GET HELP OR GET OUT

No parent wants to get to the point where they ask their children to
change or get out, but it was the answer for one teen

When Jonathan started taking recreational drugs at 13, he never
imagined that four years later his parents would kick him out.

"We love you, Jon. We'll always care about you, but this isn't
working for us or for you," they said. "Don't come into this house
again unless you are prepared to seek treatment and live by our rules."

No parent wants to get to this point, recalled his father David,
whose last name has been withheld at his request. But the ultimatum
was the reality check Jonathan needed to turn away from a lethal
lifestyle. It might not be right for all kids, but experts say
neither is the enabling strategy some parents use.

Jonathan was a great kid growing up, into scouting, soccer, baseball,
involved at school. But at 13 he became withdrawn, belligerent, quit
all his activities, changed friends, started missing school.

"We couldn't get him up in the morning," David said. "His grades went
down and he was asked to leave two high schools because of bad behaviour."

There were family fights. Valuables disappeared. Their son admitted
to doing a little pot and drinking some alcohol, but his parents were
in denial about anything more serious. "We thought he'd grow out of
it," David said.

Neighbours gave them the wake-up call. They had been watching
Jonathan climb out his ground-floor window night after night,
exchange something with people in passing cars and sneak off with friends.

"It starts slowly and escalates," David said. "Eventually you are
desperately bartering with your child, trying everything you can
think of, taking away privileges."

Help came through a support group called Parents Together, run by the
Boys and Girls Club, where they learned to quit beating themselves up
and concentrate on setting boundaries.

After much counselling they issued their ultimatum: Their son had to
leave in four weeks unless he had a job, went back to school or got
into counselling.

Nothing happened.

They reminded Jonathan each week. On the final day they helped him
pack, gave him a good dinner and dropped him at a friend's home. They
told him he was welcome to come back when he was ready to abide by their rules.

"There was no scene, it was very calm. He didn't blame us. This was
his decision," said his mother Leslie.

Jonathan's parents went through agony while their son couch-surfed at
friends' homes for months, giving free rein to his drug habit. Then
one day he called saying he would go into treatment.

"He was so sick he couldn't eat or keep anything down. Hardly even
water," Leslie said.

They called the Boys and Girls Club and within hours Jonathan was in
a detox centre, where he stayed 10 days before living at several
Turnabout houses for a few months.

After his recovery, Jonathan found a job in Alberta, where he stayed
almost two years.

"I was bawling my eyes out at the airport when he left," said his
mom, but the change was staggering. "He came back a man last year."

Jonathan and his parents can't say enough about the support they
received from Boys and Girls Club programs, and the value of such detox homes.

Janet Guthrie and her husband Mark started a youth detox home in
Victoria in 1998. It was a pilot project for the club and Victoria
Youth Empowerment Services. Scores of children flowed through their
doors during the next three years.

"Kids came to our home for seven to 10 days for detox," said Janet
Guthrie, 57, now an administrative assistant at the club. They
typically looked after three a month. "They were 13 to 18, scared and
nervous, but not hard to handle because the program was voluntary."

It was like looking after someone with flu -- "lots of vomiting and
diarrhea," Guthrie said. The kids were trying to kick heroin,
cocaine, crack, marijuana and alcohol. The reasons for their
addictions were as varied as the kids -- abuse, bullying, low
self-esteem, addicted parents. The Guthries provided a safe,
supportive, neutral space.

One youngster, Cora Goodyer, was a handful. But she touched their
hearts so deeply after her 10-day detox they asked the 14-year-old to
stay as their foster child. They consider her their daughter today.

"I still remember the moment I was sitting in a living room chair and
this child squeezed in beside me, laid her head on my shoulder and
said she loved me for what I was doing," Guthrie said. "In an instant
my husband and I fell in love with her.

"We went through 36 hours of sweats and shakes. She was a very tough
cookie -- but by looking deep into her eyes you could see the
vulnerability and abuse she'd lived through, how she did drugs to
find oblivion."

They set firm ground rules, but Cora tried again and again to
sabotage their relationship.

"Most youth with trauma issues will unconsciously do that when they
start to feel normal and everything is going well," Guthrie said.
"They think: I'm receiving unconditional love. I don't deserve it."

She tells parents to set boundaries early and keep talking. "I don't
call it tough love. But it's a tough call," she said.

She has dozens of examples.

Leaving their foster daughter in police custody one night was the
hardest thing Guthrie ever did. "But we knew she would be alive the
next morning," she said.

Another time they were going to visit Cora for her 17th birthday at a
treatment centre in Kelowna. Driving through Hope they got a phone
call that she was being kicked out.

"We told her we were not coming to rescue her, turned around and
drove home," Guthrie said.

When Cora had a baby and it was taken away by the provincial ministry
of children and family development, she asked her foster mom to adopt
the child.

Guthrie told her: "She's your baby, you've got to get her back." And she did.

Today Cora has kicked her habit, is happily married with two
daughters, and has a third on the way. She is 23.