Chicken Dilemma. What Would You Do?

I know the government is in the middle of a crisis, but can we talk about me?  I need your advice.

Three young men in my town were recently arrested for breaking into cars and vandalizing public property. All are legal adults and were booked on felony charges

My dilemma is that I know one of the three and am trying to decide the best way to help him. I'll call him "J" to protect his privacy.   He grew up in the neighborhood, was a good friend  to my eldest son, and spent a lot of Saturday nights sleeping over at our house.  

I won't bore you with every detail of his background, but suffice it to say that the one person who loved and nurtured him got very sick and died.  Her illness and subsequent death sent his life into a tail spin.  He moved away for a time, but came back once he turned 18.  His situation has been precarious.  He has little support, emotionally or financially, and is, most likely,  suffering from depression.  It's hard to tell.  A lot of  his emotions are trapped on the inside and his affect is flatter than a six-month-old glass of coke.

After a rough start, he seemed to be on the right track, earning a GED in record time, participating in a work program, and eventually transitioning into a part-time job. His goals were to get his license, save some money, and join the military.  He was living with another family that I do not know, but he seemed grateful to have a place to stay.  He came over several times a week, for awhile, and I would feed him, encourage him and try to get him to talk.  When I remember the meme of the kitten hanging on to a ledge by the nails, with the caption, "Hang In There, Baby",  I think of J.

I asked my son,  after the neighborhood gossip made it around to our house, what he thought J was thinking to put himself in that situation. My son's response,  effectively, was that he would never put himself in a position to fall out of favor within a peer group. That makes sense,  I guess, when you consider what it means to be alone. Most of us prefer the pack.  It's the way we are made.

I texted and called J when I found out about his situation.  I wasn't sure what I could do, but I did want to make myself available to him.  When he didn't respond,  I did a search online, which confirmed that he was still being held at the intake center. 

I could probably scrape together enough bail money to get him out of jail.  I'm aware that it is money I would most likely never see again, and I could live with that.  My dilemma is that helping with his release would only solve his most immediate problem.  If released, he will need a place to live, a job, and emotional support, as well as practical support.  My husband is not willing to bring him into our home and I respect that.  I also feel I do not have the tools, time or resources necessary to help him find  his footing, and there does not seem to be anyone else in his life who is willing to take on that role.  Without some hefty support from somewhere, he will most likely end up back in prison, possibly worse off for my assistance.

If I bail him out, am I hurting more than I'm helping?  Are there services and people within the system who can help him more than I can outside of the system.  Is the system set up to rehabilitate young adults who are not hardened criminals, or does it just process every criminal the same way?

What would you do?  Is there anyone out there who has experience  with these sorts of cases and can speak to what is likely to happen to him next or how I can best support him?  I am not comfortable with the notion of no action, but I'd like to proceed cautiously.

I am a Chicken, after all.  Thank you for reading.  I will be resuming my usual nonsense after this short reality break.

Chicken out

Fashion is a Two-Faced Bitch: Socks. They Resent You

If you live in a less temperate climate, like New England, you may have recently noticed that the nights are getting chilly.  It's time to go through your closets, pull out those sweaters, and possibly shop for a new pair of boots.  Good luck with that.

My favorite thing to do, when I return home on a chilly fall night, is to pull on a pair of socks.  For me, there is nothing like their soft, cottony warmth after a long day in hosiery.  I only wish my socks returned my ardor.

A couple weeks ago, I retired my flip flops and called my socks back from their summer vacation.  The problem with socks is that they never want to come back from summer vacation. I think many teachers must feel the same way at the end of the summer; however, they can usually be relied upon to put down their summer reading, store away their beach chairs, and spruce up their classrooms. Then again, teachers collect a pay check.  The only thing socks collect is dead skin cells.  Perhaps this explains their saturnine personas and selective hearing.  While socks have no problem hearing the phrase "Summer Vacation", they do not seem to recognize the phrase "Summer's Over".

My socks wouldn't emerge from my drawer of their own volition.  I had to hunt them down and pull them, one by one, from the tangled nest they had constructed in the dark recesses of my bureau.

I lined them up and addressed them like the little foot soldiers they are. 

Well looky what we got all up in here.  A bunch of  soft, girly socks!  Did you have a nice summer off, socks?  Did you enjoy lounging in my drawers?  Did you get all rested up?  I hope so, cause it is fall now, bitches, and Momma's home.  This year is going to be a little different, you hear me?  I am not buying new socks every other week just because 7 of you decide to hitch hike to Orlando in the neighbor's suitcase.  You are not even close to retirement age, and Florida doesn't need the burden of unnecessary footwear.  They have enough problems with pythons. In addition, I expect to find you available and hole-free whenever you are on call.  And you are always on call.  There will be no workers comp for injured socks this year.  I'm wearing you anyway, but first I will stick needles in you, over and over again, and infiltrate your holiness with cotton reinforcements.  And you clever socks?  The ones who like to divide and conquer?  Listen closely: I will destroy you.  I will hunt you down and  turn you into sock puppets.  I will clean my bathroom with you.  This ain't no democracy, socks.  This is my house and you serve at my pleasure. Do we understand each other?  

Socks are okay, but you have to let them know who's boss; otherwise, it is two against one all day long.

Of course, socks hate this imbalance of power.  You can't really blame them.  In their minds, you are one mouthy head,  obviously inferior to a pair, and they can't help but wonder how they ended up on the bottom of this equation, stuck between your feet and a hard place.  They are constantly trying to unionize or plan a mutiny. Luckily for us, they are divided among themselves and find it difficult to agree on a cohesive plan of action.  They will try all kinds of things to escape indentured service, including shrinking to barbie doll size, escaping through dryer vents, and committing harikari on that nail head sticking out of the floor in your hallway....

I feel sad for socks sometimes, but if it comes  down to socks or my cold  feet, my cold feet are going to win every time.  Succumb socks.  Or pay the price of betrayal.

Chicken out

Ha.  Take that socks!  By the way, does this remind anyone of Hyperbole and a Half?

The Art of Negotiation

Littleb and I were in the car again.  This time, we were on our way to the educational toy store to pick up a  gift for his friend, Adam's, birthday party.  Littleb doesn't like the educational store because...no power rangers.  This was my reason for going there.  I was in a hurry and power ranger window shopping was not on my agenda.

Littleb:  What store are we going to again?  Target?

Chicken:  No.  The other one, Lakeshore.

Littleb:  Where is that one?  Have I been there?

Chicken:  Yes, you've been there.  It's by Bob's.  It has a lot of art supplies.

Littleb:  Oh, yeah, I know that store.  I don't like that store.  That store doesn't have any good toys.  That store is for babies. I thought we were going to Target.

Chicken:  No, we're not going to Target.  We don't have time for Target today.

Littleb:  Yes we do.  I know just what I want to get him.  I'm getting him Monopoly, the electronic banking edition.

Chicken:  Are you sure that he likes Monopoly?  Just because you like Monopoly does not mean that Adam will like Monopoly.  (Crap!  Lakeshore doesn't sell Monopoly)

Littleb:  Well, he does like it.   He told me that's what he wants.  (This may or may not be true.  That's the problem with a lot of things littleb tells me.  Everything he says is based in truth without always being 100% true.  Like most of my blog posts, actually.)

Chicken:  (is thinking,  "OK, maybe if he knows exactly what he wants and we just run in and buy it....")

Littleb:  (READS MY MIND!!) Since I know exactly what I want, we totally have time to go to Target, right?

Chicken:  (......Totally?  Did he really just say totally??)

Chicken THE SUCKER:  Ok, but we do not have time to look at any toys or shop for you.  We just get the game and we're out of there.  A focused mission.  Agreed?

Littleb:  Yup, just get the game and we're out of there.

Thirty seconds later......

Littleb:  Except we could dash by the power ranger stuff, and I could  just look really quick.

Chicken:  What?  We're going to.....dash...??

Littleb:  Yes, we'll get the game, and then as we're leaving, we'll just dash by the power rangers.  We won't stop.

Chicken:  Laughing.  Ok, we'll dash by the power rangers.

Oh don't look at me that way.  You would have done the same thing. He's got a gap-toothed smile, a command of the language, and perfect timing. He's a pro.

I'm not buying anything, though.  Absolutely not.

Chicken out

BigB and littleb.  You think I'm a sucker?