After months at a therapeutic boarding school, Pauline Gaines’ son has recognizably changed.
This is the last installment of a three-part series about the author’s visit to her son’s therapeutic boarding school. If you haven’t already, check out part one and part two.
After breakfast, Luca wanted to watch Planet of the Apes on TV, so we went back to my hotel room. He kicked off his Vans and crawled in bed, under the covers. I crawled in next to him, and we watched the rather dopey remake of the classic film, in which scientist James Franco brings a lab ape back to live with him. For awhile, the ape is happy hanging out with James and his doddering dad in their glorious Craftsman house in Berkeley.
But the ape, being an ape, is too wild to live in the suburbs, and winds up caged in an animal control center. Franco goes to visit him, and the ape is furious at his “father,” refusing to communicate with him. Eventually, the ape commandeers an ape mutiny, and legions of apes storm the Golden Gate Bridge, waging war with SWAT teams. Franco and the ape survive the massacre, and Franco takes his “son” into the forest, where he sets him free.
I looked over at Luca, who was clearly enraptured by the film. I wondered if he was wrestling with the irony of watching a primate being freed from captivity, when he was headed back into it. He didn’t seem to be.
But I was.
I liked his boarding school. I liked the hominess of it, the rustic buildings with big couches to sprawl on, the sheep-herding dogs roaming around in search of kids to herd. I liked Luca’s therapist and the staff, all of whom seemed like members of that proverbial village, the village that it takes to raise kids—especially kids who can’t be raised in a regular home or learn in a regular school.
Before Luca went to boarding school, when he was living with me the majority of the time, and the house was a battleground, I used to fantasize about having a grandma, or an aunt and uncle, who lived on a farm. I’d heard stories, generally from bygone eras, about parents who sent their unruly kids to live with a relative on a wide-open space, where they had to rise when it’s still dark and milk cows, or muck barns, or do whatever you do on a farm at dawn.
Ever since he was a toddler, Luca’s outsized energy has seemed to almost burst through his skin. He was not a kid who could tolerate any down time, ever. The last two turbulent years before he went away, Luca chafed inside my house and his dad’s house, pacing frenetically, calmed momentarily when presented with an activity he enjoyed—paintball, riding those stomach-curdling flippy rides at carnivals—only to plunge into a dark, restless funk when the bells and whistles went away. The park-your-butt-in-a-chair demands of homework and tutoring invariably crescendoed in screaming fits and head-banging. Luca took to bolting out of the house, sometimes shoeless, roaming the streets for hours at a time.
These were the moments I longed for an Uncle Fred who would offer to take in my too-big-for-city-life kid and plunk him down on a ranch where he was free to roam. In my fantasy, Uncle Fred, with his Alpha-male calm and his calloused hands and pot belly, would intuitively know how to settle Luca down because he’d had years of practice settling down wild animals. After a summer of non-stop physical labor, but labor that translated into tangible results—eggs, milk, corn—Luca would emerge with a sense of self-agency and the ability to regulate himself, something no therapy or social skills group might ever succeed in teaching him.
Isn’t this what ADHD meds aim to do? Create enough stimulation that kids thirsting for high-octane action calm down and focus on schoolwork? What would happen if “hyperactive” kids were sent to farms instead of loaded with stimulants? Would it be easier for them to learn?
My hunch is that the equine therapy utilized at Luca’s boarding school is modeled on the “send ’em to the farm” theory. Paired with horses, the kids quickly learn how their energy affects the animals. If they want the horses to move a certain way, they need to focus intently, calming themselves in order to gain their horses’ trust so they can work together.
Horses, unlike parents, who are riddled with their own issues and worn down by years of skirmishes, don’t have baggage. If they don’t like the way a kid touches them, they pull away, but there’s no guilt, no shame, no lecturing.
As much as I liked the philosophy of Luca’s school, there was no sidestepping reality. He didn’t live with Uncle Fred. I couldn’t drop in and visit when I felt like it. Luca bunked in a bedroom with seven other boys; I couldn’t join him for an evening snuggle.
I looked at Luca for a long time, nestled in my hotel bed, under the covers. Calm.
I glanced at my own form under the sheets, lying next to him. It had been years since we had shared such a mundane-yet-intimate mother-son experience. I closed my eyes to take a snapshot of this moment, which may never come again.
But I was aware of the time. I had a plane to catch.
“I have to take you back now, Luca.”
He turned towards me.
“Aww, really? I wish I could stay.”
♦◊♦
Luca handed the Staff the sample bottles of shampoo and lotion he’d taken from my hotel room. She held them up to the light, squinting, then scribbled on a clipboard.
“You have to inventory the shampoo?” I asked.
“Everything,” she said. “If he brings in a pencil, we write it down.”
Luca slipped off his shoes and pulled his pants pockets inside out to show her they weren’t stuffed with contraband.
The Staff glanced down at his empty shoes.
“They strip-searched us in Wilderness,” Luca grinned at me.
I looked from Luca to the Staff, a been-there-done-that kind of broad.
“If it was up to me, we’d strip-search ’em here,” she said.
♦◊♦
Luca and I stood on the landing of the main building. The October air was cool and crisp. We hugged for a long time. I wrapped my arms tight around his bony shoulder blades, and kissed his head.
“I’ll be back in February, for the Parent Workshop,” I said.
“Stay longer next time, OK, Mom? Can you do that?”
I pulled back so I could see his face, his skin still smooth and soft like a child’s. He blinked at me, and I smiled down at him.
—Photo Earl-Wilkerson/Flickr
Sometimes I think horses have had just as much to do with raising me as my parents. When it comes to emotional expression, relationships and sensitivity, the horses on our farm influenced me even more than my human family. I’m glad Luca and Pauline have discovered the power of such incredible creatures. I wish everyone could.
Another wonderful piece of writing, and a piece of Pauline’s heart.
Having grown up with horses I am a firm believer in equine therapy for all ages, not just troubled teens!!
Beautiful and moving words, Pauline. As a reader and a parent, I really appreciate your honest writing and voice. Your undying commitment to your son is so clear and your message of meeting you child where he o she is at in the world really resonates with me. May you have many more mundane but-oh-so-special movie moments on your journey together.
So beautiful, Pauline. The visual images you capture of him made my eyes well up – it’s such a strange stage when they are edging past childhood. You have done so much to help him and be there for him, despite how hard it has been for both of you. He seems to be in such a good space these days. You are really teaching him what it means to have someone totally & truly be there for you…no matter what. Thank you for this series!
This is such a lovely, poignant, and hopeful post. Thank you for writing about it. I’m so glad he’s doing better; it’s proof that parents can’t do it all on their own.
It’s the small moments that keep you going. I’m so glad that you were able to have that time together before you left. Thank you very much for sharing. I really appreciate your honesty and openness. We all have our parenting struggles. I know it helps me to hear others’ trials and tribulations. It doesn’t feel as lonely when I have my own.
I feel your hope and your love for him. I’m glad you had that time together and that he’s asking for more. So glad for you!
Beautiful and heartbreaking. It’s so hard…knowing when to let go. Knowing when to trust others to help your child. My heart goes out to you. I hope, when he returns, you find many, many more moments like that along the way. I know you will.
Love it!
Totally captivating. Your struggles with Luca really are an inspiration to every parent who faces challenges along the road (and who doesn’t?)
Thanks so much for sharing all of this. Really.
Pauline,
I also loved the description of Luca and his need for activity. You really capture what our kids are like.
So glad you wrote another installment.
You are a terrfic mom and an inspiration.
Lucy Pritzker,MS
Educational Consultant
http://www.comcast.net
Thanks, Lori. And, you’re right, kids come into the world just as they are, which is where we need to meet them.
Pauline, I have really enjoyed this whole series. You have so much strength. This paragraph really got to me: “Ever since he was a toddler, Luca’s outsized energy has seemed to almost burst through his skin. He was not a kid who could tolerate any down time, ever. The last two turbulent years before he went away, Luca chafed inside my house and his dad’s house, pacing frenetically, calmed momentarily when presented with an activity he enjoyed—paintball, riding those stomach-curdling flippy rides at carnivals—only to plunge into a dark, restless funk when the bells and whistles went away. The park-your-butt-in-a-chair… Read more »