"I survived the
streets of Bethesda." That's
my idea for a T-shirt logo. People who watch TV's Saturday
Night Live would laugh because Bethesda is supposed
to be a place of privilege, and it is, but that T-shirt
logo wouldn't be for laughs. I am a Bethesda mom. We
moved here when my now-22-year-old son was three. We
moved from an almost ghetto-like apartment complex into
the neighborhood where we've lived since. The first my
son saw a squirrel cross his path, he was more afraid
than the squirrel: My son thought it was a rat because
that was what we had outside the apartment complex that
was populated by law students, graduate students, and
life's failures. My son got used to squirrels; Bethesda's
loaded with them. And it has plenty of trees, and open
spaces, and houses with more bathrooms than people living
in them, and plenty of money, and few parents home during
the day, and fewer parents who know what goes on.
I began knowing the kids of Bethesda as a Camp Fire
leader, taking them hiking and camping, trying to teach
them to give service. I have continued knowing them as a
mother doing battle against them.
Drug and alcohol use among Bethesda kids is high. Boozing
and toking are typical exposures for 9th graders in the
area. Private school, public school; it makes no
difference. The kids here tend to smoke marijuana in
pipes; it's easier than rolling. The booze often comes
from parents' liquor cabinets, or from six packs left
over from parents' parties. The kids seldom have to pay
for it. It's "just there." Many kids who use
pot will never pay for it; it, too, is "just
there." Yes, someone pays for the pot, but these are
kids with ready access to too much money, and they freely
share their pot with friends. At the low end of the
"suppliers" are the kids who aren't making any
money, and who don't think of themselves as supplying.
They do it for cost, making no money, and gaining only
"friends." The very kids most at risk for being
used in such ways are the ones who were treated as
outsiders before. Hey, life's tough: This is the DC area,
and kids learn early how to use and take advantage of
those who want even temporary inclusion as a
"friend."
Not all Bethesda parents share my opinions about pot use.
I sat in a meeting with other parents as we discussed how
to deal with the problem, how to work at keeping our kids
away from it, how to beat them at their own game. I
argued for getting tough, even getting mean if that's
what it took. One mom completely disgusted me. She is a
lawyer with an NYU law degree, and she's a mom with a son
who smokes pot and knows how to beat the pee tests. The
mom thinks his knowing how to beat the test shows how
smart he is, and she laughed about her own pot use while
in law school at NYU in the late '60s: "I was always
afraid the cops would catch me." She was disgusting.
I looked at this woman lawyer and said, "You SHOULD
have been caught." Here was an officer of the court,
laughing about having used pot. Would she see how HER
use, how HER being part of the drug culture of the late
'60s helped to spawn the nitemare we deal with now, the
nitemare that teenagers are dealing with?
She and her husband want to get their son off pot. They
plan to send him to a two-month "outdoor wilderness
camp" in Maine this summer. Cost: $250 per day;
$15,000 total. Not a dime covered by insurance. She's
convinced her son will go willingly. Parents wondered HOW
he could be forced to go if he resisted. I said,
"He's under 18; hire off-duty cops." Another
parent said, "No, there are official escort services
that do that. Don't get the police involved."
Bethesda parents tend not to like police in such
situations.
Another mother said she hadn't used pot in college but
had been around some who had: "Everyone used in the
'60s." I said, "NO! Not 'everyone' used. I did
not. The people I associated with did not." The
mother argued, "Then you must not have been in
college then." She was wrong, but not worth the
bother of an explanation. These were people born into
privilege; they are people whose parents had paid to send
them to residential universities. I'd gone to a regional
campus of a state university. Most of the students I went
to college with lived with their parents and worked from
20 to 40 hours a week to pay their costs; the others were
married with young children. Most did not use drugs
because there was no spare money or spare time for dope,
and because working class parents would not have
tolerated it. "Would not have tolerated it"
means that, if we had used, we'd have been hit, and we'd
have been put out of our parents' house. There would have
been no $15,000 "wilderness camps."
Conversation drifted back to that $15,000 wilderness
camp. I acknowledged that my son had battled with the
bottle and said, "I maneuvered him into six-months
of boot camp. Now, he has to submit to random drug tests.
If he ever pees dirty, he'll spend time in prison at Ft.
Levenworth." The parents were shocked! They'd NEVER
heard of such a tough program. Which one had I found? I
hadn't intended to talk in code and was surprised by
their question. I answered, "The U.S. Marines."
It shocked them even more that the Marines would be so
tough. I thought, "You'll spend $15,000 to send your
son to a wilderness camp that some people would WANT to
go to it. At the end, you'll have one more overly
indulged, spoiled Bethesda brat who has not taken
responsibility for anything, and who has been allowed to
excuse both his behavior and the harm he has done to your
family.'" I bit my tongue.
I spoke of my daughter, part of the current crop of
Bethesda teenagers. I said I did not like some of her new
"friends," and I hope to scare some of them
into staying away from her. One of my tools is
"Caller ID." A call had come from a number I
did not recognize. I called back. The male who answered
recognized the number on his end as coming from my
daughter. NOT a good sign. I put on my "I'm sweet
and dumb" voice and began asking him questions,
because I'm just a confused mommy. He admitted to being
20, and he sounded like a thug. I said, "Don't have
any further contact with my daughter. Don't phone her.
Don't see her." By then, my voice had changed to me
at my toughest. Bethesda moms weren't supposed to talk to
him that way, and he responded, "B*tch, shut the
f*ck up, or I'll come over there and beat you." My
response was immediate and not thought out: "Go
ahead. I'm armed. If you come to my house to beat me,
I'll shoot you." A Bethesda mom in the discussion
group said, "You could be arrested for making such a
threat." The woman seemed shocked at my brutality.
She did not seem shocked that a 20-year-old likely drug
user would threaten to come to my home to beat me.
My first exposure to drugs in Bethesda came towards the
end of my son's 9th grade at a Bethesda high school. My
son's drug of choice was booze. It was a school nite; he
had checked in after school, discussed his homework, and
asked to go outside until 7 pm, "to play"
within the boundaries of the neighborhood, to spend time
with his oldest and best friend. In first grade, the two
little boys had jumped across mud puddles together. He
left the house with his buddy. At 7 pm, a cop was
knocking at my door: "You need to get to the
hospital. Your son is unconscious. He was drinking."
My first words were, "My son does not drink." I
was wrong. Twenty ounces of vodka in 30 minutes, on the
empty stomach of a skinny 15-year-old. Alcohol poisoning.
Stopped breathing in the ambulance. Arrived at the
hospital in a coma with an EMT working an ambi-bag to
pump air into his lungs, having grand mal
seizures. I drove my Taurus station wagon mom-mobile so
fast that I walked into the emergency room about a minute
after my son arrived. I expected to find a groggy boy
needing a good tongue-lashing. Instead, I found my son
stripped to his undershorts, convulsing, tube down his
throat, surrounded by six or eight professionals, several
in long white jackets. The quick translation was,
"They've got more than one ranking physician on
him."
The lead doc looked up and shouted, "WHO LET THE
MOTHER IN?! GET HER OUT!" I was ushered out by a
policeman. When I was allowed back in, I was told not to
speak. The doc had calmed the seizures with medication.
My son lay there, attached to a breathing machine with a
large tube down his throat, small tubes down his nostrils
caked black from charcoal that was part of the stomach
pumping process. Tubes in his arms to supply fluids and
Rx drugs. Electrodes taped to his chest to monitor his
heart, a catheter coming from under the sheet, draining
into a urine bag. Still with a physician, a respiratory
therapist, and a nurse. I said quietly, "He is
Catholic. Has anyone phoned for a priest?" The
doctor looked at the cop at my side and said, "She
was not to speak. Get her out of here." His fear was
that this Catholic boy in extreme distress would hear his
mother's words as, "My son is dying."
The priest came. Two boys I'd taken hiking and camping
came. The mother of another boy I'd taken hiking and
camping came, like a mom, with food and prayers. She held
my hands and prayed. The hospital put us in a little room
with a hospital employee whose task was to
"bond" with us in case the time came to ask for
permission to harvest my son's organs. The lead doc came
in and said, "He is not responding. He may not make
it."
By a miracle of God, my son made it. He returned to
school amidst rumors that he had died. For a few golden
weeks, he opened up and told some of the world of
Bethesda 9th graders. By the time of his drinking
episode, most of the 9th graders he knew had been drunk
at least once. Many had used marijuana. He'd walked into
the school bathroom and found two childhood friends
licking LSD stamps. Some kids would skip school, hang out
in the neighborhood woods, and use drugs all day. A few
were sexually active, during afternoons when they were
expected to be home baby-sitting for younger siblings.
One had gone thru an abortion; THAT one I learned from my
younger daughter. She'd overheard older kids talking on
the youth bus as it made its way to the marina. These
were ALL white kids from an upper-middle class
neighborhood where bottom-end houses begin at about
$300,000, with dads and moms who are doctors, lawyers,
and "Indian chiefs." I live in a neighborhood
where former Vice President Al Gore and his wife used to
sit on the ground across from my house and watch one of
their kids play lacrosse at a neighborhood park.
This wasn't supposed to happen in "my world,"
but it was happening. I learned one boy had had a
"brick" of marijuana. [Street price, over
$2,000.] He'd been pulled into heavy-duty selling because
a druggie held a gun to the head of his brother who was
unable to pay off a pot bill that he'd run up. The
brother kept saying he'd make good on the debt by
selling, but he didn't really want to sell. The younger
brother walked outside their Bethesda house one day when
the neighborhood was as usual empty of most adults, found
their new "friend" holding a gun to his
brother's head. The older brother still didn't want to
start selling drugs. The younger one said, "I CAN DO
IT! I'LL DO IT! I'LL DO IT! Don't shoot my brother."
Welcome to the Bethesda that too many teenagers know.
(Uh, no, the drug pusher didn't get the gun legally, and
no law would have prevented him from having a gun.
Complying with the law was not "his thing.")
I wonder if the NYU lawyer-mom would laugh at that story.
I'm not a pharmacist. While I know that marijuana is not
"health food," I also know that the biggest
risk is from the kind of people one begins associating
with to get the stuff, the lies a child tells when he
enters that world, the distance the child has from safety
when he gets into the world of using. Don't waste my time
arguing that, IF it were legal, that danger would be
eliminated. My task as a mom is to get a crop of children
to adulthood -- alive, well, and able to care for
themselves in a safe manner. Marijuana doesn't help with
that task.
Parents who imagine their kid is using "only"
booze or "only" pot are kidding themselves. The
kids know that the two go together like peanut butter and
jelly. If a kid has used one, assume he has used the
other. Oh, sorry. They don't "use." They
"experiment." Many of the parents in the
discussion also liked to use the word
"experiment." As in, "If Joey is just
experimenting, I would understand. All kids
experiment." I was in the minority among the parents
hoping to find a solution. My recommendation was to get
"ruff 'n' tuff," as one of my old Camp Fire
groups named themselves:
(1) Remember that your kids have no 4th
amendment protection against YOU in your home. Even if
they did, you may have probable cause. Glean every bit of
info you can from every source possible, in every way
possible: caller ID, phone tracks, room inspections,
computer inspections, backpack inspections, school locker
inspections. (If your kid is under 18, YOU have the right
to have the lock cut and to inspect what's in the
locker.) Schmooz with your kid and his or her friends to
get info. Lie if you must in order to get info that
ultimately will protect your kid. Share the info with
people you trust at your kid's school to get more info.
Share what you learn with other parents. Depending on
what info you find, share it with the police.
(2) Ground your kid. Don't give any
privileges.
(3) Be as mean as possible to the kids
you don't want your kid around.
(4) Don't hesitate to look at kids and
say, "Cut your hair. Phone your mom and tell her
where you are. Stop wasting your time and my kid's time
on the phone. Stop skipping class." I am uniformly
not liked by my daughter's "friends." As my
niece tells her favorite dolly: "I'm not your
friend. I'm your mommy."
A kid who gets involved with marijuana is at risk of
people who would put a gun against the head of a teenager
and say, "Pay up, or I'll kill you." That risk
is there whether the kid lives in Bethesda, or in
Rossville, Indiana; whether he lives in a trailer, or in
an expensive house.
Kids who want out will admit, "If I try to get out,
people will still call me to try to get me to tell them
where they can get it." And kids will admit,
"If I tell on anyone, I may be hurt. Maybe not by
kids at my high school, but they have people they get it
from. No one can tell anything." Once your kid walks
into hell, as an "experiment," the only way you
can get him out is to walk in after him and do your
damnedest to scare the devil. Make it clear to your kid
that you neither expect nor want him to give you names.
His only task is to do everything you say from that
moment forward. Take control of his phones, his friends,
his time, his internet access, his clothes, his money,
his car keys, his driver license, and even his urine.
Move in like the 2nd Army and take charge of commerce,
transporation, communication, and association. Send out a
message to his "friends" that your kid has NO
choice. Run a flag up to identify yourself as the
craziest, meanest, nosiest parent on your side of the
Mississippi. Let 'em wonder if you really WOULD take a
garden shovel to some kid and beat him to death if he
comes near your kid again. At the same time, make sure to
provide safety for your kid: Find out if he owes ANYONE
drug money; pay it off personally if it means your kid is
out, but make it clear to the druggie that his side of
the payoff is that he's OUT of your kid's life. Flush
anything you find as you fine-tooth your kid's territory.
In Bethesda, the marijuana use is starting as young as
14, frequently in middle school. The middle school across
the street from me with the park where Al and Tipper Gore
sat on the lawn and watched their son play lacross?
Security officers there are constantly battling marijuana
and booze use.
Bethesda has some behaviors and practices that make it
especially ripe for drug and booze use. (1) Kids have
easy access to too much money. (2) Few kids have real
responsibilities. (3) Many kids are given pagers and cell
phones by protective parents who want Suzy and Billy
always to be able to be contacted; Suzy and Billy quickly
learn that pagers and cell phones put them into a world
of secret, virtually untraceable communication. (4)
Bethesda has houses where kids like to throw parties when
parents aren't around. (5) Bethesda has a high rate of
divorced parents with kids going back and forth between
two parents, the better for a kid to lie about where he
is. (6) Bethesda has a high rate of parents who are
sometimes out of town for professional reasons, or even
out to dinner for a few hours in the evening. The kids
use those cell phones and pagers as a phone tree. Once
the kid is "in the party circuit," as soon as
there's a house free for an evening, a few phone calls
can produce a "party," in other words, a place
inside for teenagers to gather drink, drug, and generally
misbehave. No parent wants to believe that HIS child is
doing that, and few parents have the guts to phone other
parents and say, "This is what I know." After
all, it's not "polite," and we don't know each
other that well in Bethesda. So, our kids continue in
their hidden worlds.
And the streets of Bethesda get more dangerous with each
new crop of teenagers. It's a safe place for NYU
lawyer-moms who work downtown during the day and come
back to Bethesda for shopping and sleeping. It's a safe
place to put your money as money is invested in your
house. The danger is for the teenagers who walk into a
dangerous, hidden world, with just "an
experiment" or two. Please, to other Bethesda moms:
Be as mean as you can be. It will make my job of being as
mean as I must be a little easier.
And, don't be afraid of these kids: The green-haired boy
to whom I finally said in disgust, "Cut your hair if
you want to be around my daughter"? He cut his hair
about a week later. The Chinese girl who was using pot
and isolating her parents with their lack of English? I
found a Mandarin-speaking lawyer to tell her parents what
I had learned; she got a whipping from an angry parent,
but the whipping and new parental involvement may have
saved her butt. The 20-year-old thug who threatened to
come to my house and beat me? He's beyond my saving, but
I may be the first Bethesda mom to tell him, "I'm
armed. If you come to my house to beat me, I'll shoot
you."
FYI:
The following info has
been gleaned from various sources:
The effects of smoking
marijuana can be felt 8-9 seconds after inhaling smoke.
The effects usually reach their peak within 10-30
minutes, and the effects generally continue for 2-3
hours. The user typically feels "normal" within
3-6 hours after smoking.
Possible
effects of cannabis (pot, marijuana, 420, etc.):
diminished inhibitions
impaired perception of time and distance
distortioned perceptions
body tremors
chronic reduction of attention span
increased heart rate
dryness of the mouth
reddening of the eyes
impaired motor skills and concentration
frequent hunger and an increased desire
for sweets ("munchies")
possible birth defects, still births,
infants deaths (with long term use)
possible loss of sexual potency for males
Signs and symptoms
of cannabis overdose:
paranoia and possible psychosis
sharp personality changes, especially in
adolescent users
acute anxiety attacks
Marijuana contains
known toxins and cancer-causing chemicals that
are stored in fat cells for as long as several
months.
Marijuana users
experience the same health problems as tobacco
smokers:
lung damage
chronic bronchitis
emphysema
bronchial asthma
Extended use
increases risk to the lungs and reproductive
system, as well as suppression of the immune
system.
Occasionally
hallucinations, fantasies and paranoia are
reported.
Kids commonly use
drugs for four general reasons:
They're bored.
They're socially uncomfortable and trying
to fit in.
They feel angry, upset or sad and don't
know how to process those emotions.
They are frustrated at a lack of success
at school, home or socially.
The information above came
from sources that are trying to discourage marijuana use.
However, the information below comes from a pro-pot site.
In other words, even people who are supporting the use of
marijuana say marijuana use can be problematic. Here's
what the pro-pot folks have to say about what marijuana
use can do:
Persistent
impairment of short-term memory has been noted in
chronic marijuana smokers up to 12 weeks
following abstinence.
Marijuana-smoking
does cause changes in the heart and body's
circulation characteristic of stress, which may
complicate preexisting cardiovascular problems
like hypertension, cerebrovascular disease, and
coronary atherosclerosis. Marijuana's effects
upon blood pressure are complex and inconsistent.
Smoking marijuana
has the potential to cause both bronchitis and
cancer of the lungs, throat, and neck, but this
is generally no different from inhaling any other
burnt carbon-containing matter since they all
increase the number of lesions (and therefore
possible infections) in your airways.
The
carefully-designed NCTR study has found that
marijuana use may consistently produce something
akin to amotivational syndrome in adolescent
monkeys. A full recovery to normal motivation
levels was typically observed to occur between
two to three months following cessation of
exposure. [NCTR is FDA's National Center for
Toxicological Research.]
Domestic
marijuana's average potency probably doubled in
the '70s with the advent of sinsemilla.
Driving in any
inebriated state is adding complication to what
already amounts to a constant life-threatening
situation.
Encouraging words
for parents:
Studies have found that, "[A]mong high
school students who quit, parental disapproval was a
stronger influence than peer disapproval in discontinuing
marijuana use. In the initiation of marijuana use, the
reverse was true. ... Social factors were not a
significant predictor of continued use."
In other words, while your
child's "friends" may be the strongest
influence in getting your kid started, YOU, the parent,
are the strongest influence in getting the use
discontinued.
Letters home
by Alice Marie Beard
|the devaluing of human life| |guns in the desert|
|breakfast with a cop who went to the Supreme
Court|
|a visit with Justice Thomas| |remembering a teacher|
|London & Paris| |an abandoned kitten| |a kiss goodbye|
|conversations with my father|
~swtutws~
the chapters
of
Alice's
place:
|dead people stories| |old people-features|
|not a law journal| |ONE HELL| |Camp Fire|
|child sexual abuse|
~swtutws~
~swtutws~
Alice Marie Beard,
Bethesda,
MD
|