The world awaits you…
Thank you, Juan !
Here on the blog, I’ve branched out to a few new topics including recovery and substance abuse, which figure significantly in my writing. Other posts in this series maybe found here. (Scroll down for titles… and thanks for visiting!)
Imaginative writing is often inspired by the conflicts of everyday life. In our society, where we may find ourselves stressed to a breaking point, conflict can reflect pressures we don’t even understand. In an effort to reach beyond fiction toward the real-world tensions that inspired my novel, Our Orbit, I’m introducing a few new topic categories here on the blog. You’ll continue to find items on the craft of writing, literature, and publishing. But since Our Orbit delves into the challenges of family life, I’m also branching out to parenting, including addiction and recovery among teenagers. Here is an offering on this topic, along with links to sources of help and information.
The painful question in the title of this post is one that worried parents ask each day in thousands, if not millions, of homes across all continents. This timely article is was written by Mr. Robert Hunt, a youth recovery coach and wellness advocate, re-posted from SoberNation by permission of Mr. Tom Stoddard, founder of that website, which is dedicated to building community by and for people in recovery from addictions and related problems.
Adolescent drug addiction treatment can incorporate a number of different approaches, procedures, and timelines, depending on the adolescent. In our experience, the most effective treatment plans are those that are holistic and individualized, meaning they incorporate different approaches and therapeutic processes, all dependent upon the specific adolescent’s individual symptoms, needs, and unique situation. Three of the most important aspects of an adolescent’s experience that should always be incorporated into a treatment plan include Co-Occurring Disorders, academic struggles and support, and family support.
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First of all, it’s extremely common for adolescents who struggle with drug or substance abuse to also suffer from a Mental Health disorder or learning challenge. At times, these symptoms may overlap with those of the drug abuse addiction and effects, thus making it difficult to know which symptoms are attributed to which disorder. Because of this, unfortunately it’s common for teen Co-Occurring disorders to go undiagnosed and consequently untreated. In these cases, teens may recover from their addiction and abuse but still be suffering from the other disorder, which will leave them vulnerable to stress that can trigger relapse. Therefore, the importance of careful evaluation and thorough diagnoses in Adolescent Drug Addiction Treatment can’t be stressed enough, as it’s the foundation upon which recovery is built.
Secondly, adolescents living with addiction and/or abusing drugs often are struggling in school. Because school is such a central part of adolescents’ lives, experiencing such struggles or failure can quickly lead to serious loss of self-esteem, and together with drug use, can add to the adolescents’ withdrawal from others. These academic difficulties will hopefully be realized within talk therapy sessions and careful consideration of possible learning disabilities should be made as well. While in treatment, adolescents should be provided real-life academic support such as tutoring, to help get the students back on track. For adolescents, success at school is pivotal to success in their lives.
Lastly, Adolescent Drug Addiction Treatment plans should include the family members, to help heal what damage and hurt has been done, re-build relationships, and create a healthy environment for everyone to thrive in together, amidst the adolescent’s recovery. In our treatment plans, we always provide parents with individual and group family sessions, in order to provide parents the support necessary to move forward.
Again, because Adolescent Drug Addiction Treatment is different for every adolescent, there is certainly no one right way for it to be done. However, in our experience these three aspects prove consistently important in supporting our adolescents to achieve true and lasting sobriety.
About the author – Robert Hunt is a recovering addict of 20 years. He has devoted his life to helping others suffering from chemical addictions as well as mental health challenges. Robert maintains many blogs on drug addiction, eating disorders and depression. He is a sober coach and wellness advocate and a prominent figure in the recovery community.
Visit Robert Hunt’s blog | Follow him on Twitter @RecoveryRobert
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This post is part of an ongoing series, OMG—It’s CELEBRITIES!, presenting well-known actors to play parts in (a fantasy) movie version of the novel Our Orbit. Click here to see other items in the series.
But does he give a damn?
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As mentioned last week, yours truly has fallen “book,” line & sinker (ha-ha), for the People Magazine approach to literary fiction. Indeed, my collection of celebrity photos of talent I’d like to see portray characters from Our Orbit has become a local obsession. Local at my house, that is. I especially enjoy the alternative candidates that readers have suggested and whole-heartedly encourage everyone to share those in the Comments section below.
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Today we turn to the vital supporting role of Pete Deluca, beloved teacher at North Milton High School. In my novel, Pete is a dedicated, mid-career instructor of biology & health as well as assistant basketball coach. As our story begins, Pete is divorced and single, but a new romance lies in his future!
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Who better to portray Pete in the movie version of Our Orbit than the dashing Chris Messina? He’s the star of popular TV comedy The Mindy Project, the foodie movie 
Julie and Julia (a big fave of mine), and Oscar-winner Argo. For the cultural snobs among us )))) he is also active nationwide in live theater, including Broadway and Tribeca.
Chris is especially noted as a terrific ensemble actor, as attested by numerous awards and nominations. Thus it comes as no surprise that his acting style conveys an appealing amiability and easy-going manner. What more could I ask from the man to bring Pete Deluca to life on the screen? After all, Our Orbit has a large cast with no dead wood whatsoever. I call that an ensemble!
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Check out my imagined interview with the character Pete Deluca to see what other important qualities Mr. Messina can bring to the role—
AM: Hi, Pete! Thanks for being with us on the blog today. I have to tell you, since my work falls mainly in the realist tradition, I feel strange about what we’re doing here. That’s why I chose you for my first-ever imaginary interview—you’re such a likable guy (if I do say so myself as your creator).
Pete: Glad to help out!
AM: Our Orbit takes place in what I call “the Appalachian corner” of southern Ohio, where you were born and raised. Your heritage is especially interesting. Could you tell us about that?
Pete: Sure. I’m from Youngstown, Ohio. It’s a place with quite a checkered reputation. Way back when, tons of Italian immigrants came to Youngstown for jobs in the steel mills. Not so many years later, the mills started shutting down. That depressed the economy, which has a lot to do with how we got associated with the Mafia and organized crime. Bad stuff does happen when your local employer goes down the tubes.
Pete: Oh, yeah! We get a bad rap, but that’s not fair for most of us. When my grandparents came over from Genoa, they did farm labor in eastern Ohio and struggled to buy their own land. They got here at a young enough age to make that happen—older folks mostly sacrificed for their children, did manual labor their whole lives.
One hat-tip to Youngstown that I really love comes from The Boss himself, Bruce Springsteen. He always tells a great story!
AM: But don’t you also identify with your Appalachian heritage?
Pete: Definitely. I grew up in the foothills of the mountains, went hunting with my grandpa—all that backwoods stuff. He was never a moonshiner, by the way, but like a true Italian, he always made his own wine. That was part of the gig! And legal, too, even back in Prohibition days. So long as you made it strictly for home consumption, you were within the law. That was important to Grandpa.
AM: Speaking of alcohol and Prohibition, I know that one of the issues you’re involved in as a teacher is substance abuse among your highschool students. Could you tell us a little about that?
Pete: Well, as basketball coach, I see kids on an extracurricular basis at practice, night games, and parties I chaperone—all that. So I’m on the front line with stuff that goes on. Underage consumption is rampant out there. Unfortunately, a lot of parents and even school officials fool themselves about what a serious a problem it is.
For information on this serious problem, visit the Harvard Help Guide at http://www.helpguide.org/harvard/the-dangers-of-teenage-drinking.htm
AM: In the book, Our Orbit, you’re able to help a young couple deal with the discovery that one of their foster daughters has developed a drinking problem. I’d like to share a brief clip from that scene—
Cover design by Renee Garcia
The new calendar year was barely two months old, but the planning season was already in full swing for end-of-term festivities at the high school: the all-choir concert, prom, after-prom, and various awards ceremonies. That Thursday evening, Deanne was about to get ready for bed, when she heard a pair of bantering voices approach the front door. Rick and Pete came in, blowing off steam after the Sports Recognition Committee meeting.
“Bo-ring!” Pete declared. “Thank God there are no more faculty meetings for at least two weeks.”
“This calls for a drink,” Rick said.
“Rum and Coke,” Pete ordered.
Rick found beers in the back of the fridge for himself and Deanne and a can of Coke in the pantry. He pulled the bottle of rum from the bottom cabinet by Deanne’s desk.
“What’s this I hear about a romance in your future?” Deanne asked. “Who’s the lucky lady?”
Pete laughed… [Spoiler alert! More on this another time.]
… Just then Rick turned away from the counter, his face perplexed. He handed Pete a shot glass half-full of amber liquid. “Smell this,” he said.
“What’s wrong with it?” Pete sniffed the glass. He took a tiny sip and smacked his lips. “Apple juice. None too fresh.”
“What?” Deanne said.
Rick shrugged. “The rum bottle’s full of juice.”
Deanne’s mouth dropped open.
“Oldest trick in the book,” Pete said. “I remember one year before you came on board—” He nodded at Rick. “We caught the whole team with vodka in their water bottles. In the locker room—school premises!” He laughed. “Kids get brazen.”
“Which kids?” Deanne said. She shot Rick an anxious look.
“Half the school has done this kind of thing,” Pete assured her. “Athletes, honors students, debate stars…”
“School premises are one thing. This is our house. My kitchen.” Deanne gave a visible shudder.
Rick returned to the cupboard and pulled out the vodka bottle, still three-quarters full. He opened it and sniffed, handed it to his wife.
Deanne tipped the bottle for a sip. “Water!” she said.
“It’s a phase for most kids,” Pete said. “They have to try it because adults make it seem so special. They usually wind up okay in the end.”
“You figure this is Rachelle’s doing?” Rick asked Deanne.
“Who else?”
They thought back over the previous months and recalled a couple of weekends when they’d found less beer in the fridge than there should have been. Times when Rachelle had lumbered off to bed early or they discovered her drifting around the kitchen for no apparent reason.
“Rachelle has more issues than we thought.” Deanne’s voice rang with dismay.
“We need a plan here,” Rick said.
He and Deanne both looked to Pete.
Pete raised a finger. “Intervention. And I know a very smart lady who can tell you how to do it.”
AM: That was a scene from Part Three of Our Orbit featuring today’s character, Pete Deluca. Thanks again, Pete, for lending us your voice and for helping us understand some of the problems parents and teachers face these days.
Pete: It’s my pleasure. See you at the movies!
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It was just turning dusky when Mr. Fletcher stepped outside with candles for the three jack-o’-lanterns lined up on the porch. Mrs. Fletcher, bent over a fancy dress at her sewing machine, gave Rachelle instructions: Chad’s treat bag should stay on the handle of the stroller. The children were not to eat any candy before they returned home. If the girls got too tired to walk back, they could phone for a ride from the Quick-Mart on the corner of Main and Elm. Two quarters were provided for this purpose.
In the white and silver robe Aunt Mel had borrowed from the Baptists, Rachelle steered their group up the sidewalk. The Fletcher kids were all happy-go-lucky, but the look in Meerkat’s eyes showed she was working up another mean remark.
Here it came. “So you got an angel costume?”
“Aunt Mel got it,” Rachelle said. “A pageant outfit.”
“You’re the last person who should wear an angel costume.”
“Don’t be nasty, Miri,” Kayla said.
Kids were pouring into the street. Rachelle set a slow pace for Kayla’s benefit. Others dashed past them up the sidewalk and driveways.
Miriam said, “I guess you’re a Halloween expert. Do you know how to trick and treat?”
“Nothing to it,” Rachelle said.
“So you did it before?”
“Last year I did.”
“Without permission.”
“Guess so.” Rachelle sighed.
“How come you never went before?” Kayla asked.
“We weren’t allowed,” Miriam said. “But she didn’t care.”
“All you do is yell ‘trick-or-treat’ when they open the door,” Rachelle said. She turned up the nearest walkway where a brick ranch house had its porch light on. A family of giant inflated spiders dangled from a tree branch.
“And say ‘Thank you’ when they drop the candy in your bag,” Kayla added as they mounted the step.
* * *
By the time they reached Main Street, the sky was dark, and the kids’ heavy treat bags were all hanging from the handles of the stroller. Also hanging were Kayla’s fairy wings, which she’d shed in order to put on her jacket. The magic wand had gotten lost along the way. Miriam was complaining her feet hurt, and Kayla admitted that, when she went trick-or-treating last year, her dad had carried her on his shoulders.
“This is as far as we’re supposed to go, anyway,” Rachelle said. “We can call your dad for a lift if you want.”
“But let’s have donuts first.” Kayla suddenly sounded more lively.
The Quick-Mart was a former local grocery. As in years past, the management was offering free cider and donut holes to children in costume. A woman in a black dress and witch’s hat sat at a picnic table by the entrance, dispensing drinks in 4-oz. paper cups to the red devils, superheroes, and Goths gathered around her.
“Here you go, my little pretty!” the witch said with a loud cackle. She extended a cup in Kayla’s direction. Her hands and face were dark green, and she wore a long green nose. Chad’s eyes went wide, and he burst into tears. Kayla stepped behind the stroller.
“Aw, don’t be scared,” the woman said in her normal voice. “I’m not a real witch.” She reached into a cardboard box with a pair of tongs and plopped a donut hole in Chad’s lap.
Rachelle handed out the drinks and helped Kayla onto the picnic bench. “You want to sit, too?” she asked Miriam. “Rest up before we go back?”
Miriam flounced up to the bench, tossing gypsy skirts from side to side. She shoved in next to Kayla.
“So now you won’t talk to me at all,” Rachelle said. “I guess that’s better than the mean way you’ve been talking.”
“Be nice, Miri,” Kayla said. “She’s nice to us.”
“Nice enough to lead us astray,” Miriam said. “I can see now. Halloween is an evil holiday. Look at these demon people. And who’s bringing us to sinfulness?” She nodded at her sister. “The sinner disguised as an angel.”
“Who says Halloween is evil?” Rachelle asked.
“Our parents never let us go out.”
“But we don’t have our parents anymore, do we? And your new parents think it’s just fine. Why don’t you believe them?”
“Josh says I should beware of your bad influence,” Miriam blurted.
“So Josh turns you against me behind my back.”
“Why did you come if it’s a sin?” Kayla asked.
Miriam wriggled. “I had to see it for myself.”
Rachelle raised her voice. “Josh went trick-or-treating from the time he was your age until he turned fifteen. So did Isaac. Does that make them demons?”
“Josh repented!”
“How do you know? More like, he forgot all about it.”
“Don’t!” Chad cried.
“Don’t fight, you two,” Kayla agreed.
“Drink your cider. It’s time to get back.” Rachelle sank down on the bench. She faced away from the children like she was only near them by accident.
* * *
From the lower block of Main, a group of teenagers advanced on the Quick-Mart. Most wore hoodies pulled low on their faces, but the boy who led the way had a full-head zombie mask with a dangling eyeball. Rachelle watched them pass through the circle of light under a streetlamp, then fade into darkness as they came on. Five teenagers, familiar shapes and sizes. Familiar movements, too. Should she get up now and hustle the little kids away? Or hang back till the posse passed by?
When they entered the parking lot, the guy in the mask started a zombie walk with stiff legs, arms out, wrists limp. Two other boys exchanged punches and shoves. One carried a large lump under his sweatshirt like a hunchback. A pale girl kept pace with them, eye sockets blackened like empty wells. And a second girl brought up the rear in a narrow dress and featureless white mask. She wore a tall bi-color wig—the bride of Frankenstein.
They zeroed in on the picnic table. Rachelle bent over her cider. The zombie let out a series of roars and clawed at his gory mouth. “He’s starving,” one of the boys told the witch with the donut holes. “You better give him food, or he’ll eat one of those little kids.”
For information on parenting struggles and teen substance abuse, visit these posts and scroll down for links to other resources.
Miriam glared at the teenagers. Kayla scooted closer to Rachelle.
“How old are you?” the green witch asked. “You got no business trick-or-treating.”
That’s right, Rachelle thought. They’re all fifteen except the zombie. He’s sixteen.
“We’re the children of America,” the first boy said.
“We’re not trick-or-treating,” the other boy put in. “Not tricking, anyway.”
“Not yet,” laughed the girl in the hoodie.
“Take pity,” said the bride of Frankenstein. “Then we’ll get out of your way.”
The parking lot had emptied except for this crew. Wielding her tongs abruptly, the witch dispensed donut holes. She did not offer cider.
Rachelle glanced up at the girl in the tall wig. Through the slit eyes of the blank white mask, their gaze met.
“Rachelle Winslow?” the girl said. She slid the mask up on her forehead and stepped closer. “Where’ve you been all this time?”
Of course it was Angie Renard.
The zombie continued to roar. He grabbed the donut hole his friend passed to him, smashed it against the front of his mask, and rubbed it to crumbs on the hideous mouth.
“So what’s up? How’s it going?” Angie asked. She spread her arms.
After a moment’s hesitation, Rachelle stood and accepted a hug. “It’s going kind of okay.” She moved away from the table.
“You’re babysitting?”
“Just taking them trick-or-treating.”
“Ditch ‘em and come around back,” Angie murmured. She reached into the plastic pumpkin she carried and displayed the neck of a pint bottle, half-hidden under orange taffies.
By now, the zombie was strangling the girl in the hoodie. Her shrieks filled the air. The boys had returned to punching each other. One dropped to the pavement and yelped in mock agony.
“Okay.” Rachelle heard the words from her lips before she decided to say them. “I’ll meet you back there.”
“Don’t cry wolf,” the woman at the table scolded. “You’ll need real help one day.”
Rachelle turned to Kayla and Miriam. “Stay put and rest up.” She lifted Chad, who had struggled out of the stroller, and sat him on the bench between the girls. To the witch-woman she said, “We’ll get those jerks out of here for you. Can you watch the kids just one second?”
* * *
Angie had started down the passageway between the Quick-Mart and an apartment building next-door. The others followed close behind. Green shards of scattered glass glinted in the light at the far end. The girl in the hoodie turned to look back at Rachelle and cried, “God, she’s like a ghost! Look at her—all white!”
They gathered under a leafless stand of sumac in the corner of an eight-space parking lot. Behind a brown van, one of the boys shrugged a backpack from under his sweatshirt. He cast a cautious eye toward Elm Street and pulled out a six-pack.
A cool cylinder slid between Rachelle’s fingers and thumb.
The boys leaned their heads back and chugged.
“I thought that was you, Rachelle Winslow,” said the zombie boy. He pulled the mask off of his head. Like she’d figured, it was Angie’s brother, Damien. “You’re back in town,” he said. “Didn’t you move to Columbus?”
“I live here,” Rachelle said, “but I don’t go to school. I’m on distance learning.”
“Must get boring.”
“Sometimes.”
“Why don’t you come over anymore?”
“She will. Won’t you, Rache?” Angie said. She threw an arm around Rachelle’s shoulders. “At least you’ll come and see me.”
Rachelle felt the foil halo teeter on her head. “I live with my aunt and uncle now. They’re old. I can’t give them any trouble.”
The girl in the hoodie laughed. “I give my grandparents trouble. Even my great-grandma.”
“You still a big Jesus freak?” asked one of the boys.
“Not like I was,” Rachelle said.
“Why don’t you drink, then?”
She looked at the can. Silver. It matched her costume. The boy reached out and pulled the ring, popping it open.
“I’ll finish it off if you can’t,” Damien said. “I’m drinking for two.”
The others joked, giving sips of beer to the zombie mask now riding on Damien’s hand.
Just one swallow, Rachelle told herself. Then I’ll go back. She raised the can, caught the sweet-bitter smell. One swallow left it half-empty. Then Angie pulled the bottle of schnapps from under the taffies. It was easy to take a quick gulp.
Nothing to it!
The sumac rattled in a gust of chilly wind, reshuffling the shadows that fell on the pavement. A dervish of dry leaves danced into the air at Rachelle’s feet. The bottle came round again.
“Your aunt and uncle have that funky store down the road from us, right?” Angie asked. “You can walk over easy from there. Cut through the woods.”
Rachelle pictured the Next-to-New Shop like a village scene in one of those Christmas snowballs. A place under glass, safe from all the world’s troubles. Like snow, her body was floating. Dark air caressed her cheeks. God, she had missed this feeling. Missed it like home.
Angie said, “I heard about that shit with your dad. That was harsh. You must worry about him.”
Not so harsh right now, though, Rachelle thought. Maybe it’s true. Things happen for a reason. She let her head loll back and looked up at the sky, surprised not to see a star moving from the East, one she could proclaim at the top of her lungs. In egg-shell-sis Day-o! Instead, with a whoosh of tires, a car sped by on Elm. In a flash, she remembered. “I’ve gotta get going. I have to take the kids home.”
Angie produced a pen and wrote her number on the inside of Rachelle’s wrist. “So you can’t lose it,” she said. “You’ve got no excuse not to call.”
Back down the passageway, Rachelle ran toward the storefront aglow like a jack-o’-lantern’s eye. She bounded on the memory of freedom, those wild times last year when she ran with the posse. A different lifetime. But who says it’s gone forever? A shrill spirit laughed from its hovering place by her shoulder. No excuse! No excuse! It sang, flapping silver wings to urge her on.
* * * * *
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