THE HOMECOMING

Well, my rampaging teenage son eventually returned home at about 9 o'clock last night - a full twelve hours after being arrested on suspicion of possessing cannabis with intent to supply. He did have some grass on him, but far less than the amount allowed for personal use and, as you already know, there was none found at our home.

When my boy finally walked through the front door, he looked pale and drawn and very like the little boy he used to be. He had a difficult time persuading that bottom lip not to tremble, and was very shaken indeed; but then so would you be if you had been roughly manhandled from your car by four burly drugs officers and then handcuffed.

I am not making excuses for him; as I have so often warned him, it is pointless to make an enemy of those in authority - they will always have the upper hand. Nevertheless, despite my shame and disappointment with him, he is my son, and I love him.

Shortly after his homecoming, he was vowing that he would stop being friends with the 'bad influences' and would take his car off the road (the police now look out for him - he is a target). Great, I thought.

Experience is the best teacher, and I'm slow to learn.

Less than two hours later, my son was out in his car with the 'bad influences.' Despite his promises, he didn't come home last night, and he couldn't phone me to reassure me that he was safe because the police have impounded his mobile phone (not that he would have done, anyway).

Homecoming part 2 was at 9.30 this morning and, yes, he was paralytically drunk again.

I can't help feeling that I am standing by and allowing him to self-destruct.

Powerlessness stinks.