This compilation of case studies, success stories from graduates, parent experiences, and educators’ reflections is meant to support all people who deal with recalcitrant teenagers.  Whether in a school setting, in a juvenile detention center or the home.

 

For Teachers:  Examples of best practices and “help in making it through the day.”  Included are numerous worksheets and group activities to be used in the classroom and the community.

       

For Counselors:  Hints on saving yourself when the change you thought was happening doesn’t work out and how to support teachers, parents and peers.

 

For Parents:  Support for encouraging your “pain in the butt” kid to take ownership.

 

For School Disciplinarians:  Ideas on mobilizing your resources.

 

For Peers:  How to support a friend who needs to know that “you won’t be part of the problem, but you would like to be part of the solution.  We call it “Caring enough to confront”.

 

Those of you reading this first edition are invited to add your own thoughts, ideas, humorous experiences and concerns to this discourse.  I have been working in the field since 1966.  Even though I experienced a plethora of abhorrent situations, new and challenging events almost every day, I still learn from every person and counselling session.  At the tender age of 77 the realization has set in that this “wild ride” won’t last forever.  So, with your input let’s create something of substantial value for the teachers, counselors, parents, school disciplinarians and especially the young people who need our guidance.

~

It all started innocently enough.  I was a newly appointed Child Welfare and Attendance Officer (CWA; fancy title for old school "Truant Officer”(or “Hookie Cop”).  My previous jobs were as a science teacher and counselor with the Peace Corps in Palau, Instructor training new PCVs for assignment to Fiji and American Samoa, GED instructor with the Job Corps, then counseling stints in junior and senior high schools.  Nothing that I did prepared me for what I saw visiting the homes of truants. My first stateside counseling gig was at a junior high in the ‘burbs’.

 

Junior High…commonly known as “the range of the strange”…where on the second day of the job I was called to a classroom where a seventh grade girl was ill and needed to be transported home.  The huge splatter of vomit that she spewed on my brand new suede platforms smelled suspiciously like whiskey.  I immediately thought to myself  "We're not in Palau anymore Toto!"  

 

Not that the kids in Palau High School  circa 1966 didn't have the desire to "alter their consciousness"; being more resourceful they just resorted to huffing gasoline from a jelly jar. The  huffing thing also happened on my first visit to the dormitory which housed young men from the outer islands.  I'm not sure if these experiences were meant to "test my resolve" but they definitely brought me down to earth from the lofty college and grad school years of studying physiological psychology.  I don't remember a single class or course that taught me how much "60's" teens wanted to alter their moods, and in many cases self medicate from the effects of growing up in a decade fraught with assassinations.  

 

In my first “state side” high school counseling gig I was shocked to discover a group of highly motivated teenagers with sincere vision of college degrees and careers as professional breadwinners.  Call it crazy or masochistic or whatever else comes to mind but after three years in this bastion of academic achievement I jumped at the chance to try "something completely different' (to steal a line from Monty Python")…and different it was!   

 

Immediately I missed the kids hanging out in my office and shooting the breeze (the current vernacular would be "chillin’ with the D-Man'')  I suppose it helped that I posed no threat intellectually to many of the Stanford and Ivy League-bound types who could afford to cut class because they could score an "A+" just by showing up for tests.  We did have some great times maybe because I was always interested in the same funny TV shows and movies that they enjoyed.  

 

I did a Steve Martin imitation:  "For I'm a wild and crazy guy!"  One Monday morning I opened my office door to a life sized cardboard cutout of the man himself and the required "arrow through the head" gag sitting on my desk.  At lunch time several seniors showed up to make sure I was wearing the arrow.  It got so loud that the vice principal came running down the hall to make sure that proper decorum was being observed.  As you may have gathered by now; I'm not a big decorum kinda guy.

 

The only real attraction for me at that school was the kids.  The principal was an "Attila the Hun" want-to-be.  He would wait in the hallway for the tardy bell to ring to make sure that each kid who was even a second late would be sent to the office for a disciplinary intervention.  If the offender didn't emerge immediately "Dr Adolph  (not his real name ; just the way he viewed power") would jump into the classroom and YELL AT THE TEACHER right in front of the students.  Talk about hard-ass!  He had plenty of venom left over for the counselors as well.  

The school district policy was that kids who were short on credits could take makeup classes in summer school or adult school.  In other high schools kids could take correspondence school classes or even community college courses to make up units. Dr Adolph seemed to take great pleasure in making sure that every makeup course was personally signed off by "his Royal Highness".  Many a time I had kids sobbing in my office who had not gotten the blessing or made some other slip up in protocol.

  

He actually seemed to take great delight in informing parents that their little genius would not be graduating from high school.  I always wondered if he was sadistic or didn't read the memo about the reason schools existed.  It really seemed that his ego was being fed, in some perverse way, by not accepting an "A" which had been earned in summer school.

 

One spring no faculty member had signed up to chaperone the annual senior day at the beach.  Some of my favorites came in to beg me to sign up so of course I did.  My fellow counselors were astounded to find out that I had agreed to go.  "You do realize that it will only be you and Dr Adolph and a handful of kids who are so out of it that they don't know that "Dr Killjoy" will be there to make sure they don't have any fun!? "  

 

At the picnic  Dr Adolph took me on a walk down the beach which was motivated by his desire to speak out of earshot of the students.  He wanted me to tell him why the kids didn't like him.  Talk about a wealth of information, none of which I felt comfortable with sharing so I danced around the topic for a while until I finally said:  "It has to be difficult to assume the strict disciplinarian role.  I know I could never do it because I have insecurity issues."  

 

His face softened and I saw a different person. That little conversation really touched me. From that point forward I saw him as a person with feelings.  That experience taught me to never pass judgement when a person didn't react to a situation the way I wanted or found acceptable.  

 

The next year when the truant officer position opened up I got the job.  Immediately I was called into his office alone.  When you were called in alone it was always a bad thing!  Instead of reaming me out, calling me a deserter or worse he said just this:  ‘Just because you’re a good counselor doesn’t mean you’ll be a good truant officer'' I couldn't get past the initial thought that he considered me to be a "good'' counselor.  Of course his words and challenge got me through a lot of horrible days working with the "steamy underbelly of society".  You can probably see why the CWA job looked attractive to me.  I also should have noticed that there were only three people interviewed for the job.

 

It is not my intent to scare you off with these tragic stories but more a desire to give you insight into the issues confronting the people below. The names of the people depicted within these pages have been changed for obvious reasons.  Their stories are shared as accurately as my memory serves and with the help of the adult group leaders who provided support for the students.
                                    ~

Before there was the “I CARE” program (1981) I started a branch of the TOUGHlove parent support program in the San Francisco Bay Area.  After a couple of years we started to see more and more challenging cases.  Many of them were heartbreaking.

STORY #1

 

A lovely elderly couple came in after their third group meeting and announced that they would no longer be able to attend because their grandson, whom they “adopted” when a parent died from a drug overdose, threatened to “burn down their house if they attended this “fascist” group anymore.”

Talk about a profound lack of gratitude! 

 

My heart went out to this couple because my grandparents took over raising me when I was nine months old. They were both in their fifties and sharecropping on a large farm.  They needed an infant to care for like another hole in the head!  World War II broke out just 14 days after my birth complicating all day to day events for every American.  Even with all that stacked against them my grandparents showered me with love and affection until my Grandpa died from stomach cancer at the end of my fifth grade studies forcing my Grandma and I to move into the big city of Des Moines with my Mom.  (That story is for another book.)

 

My strong feelings for the way these dear Toughlove people were being mistreated manifested themselves in an interesting way.  I asked them to bring in this young man during the next group meeting and I would spend the entire two hours listening and sharing with this little ingrate.  Since the entire large group heard our conversation two more sets of parents asked for their little “darlings” to be a part of the session.  (Never being able to say “No” to any pleas for assistance I agreed.  My gut feeling was that this topic, perhaps, would be better handled one-on-one…)

 

Being fresh out of grad school I was afraid of group situations feeling that I might lose control and be ineffective. Thirty seven years of group work with as many as 85 kids in each session gave me the confidence to facilitate groups.  And, yes, groups do indeed  provide an accountability and support that individual counseling doesn’t!  My master’s thesis examined group versus individual counseling.  I, of course, was hoping that individual counseling would prove more effective.  The instruments employed as pre and post testing belied my hypothesis. 

 

Is there more to this story? What was the outcome? Was this the basis for the group approach of the I Care class?

​

STORY # 2

 

One of our prominent Tough Love parents was a dear lady who taught junior high by day acted as a support provider for other parents by night.  She had a son that was a “hole puncher” (gets upset by some incident and goes ballistic on the wall of the house…usually starting with their own bedroom.)  

Being a calm person herself she was horrified when his temper exploded.  Since there was no father figure in the house another Dad and I stepped up.  We arrived bright and early on a Saturday morning, rousted the kid out of bed and watched as he learned how to patch sheetrock with materials we provided.  We were stern taskmasters relentless in our quest for perfection.  

We took advantage of this teachable moment by repeatedly reminding him how long it can take to repair something caused by a split-second temper tantrum.  When noon rolled around and he was almost finished we took him out for pancakes and a little man-to-man time.  He remained flabbergasted by the idea that two total strangers would go to such great effort to disrupt his sleep.  He did, however, admit to liking how good his repairs looked. We informed him that since we knew where he lived we could return if necessary.

 

This story doesn't end well for the Mother.   As happens more than you might think a parent of two children often has to deal with children presenting polar opposite personality traits.  A few months later her 20 year old daughter; the behavioral anthesis of the young man discussed above, was brutally raped and killed along with her 19 year old best friend. The murder remains a Cold Case as of this writing.  

 

Almost none of us who are parents ever have had to deal with anything this horrific.  This incident however did provide one of those “go home and hug your child” moments.  (That’s about as close as I can come to anything even remotely positive about this tragedy.)

~

PIONEERS

 

Before we plunge into the case studies that will help you understand what this unique program is all about I would like you to hear, from their own words,  the “I CARE” experiences of two pioneers now both 49 years old.  They have the benefit of looking back 31 years…”Hindsight is always 20/20”.

 

Support Letter #1

 

I had the pleasure of meeting Fred Dillemuth around 1987, when I was about 15 years old. I was enrolled into the ICARE summer program because I had such a bad academic freshman year in high school, that I was already in danger of not graduating on time with the rest of my peers. At the time, my only goal was to earn enough credits to graduate and keep my parents off of my back.

I had no clue that meeting Fred and being part of the ICARE program would help change the course of my life. I learned life lessons that would not only shape the way I thought but would also help mold me into a positive and productive member of society. For me, ICARE was much more than a class to earn makeup credits, it was the life line I needed at the exact time that I needed it and Fred was enthusiastically leading the charge. 

 

It’s funny how God puts people in your life just at the right time, even though you may not realize their positive effect for years later. 

 

When I first met Fred, I had a horrible outlook on life. I was 15 years old, hard-headed, thought I was a grown man and no one could tell me anything. By far, the worst and most dangerous part of my mindset was my outlook on life and my warped perception of my future. 

 

It was the 80’s and the height of the gang & crack epidemics in California. I was convinced that I had a dead end future that would culminate with me either going to prison or dead by the age of 21. While I was never in a gang, I hung out with many gang members. Many of my friends and relatives were gang members and/or drug dealers and didn’t seem to care if they lived or died either. Even though I came from a very loving two parent household, my true idols were the pimps, pushers and all around hustlers. I idolized those who had the fancy cars, jewelry, money and of course women. They seemed to have the respect in the streets that I wanted but even then I knew it was a dead end future. 

 

Because of my negative mindset, it caused me to put myself in extremely dangerous and often life threatening situations. Many of my friends and family routinely carried guns, knives and had no regard for fellow life. I can remember several occasions when I found myself in the middle of shootouts and I didn’t even know how the altercation started. My parents used to preach to me the old adage “birds of a feather flock together” but I never gave it much thought at all. I was having fun, living the life and if anyone got in our way, then it was going to be a very painful afternoon for them. 

However, as the altercations started to increase and guns became more of a factor, the realization of my own mortality started to hang over my head like a dark cloud. 

 

I knew if I continued to hang out with such people, it would be the end of me soon. I was 100% sure that the day would come when I would be confronted by someone who wanted to test me or do me harm and I would either have to take their life to survive or they would take mine. Living past the age of 21 was like a fantasy dream that you only see in books or movies. I had been in more fights than I can even remember, simply because someone was looking at me wrong. We called it “Bad Doggin’ “ back in the day. Can you imagine that? Walking up to someone and punching them dead in their face with all of your strength because you didn’t like the way they were looking at you. 

It pains my heart to even recount these feelings and actions but I was young, lost and had no hope. I was a young man who wasn’t afraid to die and didn’t expect to live long. That is a very dangerous and deadly combination. 

 

It’s funny how God places people in your life at the exact time when you need them most. Fred Dillemuth and the ICARE program was that lifeline for me. From the very first moment I walked into that summer school class, I knew this was not going to be your ordinary class. 

Fred has this astonishing way of making a person look interperspective and taking ownership for one's own situation. Other than my parents, Fred was the first adult who would openly call me out on my own bullshit. And the greatest thing (and most humbling thing) about the class is that the entire class would also call me out on my BS as well. I blamed everyone and everything else for all of my problems. I felt the world was against me for being black and there was nothing that was ever going to change that fact. 

 

Fred started to challenge me on these beliefs and would routinely ask me questions like, what role did you play in this situation? What could you have done to change the outcome of the situation? What could you have done to avoid putting yourself in the situation in the first place? We role played countless situations of peer pressure and how to avoid these situations from the very start. As I started to work through my assigned workbook and gave thought to each question or situation in the assignments, I began to see myself implementing some of my new learned life skills. I started to take ownership for my failing grades. 

 

I met countless other teens who would have killed to have two parents and an entire family at home who loved them so much. A family that broke their backs everyday, not only just for life’s essentials but also for yearly vacations and trips to Disneyland. I started to realize that I was actually blessed and I had no one to blame for my situations but myself. Before I knew it, my relationship started to improve with my parents. 

 

My outlook on life started to change and I started to feel hope. I started to learn skills that allowed me to gradually pull away from my friends and relatives who refused to leave the life of drugs, gangs, and violence. Everyday I had to look in the mirror and give myself a heavy dose of “Tough Love.” I started to realize that if I wanted better, then I would have to do better. 

I continued to come back to ICARE semester after semester throughout high school even though I was no longer short on credits. I knew God had placed Fred in my life for a reason and I had a responsibility to give back to those teens who were lost like I was. To those who had a bad case of “Stinkin’ Thinkin’ “ and devoid of hope in their lives.

By the time I graduated from high school, I had become a Peer Counselor, hosted countless local television shows for ICARE and had traveled all over the state of California speaking to teens and parents about the dangers and pitfalls of drug abuse, gang violence and dealing with teens who felt their lives were on a dead end road with nothing to live for. I would go on to win numerous awards, honors and grants for my work with “at risk teens” but my true rewards came from the many lives I was able to touch. 

 

From the thank yous I’ve received from people telling me that I was able to help get them off of drugs before it got too bad. Or for helping someone leave negative people in their past and take responsibility for their future. However, as great of a feeling as all of that was, it is no comparison to the accomplishments and lives changed by my dear friend Mr. Fred Dillemuth. Fred is a beacon of light and hope sent from the heavens above and I could never repay him for all that he has done for me. 

So how does my story end? Currently, I am 49 years old and happily married for over 20 years to a wonderful lady whom I fell in love with at the age of 14. She stuck with me through the crazy times and has been by my side for the good times as well. We have two teenage kids, 18 & 15 and they are unable to fathom the person their Dad used to be. I’ve dedicated my life to working with teenagers in general and “at risk teens” specifically. I am a Sales Manager at a major Bay Area tech company and I have been helping people reach goals and accomplishments that they never thought possible for over 30 years. 

 

Support Letter #2

 

At the moment, I am a 49 year old woman who was actually one of the “I Care” programs first heavy duty “success story”. I traveled to Moscone center with Fred and Perky to talk to folks first-hand about the kind of support their teens will receive in this program to promote the possibilities. 

 

In the beginning, it has been written…not really, it just sounded appropriate since it was so long ago that you would think God and I had already met and kicked back a beer or two. I was a troubled teen to say the very least. I was heavily into drugs, (cocaine was easy and daily while acid was my ultimate drug of choice) punk death-rocked out and all about 5’2” of cholla attitude with a touch of sunshine. I ran away from home at the ripe age of 15 when I knew everything and could take care of myself. Uh huh. So I ran away after my 15th birthday when my mom kicked everyone out of the house.

I had finally been allowed to bring my friends over and mom gets drunk, pisses off the wrong guy and kicks everyone out. I had it and left the next day. In a nutshell, I ended up in San Francisco and met the wrong people, complete understatement. It turns out as the “all-knowing” teenager who thought all the horrible and frightening things that happen in the movies are exaggerated and don’t happen in the real world...realized very fast that they do, and then some. I had spent just over 2 months in San Francisco on the streets as a scared teen that had been scooped up and forced into prostitution, shot up with drugs, beaten and tortured with the constant threats if I left, my family would be killed. Other than the worry of my parents, I have a sister who is almost 17 at the time who is naïve as hell and my little brother at 7 years of age who is my everything. Needless to say, the threats kept me there. 

 

Fast-forward (intermission music please), a group of 3 guys in punk rock bands were looking for what they thought a fun investment would be so for a pound of cocaine and me, this man I was with paid off a debt of his with this heroin addict trio. And that’s when the REAL torture began and maybe someday I’ll be able to write a book about it. It’s tough to get through details, even after all these years, without the nightmares starting again. Briefly, these dope head guys shot me up, abused me, shared me and tortured me by hanging me over Golden Gate bridge head first or leaving me in cold waters on a dead end rock off Alcatraz.

 

Finally after a few months of this and many attempts at escaping, Joey, who was one of the 3 “owners” finally saw the pain and torture his compadres were lashing on me and took mercy on me. One day he grabbed me and said, “we’re leaving NOW”, yanked me out of the apartment and we ran to BART as fast as we could. We jumped over the pay hubs and Joey stayed with me and made sure I got on the Fremont train. I will never forget seeing Joey standing there waving to me in kind of an embarrassing shy way. I never knew what happened to Joey after that because he was supposed to be watching me and clearly I was gone. That was the longest BART and bus ride home I have ever had in my entire life.

 

I was a mess when I got home to a luke-warm homecoming from my sister with bruises all over my neck that mom thought were hickies. There are no words. I was thin and dirty and I had a Mohawk with different colors in it. When I returned to school our principal, Mr. Bray, was able to pull some strings and get me back in high school with the promise I would stay put and make up credits over the summer…I agreed. I came back just in time to finish the last few weeks of school before summer vacation. 

 

Mom was going to the “Tough Love” program for the parents and said to make up credits I need to attend the “I Care” program. I agreed that one night a week wouldn’t be a big deal and community service is totally doable. Nerves got the best of me and I started to worry that my peers would want me to share too much then spread it all over the school of what I had been through so I would hide around the corner the entire duration of the meeting. At the end of class when the kids were walking out, I would blend in with them so mom thought I had attended. 

A few days later I would hear my peers that I saw at the night class talking about fun things they did that Thursday night so I thought maybe it wouldn’t be too bad to actually attend. 

The following Thursday, I decided to check out this “I Care” class with my “I don’t care what you think of me” attitude and to my surprise… they were nice! I immediately felt a warm and supportive vibe from Fred and Perky. They were a little Abbott & Costello-ish which I liked since my dad would do the “Who’s on First” bit with me when I was little.

 

There was a sweet familiarity to these guys that I was so drawn to and at the end of the night I just wanted a huge hug from both of them but refrained from even hinting that it would make me feel better and more secure. I think Fred and Perky knew I was supposed to be there so when I showed up, they really made sure I felt welcome. I thought it would be an easy way to get my credits then just blow it off but it didn’t work that way. 

 

I really looked forward to seeing Fred & Perky once school started again and enjoyed my community hours by going to a convalescent home to read stories, brush hair and just sit and visit with the elderly that seem to have sadly been forgotten. I would even come back when my mom thought I was out with friends screwing around. We even argued a few times about me going out because I had promised a woman named Mary at the home that I would be back that day and I was NOT going to disappoint Mary. I’m not sure why I didn’t tell my mom about where I was actually going, I guess it was easier for her to believe I was the bad kid she chalked me up to be. I remember a few times Fred had organized some of us going to CSB & CSD to dance with the deaf and blind students at their prom and school dances. 

 

Perky asked me to convince some of the more difficult students to attend because it would be good for them and they’re too macho to do something like that but Fred thought that would put me in a weird position and said not to worry about it. These two guys were so good to me, I couldn’t possibly let them down. I just smiled and said “I’ll do what I can” and got some of the biggest assholes aka bad boys to come and dance. I even gave a guy a joint to bribe him. I kept my word no matter what it took. It was amazing that these guys finally softened up a bit and they weren’t quite so bad after that. I highly recommend this to all the young assholes in the world, that means there’s still a glimmer of hope for world peace.

 

Anyway, clearly I was still doing drugs but able to release some anxieties in bits and pieces as I started to trust my peers in class more and more and even with the C.U.R.A folks. I really found a connection with these folks in adult rehab and I could talk to them about anything because they never passed judgement. When holiday break came up, I made the decision to stop doing drugs because I just found out that my best-friend from Colorado was doing drugs and killed herself by purposely driving on the wrong side of the road after a fight at a party with her boyfriend. I swore I was not going to let that happen to me. This is where I really had to put myself out there and trust folks to help me get off the drugs. Many details later, I struggled but did it. 

 

I went to another Thursday night and broke down telling the group about my loss and that I’m trying to stay clean and as I was telling my story, a cute black guy wearing a black leather hat, yellow sweater and jeans came up and hugged me while I was talking and sat next to me holding my hand until I was finished. That was the day I met a piece of my heart…O’Jay Johnson. He and I have remained friends to this day and he is my biggest advocate and support if I ever need it. I have also been blessed to have such a close connection with his family growing up.

 

The “I Care” program has helped me understand who I am, who I want to be, how to take ownership and that it’s ok to ask for support from your peers. These are invaluable lessons for a young person to even dabble with in those heart twisting teenage years we all struggle with at one time or another. 

I went on to be a volunteer for the “I Care” program for a couple years after I graduated high school (1987), yes I did graduate by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin. Then I went on to get married and have a son but this program really holds a piece of you…I came back with my son in a carrier and volunteered a couple times a month for quite a few years after that. I even had a young 20-something at my baby shower that was very troubled at one time and I took her under my wing through the program and she has flourished to be an amazing woman.

 

The positive nature of this program is infectious and I have seen the positive messages being carried through the generations of teenagers to each other rather than lectured by an appointed staff member. 

 

Two very important things I always remember from this program and my dear friends Fred and Perky is there is no such thing as TRY… You either do or you don’t. The other is “made me”… nobody can make you do anything (unless you’re under duress of course), you choose to react the way you do and what you say/do next is your choice. You have the power to pave the road to your own destiny or allow others to ruin it to rubble. Everything is a choice made by you.

 

In terms of the “I Care” program, I have to say it changed my life and I don’t think I would have become who I am today without a mentor like Fred Dillemuth and Carlin “Perky” Perkins.

I promised a very special person that I would do everything I could to keep “I Care” going. The impact is huge and I believe everything happens for a reason, so maybe that’s why I needed some humongous horrible events to tear me down so that I would have a reason to search for these incredible people I now have in my life.