I know that I rarely talk about my family…as in my mom and my brothers.  My dad makes random appearances, typically in rant form…but the non-mentioning is not because I don’t want to talk about them or don’t want to admit that I actually lived with a pack of wolves (read: sarcasm)…I just…don’t….

Maybe it’s because they all have their own lives and I’m not one to be all, “GUESS WHAT?!” – it’s like stealing their thunder…only…not…because it’s not like they’re going to tell you…maybe it’s a privacy thing…I have no idea.

However.

My point.

Today…I do want to talk about my family.  Namely, my mom.

I know I’ve said before that she’s a self-proclaimed hippie.  I think the  best way to really *get* her personality is to read this about the homeless man and the hooker…or maybe the holiday lights from hell part one and part two.  They’re both definitely worth the read…you know…if you’re in the mood to see what I grew up with as a mother.

What I am about to say will make A LOT MORE SENSE if you read those first.  You need the background to understand the……….mindset?

(I will now pretend I’m sitting down with you at a coffee shop or in a martini bar or in a chair getting a pedicure…whatever suits your mood)

So, the other day, my mom responds to an email I sent her and the first sentence in her reply is all, “I’m adopting a homeless 19 year old boy.  He needs to finish high school and he doesn’t have a home.”

Then she goes on to respond to my initial email.

First, homeless would imply NO HOME and second – What?! Details??

See, thing is, my mom has this habit (that I’ve so fortunately picked up) of only providing one tiny piece of the story without any supporting details so the person on the other end is like, “Wait. Huh?  Wait.  How? Wait. Adoption??  I don’t understand? Wait..What?!.”

So, we had this back and forth for a few hours via email and then she called me, mostly to talk about what I had emailed her about initially, but I was like, whoa, wait…now about this boy…

Apparently, “this boy” started going to the high school where my mom works during the second half of the school year. As fate (or whatever you want to call it) would have it, she and this kid kept “crossing paths.” Eventually, I don’t know how or who told her, she learned that the kid’s parents are in Florida…one in jail and the other one…probably in jail. His aunt? cousin? godmother? one of those…said he could stay with her in Georgia……….and then the school year ended and the aunt/cousin/godmother was all, “Find somewhere else to live and oh, get a job while you’re at it.”

My mom, being the “welcome everyone into the home, free love” kind of person was like, “Leroy! You can come live with us!”  The teachers and counselors thought she was crazy, told her that this Leroy was a conman.  My mom’s rebuttal was, “What’s his con? He has no money…no friends…no home…”

(I just remembered the kid’s name was Leroy)

It took me a day or so to think about that – if a kid like that could have actually have a bona fide “con.”  Then, when Tim and I went running one EARLY morning before (Tim) went to work, I was like, “That’s it!  That’s his con!”

And Tim was like, “I’m still asleep?”

So I rambled on about how his “con” could be getting someone to trust him and then taking advantage of that person…and by taking advantage I mean anything from manipulation to stealing to, God forbid, physical harm.

I was freaking out.

I was afraid for my mom and my brothers, since they’d also be in the house with this Leroy person that no one knew from a hole in the wall.

Granted, in my mind, my fear seemed founded. Where I used to work in Atlanta there were many, many “kids” (they may have been 18 to 30+ but they acted like kids) who spun a pretty good story to get what they wanted.  I mean, these “kids” decided to go to a culinary school that would cost them upwards of $40k….yet they had no house…no money for food…slept at Waffle House or in their cars…(I shit you not).  Basically, they had poor decision making skills.

I tried to help as many as I could.  I tried to be kind and give what advice I was able.  I tried.

THEN. THEN.

One “kid” in particular ended up screwing me every which way til Sunday.  Looooong story short, I ended up having to go testify in a criminal court case…this “kid” having come to see me at my work a few days prior, asking for copies of various bits and pieces of information regarding his attendance…and damn it all to hell…both he AND HIS LAWYER doctored the documents to make it look like he was somewhere he wasn’t.

(He wasn’t really at school the days he was asking for.  He was actually in some house with a shitton of drugs or something…I have no idea on the particulars…I just know drugs were involved…)

I was subpoenaed by the defense attorney and I had to go sit on the witness stand and swear I’d tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth and then was subsequently grilled by the prosecution.  GRILLED.  I was basically made to look like an incompetent fool when, in truth, the kid and his crooked ass lawyer were the ones who botched the records.  I’ve never been so angry at the legal system.  It is REALLY SCREWED UP, y’all.  I mean, screwed to all hell.

Thankfully, the jury (oh, yes, a full jury) didn’t believe their shenanigans…and he went to jail…for a minimum of 30 years.  And every day after that I was afraid someone from his “possy” was going to come up to the school and retaliate.

So, I had flashbacks of this when my mom was all, “I’m adopting!”  This “kid” I was trying to help had no obvious con, yet he had me thinking it was ok to trust him.  And look where that got me.  In a precarious situation.

I was afraid for her.

Of course, she was like, “Jessica…there’s no need to worry.  Nobody pulls the wool over my eyes.”

I mean, I do agree with that.  We never got away with anything as kids.  She’d ALWAYS find out if we did something we weren’t supposed to…yet, she’d give us the rope to hang ourselves on our attempt to weave a story to get away with something.

We ended up swinging from that tree every damn time. (bad analogy…but I think you get the point)

So, my mom started giving Leroy the rope………..(we can all guess where this is headed).  After about a week or so of my mom inviting him to things like my brother’s high school graduation party and picking him up and dropping him off at summer school (where, I might add, she told him he had to actually apply himself and not sleep through class)…things started getting a little hairy.

When she challenged him on applying himself, he was like, “Whatever. I’m gonna live with my sister.”

My mom was all, “No. You made a commitment. You’ll stay with me.”

He didn’t like that so much, I don’t think.  The hard line drawn in the sand.

One day, my mom asked Leroy if he smoked and he was all, “Nope.”

She could smell it on him…strike.

He told her he read the Bible every. single. night with. out. fail.  Mr. Devout himself.

So she asked him what his favorite book of the Bible was.

He said he didn’t know.

She asked if he’d ever read Job…or Mark…or the Old Testament.

He said, “uhhhmmmm….”

So she was all, “You don’t read the Bible.  So don’t lie to me and say you do.”

Then she ended up calling his counselors in Florida and I think ended up talking to his school there, too.  Turns out he’d been trying to graduate for a year or so and just couldn’t seem to pull it together, among other things.

Things started not looking so good for Leroy.

They had a come to Jesus.

And that was pretty much the nail in the coffin.

Leroy wasn’t going to stay with my mom after all.

::::WHEW::::

I can’t help but feel that way.  That’s the first thing that came to my mind: relief.  I had a bad feeling about it, for right or for wrong.  So I can’t lie and say I was upset the whole thing didn’t work out.

I don’t think I could be that open to a stranger.  Actually,  I’m almost positive I couldn’t open up our home to someone like that…with open arms and no reservations.

No. I couldn’t.  I really, really couldn’t.  I have no idea why I’m so opposite from my mom when it comes to that…I have no issues helping out…helping a person…but when it comes to trusting them to be IN my house?  I think that’s where I draw the line, mentally, anyway.

Why am I this way?  I have no idea.  I haven’t gone deep enough inside myself to figure it out.

But what about you?

What would you do if you were in that kind of situation?

Would you invite the person to stay or would you turn your back, so to speak, to the issue at hand?