One of my children, nearly my size, out-weighs me; flat-out refused to go to school today. I could have wrestled him to the ground, got his shoes and socks on him, and drug him 1/4 mile down the dirt road to push him on the bus, or I could have thought of Plan B.

I had a scheduled meeting at the juvenile facility in which my 15 year old son resides. "Road trip!" I hollered, turning it into an educational field trip, complete with listening to Mark Sanborn's High Impact Leadership cassette tapes. “Stay awake, “I insisted and he did. Sanborn explaining his theory that business is a metaphor for life, I agree with this, and I've learned a great deal in listening to speakers such as him, pumping me up emotionally.

But first Jose got The Lecture from me, then he swept the kitchen as I worked in the laundry room, all the while wishing he’d gone to school where life was way less demanding than being home with Big Mama.

Surprisingly enough, my incarcerated son after initially swaggering into the conference room, acting like he was all tough and bad, launched into my recalcitrant son, Jose, “Boy, you don’t want to have to come here and be locked up, you need to be minding Mama.”

We are still exploring therapeutic interventions for Fabian, attempting to remove him from such punitive environments where he’s learning nothing but even more bad behaviors. There are still some options left for him in several very good wilderness programs.

I’m way past my early, young and naïve years in the adoption arena where I once would have been very hard on myself for failing Fabian. But, conversely, if that were the case, then I’m going to claim all the credit for the number of my kids that have graduated from college…except I’d be lying. They did the work, not me; they made good choices and earned their degrees in the same way that Fabian has made some terribly disastrous choices.

Family violence charges are unacceptable in anyone’s world. He has several felonies, he has not learned any lessons yet, he has not let go of his terrible anger, and he is only beginning to realize that he has a problem, that he cannot control his rages.

Sadly, having him out of the house has been good for the rest of our family. No longer are we having to call the police, or having to have an older brother prevent Fabian from attacking someone, we’ve had zero incidences of violence here since Fabian’s been out of the home.

That said, we miss him. It’s an odd feeling to not have children living at home, it makes us all feel seriously off kilter, and his birth siblings grieve the loss intensely.

But this isn’t over yet. I have a very positive expectancy for an eventual success story. This furiously disturbed child has potential deep within him. He still appears surprised to see me in meetings, at hearings, in court, and other facilities. “I’m your mom son, get used to it.”

When I saw him today I murmured in Spanish for him to give me a kiss. He was beaming and a Hispanic detention guard called him, “Mentiroso,” (liar) because Fabian was trying to act non-Mexican for some reason.

I’ve been in very combative meetings before where I’ve had to explain, beg, cajole, and fight for services for my children, but today was a pleasant exception. The lady in charge of the meeting and the DJJ officer were totally on the same page with me, trying to find appropriate help for Fabian.

It was a 100 mile round trip, Jose got an earful and a life lesson; this was a great day, all things considering.