I just let my fingers do the walking.
Anthony's roommate, in whom we had such confidence, has turned out to be a drunk. A danger to himself and a risk to Anthony's academic career.
Omerta - the code of silence - is alive and well within the dorm walls. Although we have been aware of this growing problem for several weeks, it initially seemed appropriate to let the roomies deal with this themselves. No more. I no longer care that it "isn't done" to rat-out one's roomie. I no longer care that "mom" shouldn't interfere in a situation 1500 miles away. I am no longer hesitant to butt into a dangerous situation.
The proverbial last straw? The roommate's drinking has gone too far. Since he turned 19, Jesse progressed to passing out in the room, gagging on his own vomit. Anthony spent Saturday night and Sunday keeping his roommate alive, instead of sleeping and studying.
That is not what a 17 year old should be doing with his weekend.
So this morning I picked up the phone and called the university employee in charge of that dormitory. Anthony will be pissed at me, and so will Rick. But I don't care. If I were Jesse's mom, I'd want somebody to pick up the phone and get my kid the help he needs.
Because the consequences of inaction are too awful to contemplate.
I understand the angst in making such a decision but as a mother myself I would pray that someone would step out of that line of silence that greets such problems, and save my child from dying of alcohol poisoning. You did right.
ReplyDeleteGood for you - you just might have saved his life.
ReplyDeleteBest thing you could have done.
ReplyDeleteRight on! The kid could kill himself--he needs some help. Yeah, I lived in a dorm at a hard-parting school when the drinking age was 18. Fortunately my rommate survived learning from experience that 14 daquiris in 4 hours is NOT a good idea. If I had gone to that party I would have told her that.
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