chats about life and his place in the scheme of things. I have to work hard to stop him feeling he’s being lectured. When he does he gives himself away with a roll of his eyes and a despairing look skywards. At that point I drop the conversation for another. Regardless of whether I’m getting through to him or not, I’m finding out more about who he is every day we spend together.
During one of our sessions, where I confess I’m trying to screw with his mind and break him down in order to help him rebuild and make the rest of his life a little easier, I told him how smart I thought he was. Joel reacted with embarrassment. He didn’t think he was smart and could site countless people who agreed with him. You can tell when someone’s saying something for the sake of making noise and when they’re telling the truth as they see it. This was a truth for Joel - so many people had labelled him useless, he thought they had to be right. He had no self confidence what-so-ever. He didn’t see himself as worthwhile in any way and he’d never found anywhere he could belong without ridicule from his peers and scorn from adults. The world must have seemed a dreadfully lonely place to him.
I immediately tried to lift his self esteem. I zeroed in on the one thing Joel is good at without trying - he’s a natural born smart arse. I was a smart arse at school. It’s not as easy as you might think, although I’ve learnt the hard way since about there being a time and a place. But at school I was thrown out of more classes and given more detentions than I care to remember. I lived by the principle that making someone laugh was the ultimate prize and I’d go to any lengths to achieve it. For this addiction I was labelled as trouble by teachers. ‘Distracts others,’ were the most overused words on my report card. But I knew how hard it was to stay one quip ahead of everyone else. I knew the difficulty of turning a teacher’s rage into laughter and I certainly knew how hard it was to stay the centre of everyone’s attention with a good story, however well embellished it may be. These glorious attributes Joel had in abundance.
I pointed this out to him and every time he made a smart remark, I critiqued it and the brain power needed to come up with it. It didn’t take too long before Joel started believing he just might be intelligent after all. In the right hands positive reinforcement is a powerful tool. In Joel’s hands it was a dangerous weapon. I forgot the one thing said about me on many occasions by my long suffering parents –
“If only he could use his powers for good, instead of evil”.
The next day Joel was suspended from school for telling his English teacher she had bigger tits than Pamela Anderson.
No doubt, amongst the other thirteen year olds this brought the house down. It also showed me encouraging smart arse remarks may have helped Joel’s self esteem, but there were other factors we probably should have discussed along the way.
Joel came home from school with a note. I hate notes from school. There’s no great mystery about why so many television shows treat them as major turning points. We read his note and launched into some serious lecturing. Brett was giving me some leeway and doing his best to try and understand my methods; to him it was a foreign form of child rearing. Joel seemed to understand the reasons his classroom quip ended in suspension. These included sexual harassment, disrespecting authority and distracting the class. Joel assured us the whole thing simply got out of hand; he thought it was a harmless joke - after all - how could anyone have bigger tits than Pammy? I couldn’t help but laugh. Brett left the room and I sat down to go over the smart arse as intelligence theory one more time with Joel.
We thought we’d dealt with the situation adequately until Brett rang to arrange a meeting with the Principal. There turned out to be a few details about the classroom incident Joel had failed to pass on. The full story went like this;
Joel refused to do what he was asked in class and instead made his quip about the teacher’s breasts, then climbed onto desktops when she tried to go back to asking him to read out his answer to the question. Once on the desk he was chased down by a second teacher called in for assistance and then he squared up to the man.
Joel didn’t deny any of this new information. Information he seemed to have forgotten the night before and now suddenly managed to recall. The incident had moved a long way from being a poorly chosen comment thrown in a battle to win self confidence.
I tried to lecture Joel against the use of violence to settle a problem. Brett wanted to beat the crap out of him. I thought belting him might not be the best way to go. In the end we compromised and left Joel alone to go for a boozy dinner.
Come the weekend I went and bought a basketball to give Joel something to do and a reason to get out of the house, even if it was only into the front yard.
Brett was annoyed at me for rewarding him for being suspended. I tried to argue it was for me, but Brett gave me his look. Anyone in a serious relationship knows what I’m talking about. It’s a look you can’t joke with and I had to explain myself. I didn’t believe the basketball was bought as a reward. I felt after the exhaustive lecturing the issue of suspension was dealt with. The basketball was to try and give Joel something to keep him occupied. A disgruntled Brett conceded the point, but he still wasn’t happy to see Joel prosper out of doing wrong. It was an argument we’d repeat many times in the future - and this was one of the rare times I won it.
Within a few days things had calmed down and Joel was angling to go and visit his other good friend – ‘Tully’. I always think it’s amazing that kids find nicknames to suit their friends, or perhaps their friends grow into the name selected. Tully sounded like the name of a guy in the maximum security wing to me, but he was Joel’s friend and a rough sounding nickname was hardly enough evidence for us to take action.
Tully was the second of Joel’s good friends. He spoke of both Ryan and Tully as if they’d saved his life. They’d become his family when he didn’t have one; a family of lost kids banded together when their real family broke up or went missing around them. Joel’s usual demeanour was to drag his feet and mumble as if he was being bored to death by a blue rinsed women teaching government sanctioned religious education for schools. But if the phone went and Ryan or Tully happened to be on the other end, the adrenalin kicked in and his whole manner changed.
He bounced, smiled and appeared to be taking an interest. His voice had complexion. The words came fast rather than slow. During these brief moments you could see who Joel was and what he could be; happy, energetic and a pleasure to be around. Unfortunately for us, when this metamorphosis occurred, he didn’t want to be around us and shortly after the phone call he’d be on his bike and away to his mates place; wherever that was.
I’d always felt being a parent was a selfless task. Taking someone on and completely supporting them for twenty years, then guarding, protecting and worrying about them for their entire life is a monumental task and it can’t be done well without major life adjustments. I now can’t perceive how anyone manages as a parent. Not from all the stress, not from the intrusion or conflict, not from losing a house you’d worked hard to gain, or losing possessions you knew you once had, but from worry.
When Joel left our house I worried. Sometimes as if a small fly was lose in my stomach reminding me there was something unfinished in my world. At other times it was an all encompassing fear surrounding itself in unanswered questions. Where is he? What’s he doing now? Is he armed? All we could do was hope he didn’t do anything silly - or in Joel’s case, illegal.
All of this and we’ve had Joel in our care for only four months. I can’t imagine what it must be like when you’ve raised them from year one. To watch a sweet little treasure come out of hibernation and reveal their horrific teenage selves, and then let them out of your sight for even a moment, makes a parent more extraordinary than I’d ever given them credit for.
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