Have you ever had to have the police to your house for something besides robbery or vandalism?  I have, and it's embarrassing to say so.  My younger son is a troubled person, and we've had to call them in because of him a number of times.  This weekend it was another meltdown in concert with his being rolling drunk. 

 

He came unglued over a very reasonable request to please just let his dog, who was not happy with him for some reason, stay in our room to sleep and to please stop snarling to her to "come here" when we were trying to sleep.  In a short time it escalated from a simple observation on my part that the dog seemed afraid of him to him, with the dog, in the basement screaming at the top of his lungs about his anger at our trying to protect the dog and making unveiled threats to my husband. 

 

It scared me, that off-kilter screaming below.  It's new behavior for him.  Unfortunately, he's done the whole take-it-out-to-the-neighborhood bit many times, but this was different and very frightening.  He's six feet two inches (two meters) tall and incredibly wiry and strong when fired up.

 

At the top of the stairs, I called down to him to please, as he had his dog as he wanted, quiet down so I could sleep, which brought him to the bottom of them to scream directly at me.  With all due credit, he went from screaming to yelling at my second request but still had to stand there and go through his laundry list of perceived grievances and express time and again how he wanted to beat up my husband, making insults and challenges at the top of his lungs to try to force hubby into physical reaction.  With each attempt on my part to defuse, he'd come a step or two closer with his boozed up breath.  Knowing I should not try to reason with a drunk, my efforts were aimed at just getting him to settle down and retire for the night, but he'd have none of it and soon directed his attacks toward me, trying to goad me into a physical reaction with insults on my character and appearance.  Eye-to-eye, but knowing retreat would result in me cornered in my room with him at the door pounding and screaming insults, I could see an ugliness beyond any I'd seen directed at me before and knew that as much as I hated it, I had to call the police - again.

 

So, I reported my own son as drunk and out of control.  When the police arrived at the door, immediately every dust bunny, pet odor, unwashed dish and unfolded afghan clobbered me with silent judgment.  My son spent the night in the detoxification center (a $500 bill he's going to have to figure out how to pay) and I spent the next day with my husband cleaning, cleaning, cleaning, because I once again felt like "those people who have the cops at their house."  It felt dirty.  I felt dirty, although my home by most comparisons is average or better kept.  I had to clean.  I had to wipe away the shame of not being normal.  I had to eradicate the dust bunnies of dysfunction.  Or try...I still feel so dirty...