Chapter 4 - The Enablers and The Detectives

   

          Mother      Me            Brad      Mama

  Even though their intentions were noble, my mother and grandmother always seemed to interfere with the plans I had made to handle the situation with Matt. Tough love was hard to implement when your relatives made you feel like a horrible parent for standing firm. I better understand their feelings now that I am a grandparent, but it did not make life any easier at that time.

     I should have expected my grandmother to react the way she did. She loved Matt so much. He was her first great grandson, given to her by her first grandchild…me! She kept Matt as a small toddler when I returned to work three days a week and kept him until I stopped working when I became pregnant with Jeffrey, my second son. Matt was almost 3, so on those days for two years she spoiled Matt as only a great grandmother can.

     She and my mother were always involved in my boys’ lives. If they played ball, they were there. If they had a program at school, they were there. They never missed a life event in any of my boys’ lives. All the principals at the schools knew them. If Mama and Nana needed to get in touch with my boys, they bypassed the authorities and went straight to the source. They could be found knocking on the doors of the lunchroom or walking down the halls at the high school.  One principal tried to explain the policy of contacting students to them at first, but he later resorted to just telling everyone it’s the Hobby grandmothers. My grandmother had sold her home and property to the Jefferson County Board of Education for the sole purpose of building a new high school in Clay, so she felt she still owned it.

      When Matt finished Bradford, we were prepared to send him to yearlong program, but he convinced my grandmother that he could do what he needed by staying at home. He would not follow our rules so he moved in with Mama because she would allow it. I think she really thought she could love him out of addiction, but she only enabled him to continue his bad habits. Her way of handling the situation was to be nosy and ask a lot of questions. When she did not get answers, she and my mother would proceed to follow Matt like two old lady detectives. What made matters worse was that they would report their findings to me.

       Of course, Matt had a reason or excuse for every phone call and every trip to out of the way places. His reactions became violent at times. I have been called names that I never thought my child would even say, much less address directly to his mother. I had some training in staying calm from a teaching experience I had long before the serious trouble started with Matt. I did not know why God had placed me there at that time but years later I realized He was preparing me for what was to come with my own child.

      I was working a leave in first grade when there was a major incident at our school that required intervention from the state department of education.  I was not involved in standardized testing in first grade, but I had a child with some severe emotional problems. My problem was that the administration was so preoccupied with the investigation that they did not have time to concern themselves with a student who would not or could not follow rules. I was on my own. This child would taunt me and the other children with his actions and words. He was acting out in ways I had never seen at the time. When I tried to correct him, he would go into a temper tantrum, often kicking me and screaming. After some inquiries on my own, I discovered that he was being raised by a relative because he had seen his own mother murdered. He was also being abused by another relative. I immediately felt compassion for him. I was able to stay calm in the face of his anger because it was not truly him acting out. It was the stress placed on him as an innocent child that had made him act like a monster.

       When Matt would act out toward me, I would immediately remember what I had found out about my student.  Matt, like that child, was reacting to an outside force. This was not his true nature. His drug use was making him act like a monster.

      Matt could use words that cut to the core. Once when I was talking to him, my grandmother interjected her opinion. Matt immediately said, “What do you know, you’re f---ing ninety?” that hurt my grandmother so much, but she kept quiet. She had a weird way of retaliating her hurts. She would hold back until just the opportune moment, then pounce on the perpetrator. She had a fantastic memory.

       The next day Matt asked in his usual demanding tone if my mother and grandmother would go to the store and get his Mountain Dew and some cigarettes. That was what he existed on most of the time. He had a sense of impatience and asked if they could please hurry. This proved to be just the right moment for my grandmother who responded, “I don’t know, after all, I’m f---ing ninety.”  Score one for Mama!!

      Mother and Mama liked to feel like they were helping, even if they were not. Matt was always having car trouble. He had so many wrecks yet somehow, he still managed to stay on insurance. The first car he wrecked was a small Toyota Joe had purchased to travel in to do his comedy. Matt had managed to con Joe into letting him drive it to school. He flipped it and totaled the car one day coming home from school. No one was hurt, praise the Lord, but Joe was not happy. It was the first of many accidents.

       Because Matt did not maintain his automobiles very well, they were always needing work, an oil change, gas, tires. Once he noticed a low tire on his way out. With no time to fix it, he drove my grandmother’s car and asked Mama, Nana, and me to get his tire fixed. Afraid that the tire would go flat before we got to the service place, we stopped by the BP service station on the way. I was driving his car and my mother was following in her car. I pulled into the air pump at the BP and my mother pulled in the spot alongside his car.

      When I got out and examined the tires, I saw they were nearly threadbare. My mother had already put money in the machine and proceeded to put air in the tire. She was sometimes very bossy and had a one-track mind when she was on a mission.  I warned her about the tires and told her not to fill the tire very full because it might blowout. I had no more gotten the words out of my mouth than the tire exploded with the loudest bang. It sounded like a shotgun going off. People came running out of the BP both from curiosity and to see if we were hurt.

       My grandmother who was sitting in Mothers car, said, “Betty, are you trying to kill me?” Evidently, the valve stem had whizzed right by my grandmother’s ear like a bullet. The Lord was looking after us that day because she and we could have been seriously hurt. 

       To add to the confusion, a man had come over and volunteered to help with changing the now blown tire. Matt’s car had a spare but no jack, so my mother opened her trunk to get hers. When I say it was a mess would be a major understatement. She did not pay for garbage pickup and her trunk was filled with bags that she takes to the dumpster when she buys groceries. There must have been fifty bags in her trunk, besides the usual items she had picked up from her Saturday yard sales. The man was very polite and helped us in our predicament.

      That afternoon at my grandmother’s house, my sister-in-law who taught kindergarten was talking about the gunshot they heard on the playground during recess. The playground was just down the road from the BP.  She said the kids had all ducked down thinking there was a shooter, and this was even before all the mass killings. I smiled and tried to contain my laughter. I knew it was just another normal day for Mama and Nana and I had gotten to be an active participant.

       Mama died in 2006 and Mother passed away two years later in 2008. I am grateful that neither had to experience the Incident with Matt. They had been through so much of my journey with me. Matt was fortunate to have two people that cared for him as much as those two did. As quirky as they were, they loved him with all their hearts.  Matt was still living at her house when Mama passed away. I see now that God had given her the comfort of having someone with her in her last days.  Just before she died, Mama had asked me to take care of “Little Matt” and her little dog, Bugsy. Joe and I adopted Bugsy into our home. We cared for Bugsy until his death and we are still trying to take care of Little Matt.

 

 

 

 

Chapter 3 - The Certificate and More Rehab

    The only time I used a bondsman to get Matt released was at the Trussville City Jail. I don’t even remember why, but I guess we could not find our tax records. By this point I should have kept them in a safe place or maybe just hung them on my key ring since they were needed so often.  This arrest was a very embarrassing one for me. I had taken Matt to Wal Mart with me to do some shopping. He was right with me most of the time but he asked if he could check on one thing in the sporting goods section. I told him to go and hurry because I was just about ready to check out. He disappeared for a short time so I finished up, checked out, and proceeded to wheel my cart to the car. He met me at the door but the minute we stepped outside we were surrounded by Wal Mart security and the Trussville Police. Matt had shoplifted again and taken two air gun cartridges that I would have gladly paid for.

     To add to the pain of embarrassment, I knew the security guard. We had started elementary school together at Clay Elementary. His face turned as white and mine did in red. I knew Randy did not want to be there and neither did I. He apologized but it was what it was.

     When I got to my car I was crying, but then I got angry. No, I got MAD! I wanted to scream and hit something, kind of like Ouiser did at the funeral in Steel Magnolias.  I was clinching my fists, grinding my teeth and shaking, when I felt a hand on my back. One of my precious school moms had witnessed the entire ordeal. She hugged me, put me in the car, and stayed there while I had my fit. Bless her heart.

    Trussville was a clean jail and I thought about leaving him there for a while. At least I would know where he was and that he was safe.  I’m not sure of the safe part anymore since I have two sets of friends who have lost sons in jail. One died in the Shelby County jail and the other in the Calhoun County jail.  I remember waiting for visitation in my car at the Trussville jail when I noticed a shadow of someone standing in a hallway. I could see inside a window made of glass bricks so I could not make out what or who it was. Within minutes I saw something that looked like a piece of paper coming through what appeared to be a gap in the glass bricks. A person appeared from the shrubbery and picked up whatever it was. Leave it to a prisoner to figure out ways to communicate with the outside world.  Most prisoners I have met have plenty of intelligence, they just choose to use it in the wrong way.

    Matt’s arrests were not all drug related. Besides shoplifting, some were failure to appear and there was the outstanding warrant that cost me a trip to Tuscaloosa.

    Matt had begun working painting houses and needed his driver’s license that had been suspended, so we made a trip to the Sheriff’s Office on the Bankhead Highway. That particular day the office was packed even early in the morning. He had signed in while I parked the car. When I entered the building one of the officers suggested that we drive to the station on Skyland Blvd in Tuscaloosa. He had assured us we would not be seen that day in the Birmingham office. We gathered our things and headed out to I59 and on to Tuscaloosa, since we had been told that office is rarely busy.

    Upon arriving I dropped Matt off as I had in Birmingham, but the results were not exactly as I had been assured from the Birmingham officers. When I entered the building thinking this would be a quick trip, I found Matt handcuffed and sitting behind a desk waiting to be processed.  Apparently, he had an outstanding warrant somewhere and he had been arrested yet again. By now I have lost count, but this was at least number four. He was transported in a police car all the way back to Jefferson County.

    I was able to gather enough information to know it involved a case that had not been closed out. Something had not been completed and the case was still open. I called his attorney on the way home but soon realized he was finished with his part and did not feel obligated to help in the least. I needed to find the certificate of completion for the counseling sessions Matt had attended. More busy work for an already worn-out mother.

    I try to stay positive and look for the blessings in even the darkest of situations. Other than the cost of gas and the irritation of having to attend meetings, counselors, and court, Joe and I only had to pay for one attorney in all the arrests.  Even Matt’s trips to rehab were covered by insurance or charity. Once Matt became an adult the responsibility fell on him and he had no visible means of support. At that time, children could stay a dependent on a parent’s insurance until 26 only if they were still in school. Matt managed to stay enrolled at Jefferson State and remain on Joe’s company insurance. How he did was a miracle in itself, but he would enroll, pass a few courses, fail a few courses, and withdraw before the deadline. We were so blessed that he could have the medical attention that he needed.

    Tracking down the certificate became a lengthy pursuit since I’m sure much of the information Matt had given me was incorrect and fabricated.  I took him to different places for different meetings and sometimes he drove himself. We tried to retrace our steps from our memory but there were just too many events to sort them all out in any kind of order.

    After recounting as much detail as possible, Matt, his brother Jeff, and I set out on a quest to prove Matt had completed his steps in counseling. We drove to several places where Matt said he had been to NA meetings, several churches in not the best sections of town, to different doctors’ offices, and finally to Baptist Medical Center on Montclair Road where his psychiatrist’s office was located, we knew for sure.

    I remember this trip particularly because I saw Matt and Jeffrey as they once had been, laughing and smiling brothers who enjoyed being around each other. All the drama with an addict drains the family members to the point that it is hard to experience joy.  That day we were all three filled with enjoyment at simply being with each other.

    All the stress had taken a toll on my gut and I would frequently have a bout of irritable bowel syndrome which sometimes produced gastrointestinal complications. I remember we had just eaten lunch when we pulled into Baptist Medical Center. I began to feel my stomach rumble and thought I might have had an accident but I had to go in to get the report. I parked right out front and left Matt and Jeff in the car. As a precaution, since I had on white pants, asked the boys to check my bottom when I got out of the car and bent over. When I did, they both erupted in uncontrollable laughter… loud, belly rolling laughter. I feared what they were going to say. Neither could hardly speak, but Jeffrey managed to get out these words: “It looks like an ink blot test.” Now there really was uncontrollable laughter, even I could not hold back a snicker. I went in the restroom to check for myself and that is when I burst out laughing. I wonder what the lady in the next stall thought I was laughing about so hysterically.   If she only knew!

    We never located any certificate and Matt once again was given an opportunity for rehab at another facility. We drove him to a place called Friends of Alcoholics (FOA) in Jackson, Mississippi. He never completed his term there. He hated it.  There was no air conditioning, the food was terrible, but it was better than jail. I remember receiving a call to come get him. He had gotten into a fight with a guy who pulled a knife on him. The director told me there was nothing wrong with Matt, he just needed to go home and grow up. It was not his fault, but the counselor felt it would be best to remove him from the facility for his own safety.

    So, at 3:00 on a Wednesday afternoon, my sweet grandmother and I headed out on an 8-hour trip to retrieve our strong-willed man-child. We stopped in Tuscaloosa and picked up Jeffrey who would provide our entertainment and protection on the trip. We picked up Matt, did a turnaround in Jackson and headed back. I remember dropping Jeffrey back at his apartment then gassing up at the Flying J on Skyland Blvd where I fell asleep in the parking lot. After a short snooze we made it back to Birmingham in the wee hours on Thursday morning.

    Part of the difficulty in finding the certificate came from the fact that Matt had attended so many different programs. He had numerous attempts at suicide which led to brief hospitalizations. I do not think he was or is crazy, it was the drugs. I remember he was in the psychiatric ward at Baptist where he stayed only overnight. I think after he sobered up, he realized he didn’t need to be there, so he convinced the staff. I had investigated having him committed to a state institution, but it was such a permanent solution. It was not a place for evaluation. If I signed the papers, he would be there for good…a ward of the state. I could not do that to my son. I knew he had problems with drugs, but they were causing his actions. From what I have learned now, I do think his brain needed to be rewired. The drugs distort so much of an addict’s perception of reality, that they must reprogram their thoughts to be more positive. 

     I know I am an enabler and codependent, but I had just about reached the point that all I could do for Matt was pray for him. Nothing I did or said had an effect on his behavior. I knew he would have to make the decisions for himself. He would have to be the one who decided he wanted to be clean, not his mama, daddy or the court system…. Just Matt. My brother had said after he told me about the $5000 forgery that Matt would stay clean when staying clean was easier that being high. Matt had not reached that point yet.

Chapter 2 - Miracle Lake but no Miracles

 From: Miracles and Mercy by Carol Hobby

     I am a big picture type of person, meaning I see the main idea and usually where it leads but I do not like details. For that reason, it is hard for me to remember everything that went on in my addict’s life for over 15 years. Considering the fact that I would rather forget most of the bad things that happened along the way, it has been hard for me to recall many of the reasons why Matt was arrested or why he was sent to rehab in the first place.

         I remember several arrests because of the circumstances around them. I was facing a constant battle over what to do with this wayward child, both inwardly and with his father.  His father followed the usual “fight and flight” mode fueled by male testosterone whereas I was given that forgiving and nurturing instinct of Motherhood. I would be furious at first but then after my initial anger subsided, I would take a more objective look at the situation. Spiritually, I would feel like the Holy Spirit would be leading me in a different direction. I was growing each day in my faith, but life was HARD!

         I remember one particular arrest because his dad refused to go with me to bail him out.  When the bailiff called a second time, we told him we wanted to teach our son a lesson. His response: “Ma’am, this is no place to teach a lesson. You better come get him.” And I did. His dad went with me.

        When there is a problem child in the family, nighttime is not a peaceful time. Sleep is never restful. I would imagine that my Fitbit would record very little deep sleep patterns had I had it during those years. Each time the phone rang after midnight, my stomach would knot up and I would feel nauseous. My throat would get tight as if I had swallowed an apple… whole.  After his first arrest, Matt had chosen to live with my grandmother since he did not want to follow our rules. Anyone who knew Mama, knew how much she loved Matt. She had allowed him to stay with her because she “just couldn’t kick him out,” like she perceived we had. Yet, each time there was an arrest, he called his dad and me. Mama was not in good health and the nighttime drama was too much for her.

        On one of the arrests, my mother and I had to bail Matt out of the Birmingham City Jail.  I remember this arrest specifically because of the circumstances. I had been trying to bring a particular Bible study to the ladies of my church. After several attempts it was finally going to happen. The number of responses from those planning on coming was growing and I was beginning to get excited about this new venture. I knew I might need some help with the small group so I called my friend and prayer partner, Polly to ask for her help. She, too, was excited but she gave me a piece of advice that I still remember to this day. She said, “Carol, don’t get too excited because between now and tomorrow afternoon the Devil is going to try and destroy this study because he knows how much you want to bring this to our ladies.” Her words proved so true.

          I got the call around 2 in the morning. My mother went with me. We had no clue where we were going and no GPS at that time. We looked up the address and headed out not even thinking about what we needed to bail him out. This must have been one of the first times, since I know now to bring my property tax record. After a trip downtown we had to turn around and go home to get the tax card. I was stressing out because I knew my Bible study started tomorrow and I wanted to be refreshed and prepared. On our trip back home, my mother could sense my tension. She didn’t say a word but started quietly singing church hymns. I couldn’t help but join in and the next thing I remember, we were singing “Standing on the Promises” even better than Andy Griffith. We had turned our troubles into worship and we didn’t even realize it. My Bible study was a success and I finally got some sleep on Sunday night.

       The calls would come at the strangest places. Once at a dinner party with friends, the phone rang and the hostess said “Carol, it’s for you.” Puzzled, I grabbed the phone thinking it must be some kind of joke. It wasn’t!! My grandmother called to tell me Matt had been arrested. Thank goodness I was with friends who knew my troubles, or I would have been mortified. We all had a good laugh and I continued on with the dinner. I knew by this arrest that it would be an all-night experience, so I just carried on as usual.

         As faulty and inconsistent as I am at parenting, the court system is even worse. They give chance after chance and still do not carry through on their threats. I’m not saying that is a bad thing, it would just have made things easier if I had known. I did not expect the system to be the parents, but a little backup would help. I spent so many worrisome hours thinking Matt would end up in prison for life because of the three strikes rule, but that only applies to major offenses like murder, rape, armed robbery. I kept thinking he would serve some time for his positive drug tests or his missed appointments. He was fortunate that his arrests came in different municipalities so they did not show up on every radar.

          I also had those occasional Angel stories. One Friday before a Sunday arrest, I received a phone call. The caller introduced himself and I knew him as a baseball father to one of my youngest son’s friends. He said he had been following Matt on the road and he was weaving so bad he thought he might have fallen asleep. He managed to get Matt’s attention and got him to pull over. When he realized it was Matt, he had the guy with him drive the car back to Matt’s house where he called me. As soon as I got there, I realized there was something bad wrong with Matt. He was incoherent and drowsy. He kept falling asleep mid-sentence. I kept quiet but I suspected some kind of drug use. I didn’t know what kind or what combination would produce this effect. We all questioned him, but he said he had been awake all night and worked the day. He assured us that he was just tired. He had a friend to stay with him in case it was more. I thanked the dad for bringing Matt home safely.

          I got the call on Sunday this time that Matt had been arrested in the parking lot of a local convenience store. Inside his car were pain pills and some prescription muscle relaxer. I knew then that those were the pills he had taken on Friday. That dad had been Matt’s guardian angel protecting him, an answer to a mother’s prayer for the safety of her child. Those prayers for safety would become my cry to the Lord during his stay in a federal prison.

       Matt had been seeing a counselor and a support group, but his life was about to change again in a different direction. With the mounting arrests and the failed drug tests, he found himself facing some prison time. I was brought up with a respect for the law. I was afraid of going to jail. I remember going to parties in High School and even college and if people were smoking pot, I wanted to leave. I thought if the cops came, I would be arrested just for being there. That never happened but I was always aware that it could. I thought I had taught my boys the same respect.

        I don’t remember at what point it happened, but Matt was offered the opportunity to attend a work camp in Tennessee in lieu of serving time in a state prison. He agreed to go to this place called Miracle Lake. The camp was a Christian based facility that worked closely with the Tennessee Board of Prisons. It operated only on donations which sometimes came in at the last moment, but they came in.

           Miracle Lake was run at the time by a staunch Baptist preacher and his wife, Eloise. His idea of rehab was hard work and Bible study. They had chores at the camp and worked hard during the harvest in the fall.  It was a 9-week program with strict rules:  no smoking, no television, not even any carbonated drinks with caffeine. Jack taught the inmates the Bible so intensely those nine weeks that he boasted at graduation that they now know more about the Bible than 85% of the people in the world. I don’t know where he got his facts, but I believed him. It would take Matt twelve weeks to finish because he got caught smoking a cigarette and Jack sent him home on a bus for 2 weeks. That was an experience in itself because Jack sent him to Birmingham by way of Nashville and several stops along the way. I guess he wanted Matt to have time to think. He didn’t think at some point because he had his shoes stolen in Nashville.

        I was hopeful Matt would have an epiphany at Miracle Lake since I had sent him on despite the bad news I received at the beginning of his journey. Matt and his dad were just outside of Chattanooga on the way to Knoxville and Miracle Lake when I received a phone call from my brother. He called to inform me that he had found a check that Matt had forged on a joint account we had from my dad’s estate. He had signed my name on a check for $5,000. I was heart sick. I knew I would never get it back. It meant trouble for Matt if my brother wanted to prosecute. How much more could I take, Lord? The three of us, his dad, my brother and me, decided to send him on and pray for a miracle at Miracle Lake. I repaid the account and considered it my contribution to rehab since Miracle Lake was a blessing and free of charge.

       I could sense at graduation that Matt had not changed, at least not that I could tell. He was still anxious and so ready to get out of there. We returned home with hope which was soon interrupted with another arrest.

Chapter 1 The Runaway and Rehab

from: Miracles and Mercy by Carol Hobby

I don’t even know where to begin with this convoluted story called my life.  My only hope is that I have a strong faith in Jesus Christ that helps me make it through the day. Some people think the story of Job in the Bible is a myth, a legend, an untruth, but I can tell you that bad things happen to people who try their best to be upstanding, moral human beings. As a child, I feared the Lord, I feared my teachers, and I feared my parents. I must have missed parenting 101 because somewhere along the way I missed getting that message to my children. My boys are all grown men in age, but they skipped that lesson on how to be and act like an adult.

My middle son has managed to live on his own. And he is also the only one to live 4 years away from home during his college years. They were not the easiest years for him and he developed some annoying habits but for the most part he learned how to live off Ramen Noodles and do his own laundry. He has a mortgage and a car note and partially understands a budget.  He has refuted the theory of the middle child.

But my oldest…. I have been through hell with that one.  He was always the brightest child. In fact, he was chosen for an accelerated first grade/second grade split class because he could already read when he started school.  He could identify letters of the alphabet before he was a year old and started reading between 3 and 4 years old.  I did not do anything out of the ordinary to encourage his precociousness, except offer him flash cards and a Speak and Spell. His was yellow, not red like the one in ET. I read to him and rocked him nightly.

In 4-year-old kindergarten he was frequently in trouble. Once while sitting in the Principals office, he read a note on her desk. When she sat down, Matt asked if it was true that the class could bring a toy to school tomorrow. Surprised by his inquiry, she asked him who had told him that information. Matt said no one and pointed to the note. “It says right here: ‘Children may bring a toy from home to kindergarten tomorrow.’”  After our behavior discussion we both agreed that Matt was getting in trouble because he already knew how to read and the program did not challenge him.

I often wondered what factors contributed to his feeling and behaviors during his pre-teen and teenage years. He was born with Phase 3 bilateral reflux which was detected after running a high fever at 12 days old. The doctors assumed it was a form of meningitis and performed several spinal taps before noticing the abnormal urinalysis. He was monitored for 5 years and even participated in a study at the Center for Development and Learning Disorders at UAB. His early giftedness was observed and noted during his sessions.

Matt was a very well-mannered and obedient child. He did not have to be scolded frequently and he followed the rules for the most part until he was about 14. Then life took a swift change of course. He went from a complacent, compliant child to a sneaky, deceitful teenager. My first clue that there was trouble ahead came during a weekend youth retreat at Gatlinburg. I had volunteered to go as a counselor along with another adult friend and about 8 kids from our church. We were scheduled to attend the conference session at night but the youth were given some free time to shop in the afternoon. When time was up, the other counselor and I learned from his friends that Matt had been

arrested for shoplifting less than $10 worth of merchandise. His excuse was that he saw everyone leaving him so he rushed out the door forgetting he had unpaid items.  Whatever the reason, the other counselor and I had to pool our cash and come up with $85 to bail him out. We made the trip home with no souvenirs and no fast food on the way back.

Tennessee sent the case to Alabama where Matt was required to meet with a probation officer periodically. They suggested we see a counselor so this is where the process officially begins. I have said to many of my friends and their children, “Stay out of the Criminal Justice system at all cost.” Once you are in the system it is hard to avoid further confrontations. It’s like you name goes on some kind of list of usual suspects. Bad things seem to follow. In Matt’s case, bad things followed him for over 15 years before his big incident that send him to prison.

His dad and I decided to take the courts suggestion and take him to a counselor. At the time there was a huge psychiatric practice that saw many, many patients with Blue Cross insurance. They were like the big obstetrical practices in the 1980’s that saw so many patients it was impossible to make a relationship with any one doctor. I remember the frustration in waiting hours to see a doctor only to spend the first 15 minutes of my visit recounting my prior visit and my medical record. We knew there were mental issues with our son, but this way of practicing medicine was giving ME mental issues. Not until Matt’s arrest just prior to his 18^th birthday did any medical professional suggest he might have a drug problem that was affecting his behavior. They ruled out ADHD and assured us he was depressed and suffered from social anxiety. Matt had failed to make the school basketball team and his dad and I had noticed his change of attitude with the reality that he would never play basketball at the next level. I think they made their conclusion based on the information we had given them.

I remember one visit when Matt was scheduled to meet with his psychiatrist. He did not want me to be in with him in his session so I stayed in the lobby. He had a list of questions to ask the doc, but I knew he would use every excuse to get finished as quickly as possible. When he returned to the lobby in about 7 minutes, I was furious. I saw the doctor in the hallway and proceeded to give him my thoughts which were not pleasant at that time. His hallway diagnosis: “it looks like you are the one who needs medication, Mrs. Hobby.” I learned from my experiences that there is not much you can force on an uncooperative fifteen-year-old teenager.  Their rights begin at age fourteen and there are people, not parents, who will enforce their rights. So, we were not able to make Matt take a drug test. At that time there were no home tests. Our only recourse as parents was to withhold privileges, which led to numerous confrontations and arguments and eventually more arrests.

Matt’s first arrest in Alabama came just 2 weeks before his 18^th birthday. He was in his car with 2 other boys. They were attempting to make a phone call at a pay phone in a convenience store parking lot in Argo, Alabama when they were stopped by the police. The owner of the store though they might be trying to break in so he called the law. When the officers searched the car, they found marijuana and drug paraphernalia so all three were arrested.  Before the judge, Matt took the punishment for all three since it was his car. I remember the judge had made them sit in the courtroom while a man was sentenced to life in prison. I know he had hoped it would be a wakeup call. It might have been for the other two, but it was just the beginning of a life riddled with problems for Matt.

Prior to his arrest in August, Matt had failed to walk with his class at his high school graduation. We had found pot in our house and confronted him about his drug use. After we laid down our rules and the terms of our punishment, Matt decided to run away from home. He stayed gone for several days missing school for almost a week. When we located his whereabouts, which were not too far from home, I picked him up and took him to Bradford. He was not happy but once again, insurance would pay for his stay in rehab. He finished the program there and returned to school with a medical excuse for all the days missed. His dad and I met with each of his teachers and they agreed to give Matt the minimum of makeup work so that he could graduate. There is something to be said for applying knowledge and intelligence early on in the educational experience because teachers tend to favor those who work hard and persevere from the beginning of high school. They perceive a given level of excellence that follows even when the student begins to perform below their expectations. In other words, Matt started ninth grade as a straight A student and whatever work he did was perceived at a higher standard even if it was not. He had mastered the art of deception and he found a clever way to BS his way through high school. He even found a way to successfully change his grades even before there was a need to hire a computer hacker.

His manners and good grades, along with the fact that his mother knew most of the teachers from her years of substitute teaching, opened doors for Matt that would not have been opened for other students. Even the feared assistant principal, Mr. Wilson, gave Matt some slack he had not given to other students. Matt was likable, polite, and most teachers loved him. Which is why his failure to walk at graduation was such a disappointment. He refused to take a makeup Civics test for his government class. All he had to do was take the test. Maybe it was a control issue. Matt has a photographic memory. He can read a page, or basically just see the page, and it is imprinted in his mind. So, retaining information is not a problem for him, at least it was not at 17 years old. He had the knowledge, he just refused to take the test. So, he failed Senior Civics and did not graduate. I insisted he get his diploma so he took a correspondence course from the University of Alabama to complete is requirements to graduate.

Matt’s stay at Bradford was only the beginning of a long list of facilities and programs he would attempt on his way to sobriety. Bradford was a forced intervention and Matt did not want to go. He played the sympathy card and worked the system well, but as I have learned, it takes more than one attempt at rehab. I remember those long trips to visit Matt, nothing compared to the ones to come. Oak Mountain seemed like a vacation trip away. With all the somberness at this time, the Hobby family still managed to find our sense of humor. On one visit with the boys we stopped at a Wendy’s on the way. They had a promotion advertising a meal in less than 3 minutes. Of course, ours took 10. When I got up to the window to pay, the lady said “Sorry about your wait (weight) ma’am.”

From the back seat I heard Jeffrey reply, “Are you going to let her talk to you like that, Mom?” I stalled for a moment but when it sunk in, I exploded with laughter. We all did! Leave it to Jeffrey to always make me laugh!

So, the August arrest followed the stay at Bradford. The first try at Rehab did not take.  It was just the first of many to come.