Jason
stood defiantly in the doorway of his bedroom, just across the hall from the
top of the stairs, hammer in hand, poised to hurl it at his foster dad, Luke,
should he take another step up the stairs. Jason had been living with the
Hansons since last Thanksgiving, but nearly a year later, just days before
Halloween, his behavior was worse than it had ever been. Luke stayed rooted on
the stairs focused on Jason, trying not to look at the broken rail on the
bannister, the Sharpie ink illustrations on the carpet, and the blue splotches
of Listerine on the wall he and his wife, Shelia, had missed when they cleaned
up after last night’s episode had ended with Jason up-ending a brand-new Costco
sized bottle of minty freshness on Luke’s head.
At the beginning Luke had thought he and Shelia were prepared for this
foster placement, confident their home would be the forever home where Jason
could finally begin to heal from his previous trauma. They had been eagerly waiting for their day
in court when Jason would be adopted and officially become a Hanson. They had
been advised to finalize after Jason’s thirteenth birthday, the age when new
laws and policies went into effect. One of these, the Hansons had been told,
would allow for Jason to eventually file for college financial aid as an
independent if he was in the foster care system for even one day after he
turned thirteen. Now, the much-anticipated birthday had come and gone two
months before, and Luke felt farther away from finalizing the adoption than
ever.
Luke
took in a slow, calming breath in a fruitless attempt to lessen the
oppressiveness of the weight that had settled into a constant presence in his
chest over the past two months. He
swallowed, working to moisten his mouth which had gone dry the moment he saw
the hammer in Jason’s hand. How the fuck
did he get his hands on that? Luke thought as his mind raced to find the
quickest and safest way to deescalate the current situation. The social workers and therapists had
recommended “actively ignoring” behaviors they didn’t like as long as they
weren’t a threat to safety. This
generally involved choosing, as visibly as possible, to turn their attention to
something else, anything else: work, making dinner, getting the mail, sweeping
the floor, their biological kids… But this tactic had only increased Jason’s
escalations in recent weeks, to the point where ignoring his misbehavior was no
longer an option. Last night’s Listerine
episode was a prime example of what had started happening when Jason got no
response from the Hansons when he shouted or threw things around the house. A waterfall of mouthwash wasn’t exactly a
safety concern, but neither could it be ignored. Despite their best efforts to clean it up
quickly, Luke wondered how long it would be before he could walk through the
hallway without catching a whiff of the minty scent that had already begun to
cloy.
Besides,
today’s situation went far beyond the minor property damage that had been
sustained thus far – Luke didn’t want to consider the consequences should Jason
decide to let the hammer fly toward anything or anyone. He said a silent prayer of thanks that Shelia
had taken their biological kids to the grocery store when today’s escalation
had begun with the discovery of the Sharpie graffiti on the carpet.
“What
is your goal here?” Luke said carefully. When he was met with stony silence
Luke, continued, “How will this get you what you want?”
Jason’s
mouth remained in a hard line, and Luke could see a twitch in his jaw, a sure
sign he was clenching, if not actively grinding, his teeth. It reminded Luke of the first week Jason had
moved in, when he had lain in his bed for hours, eyes squeezed shut, jaw
twitching, and the coarse grinding of his teeth audible, even from several feet
away. One of the few times in those
early days when Jason had allowed Luke to comfort him, Jason had talked about
his bio mom’s battle in court to appeal the termination of her parental rights. The appeal had been denied only a few weeks
before the Hansons had met Jason. Luke
had gently told Jason that just because his bio mom could not take care of him
did not mean she didn’t love him, and the sad, scared little boy had hugged
Luke tightly. But now, Jason hefted the
hammer, testing its weight in his small hand. Suddenly he smashed a hole in the drywall just
inside his bedroom door and angrily proclaimed, “It will get me exactly what I
want! I don’t want to live here! I don’t want to be adopted by you!” Luke felt
the weight of the words much more than the blow to the drywall, almost losing
his balance on the stairs as he processed their meaning. On some level he had suspected for weeks now
that Jason’s behavior was an active attempt to blow up this foster-adopt placement
so he would be removed from the Hansons home. But as he heard Jason’s words repeat
themselves in his head, he felt as if he’d been punched in the gut.
Luke
felt his own jaw tighten as his heart pounded in his chest. He heard the
reverberation of the hammer’s thud hitting the wall echoing in his ears and
watched little flecks of plaster dust settle on top of the orange mountain
scene, complete with a fire breathing dragon flying over them, that now
decorated the carpet outside Jason’s bedroom. He felt a deep sense of despair
and regret, a physical wrenching of his gut, making him nauseas. He knew that
Jason deserved a stable home to call his own, and a disruption to this
placement might very well mean he would never get that, but he also knew he
could not continue hoping the boy’s behavior would just even out on its own. So
he met Jason’s gaze, and asked, “Do you really mean that?” Jason’s aggressive
nod was coupled with a threatening lift of the hammer. But after a few moments,
when Jason lowered it, Luke continued, “You know it is difficult to find foster
homes willing to take teenagers.” Jason did not respond, so Luke added, “And
you know you won’t be going back to your mom’s.” Jason’s eyes flashed with anger, and with he
a low moan he began repeatedly, blindly smashing the hammer into the wall, the
doorframe, the dresser. Luke did his best to remain stoic on the outside as he retreated
to the bottom of the stairs, pulled his cell phone from his pocket, and dialed
911, finally following the advice of the social workers and therapists over the
past several weeks. As he began describing the current situation to the
dispatch operator the thuds from overhead stopped. After Luke was assured an officer was on the
way he quietly ascended the stairs in time to watch as Jason sat down in the
doorway of his bedroom and finally released his grip on the hammer.
Luke
took up a position in the middle of the stairs, keeping a wary eye on Jason as
he worked his way through a mental checklist of the necessary communication. He
sent Shelia a text telling her about the 911 call and suggesting she take the
girls to dinner before coming home. He called Jason’s state social worker and
his adoption agency, leaving messages promising to send them a written report
after the police had left. Jason sat in the doorway, the hammer still within
easy reach, until three officers arrived.
Two spoke with Jason and one with Luke into the kitchen. Luke was told that the property damage plus
Jason’s age of 13 meant the officers had to take Jason to the station and book
him for domestic violence, even if Luke did not want to press charges. As the
state was Jason’s legal guardian, the social worker would have to be the one to
meet them at the station to decide what to do next. Luke was advised to stay
home and wait for the social worker to contact him.
The
silence that settled over the house after the officers left with Jason in the
back of a squad car was deafening. As Luke stood in the utter stillness that
descended over the house, he felt a sense of relief wash over him, followed
quickly by a profound sense of guilt. His heartbeat intensified, and soon all
he could hear was his own heartbeat in his ears. He shook his head, and all was
quiet again. Then he found a rag and began wiping up the Listerine splotches he
had spotted earlier in the evening as he thought through the cleaning products
in his arsenal that might work to remove the indelible ink on the carpet.
