To freak or not to freakout. . . that is the question

Eye twitching uneasiness as the afternoon rolls on. Buster is either skipping school or run away. I'm not freaking out, just worried. Polly left at 6AM and I checked in on him then. He appeared to be sleeping. I went back to bed for an hour and was puzzled why I didn't hear him getting ready for school. I checked his bed, but he was not there. His pillows were under the covers and made to look like him sleeping. My heart stopped, like he had vanished. It took me a moment to figure out what was going on. I looked around the house and couldn't find him anywhere. The cell phone was on the back lawn near the fire pit. That's odd. I checked the last number dialed was a Cincinnati number at 1:17AM Pacific Time. So, he left somewhere between 1:17 and 6:00AM. Where. . . who knows? Why?. . . I've got a pretty good idea.

The last words he said to me last night were "Fuck you, I hate you more than anyone else in the world". Now I sit here questioning my own parenting results. My poor son is getting so lost in a delusion that he can live with someone besides me; his reasoning has been skewed. There are rules, expectations and consequences and trust me, he ain't diggen'em. So here we go, the antics of a depressed teenager.

I flashed back to my own 16th year on this planet. It wasn't a happy memory to recall, but timely. I was a very independent and financially self sufficient teenager. I bought my own car at 16 and was performing 6 days a week at Kings Island Amusemant Park in my hometown of Cincinnati. I was making $300 a week for doing 6 twenty minute shows a day, this was back in 1982 with no expenses except pot and gas. Good bread for a punk. My mom must have made some comment and I decided to disappear for a couple of weeks. It was fun, me and this chick bounced around from friends house to friends house. It was in the summer, I worked everyday, just didn't go home. I was a total fuck to a mother who couldn't discipline worth a damn. There were no rules and I still broke them all. Where is my boy? I hope he shows up this afternoon or evening.

I can hear my mom saying to me, "I only hope I live long enough to see your kids as teenagers. . . and I hope that they are all as bad as you were". Well, I guess she would have liked this.