A Personal Story: The Supermarket Shuffle’

as told by the boy's mom

The boy’s mother was warned. There was some evidence that her son was abusing alcohol, possibly even using drugs. It was hard to prove because he had been in another city living with his father. Now the boy was 17, visiting his mother at her home. She approached the topic first while they were preparing to go grocery shopping. She started the conversation carefully, gingerly.

“I was watching this show the other night that showed a whole bunch of high school kids having a party in this kid’s empty house and they had a keg of beer there. How do kids get a keg of beer? I mean, that’s against the law, isn’t it?” she said casually as she donned winter boots and a warm coat.

“Heck no, it’s easy to get anything. All you have to do is hang around a liquor store and give one of the guys who hang out there a few bucks and they’ll get you anything you want,” her son said as he donned his outdoor clothing.

“You’ve never done that, have you?” she asked as they left her apartment.

“Gosh, no, Mom. You don’t think I drink, do you? I just know from what the guys tell me.”

They drove to the store; the mother parked her car; they grabbed a cart outside the door. He pushed; she picked up groceries; she was casual, almost uninterested in what he said as they chatted and moved around the store.

“Did you know that your friend Mark is in a teenage drug rehabilitation center now?” she asked her son.

“Gosh, no, I didn’t know that. How would I know that? Anyway, I don’t use drugs if that’s what you’re hinting at,” her son snapped at her.

“No, I’m not hinting, I just wondered if he ever told you anything about using drugs. That doesn’t mean that you used them,” she said. “But he did tell his mom that you used marijuana with him once.”

“That’s bull. I’m going home. I’m fed up with all these questions. I don’t need this jazz.”

His mother stood in front of him and sternly said, “Let’s sit down. Right now. Take a seat on this bench. We need to talk. Sit. And don’t move until you tell me a little more truth.”

He sat.

“Now what’s this about you using drugs and going to keg parties? Don’t move until you tell me the truth. How will I know the truth? Because I’m your mom and I always know when you’re lying. Now talk, young man.”

“Look, Mom, I just didn’t want to upset you. I used speed once but I didn’t like it so I never used it again. And I’ve only gone to one keg party. Now is that enough?”

“I see. Okay, now promise me you won’t do speed again or go to any more keg parties.”

“Sure, I promise, Mom.”

Within the next month, the mother had her son analyzed for alcohol abuse and drug use. Within the same month, she enrolled her son in a teenaged alcohol and drug rehabilitation center. He cursed her out; he screamed at his father; he swore he would run away and “live on the streets with my buddies.” She crossed her fingers behind her back and said, “If you don’t like it here in two weeks, you can leave.”

Twelve months later, her son left the program. Years later, he thanked her for “being there when I needed you.”