Let Me Tell You Something (13 page)

With grandmotherhood (hopefully) just around the corner, I know my grandkids are going to be angels too, because they're going to have my kids for parents, and Grandma and Grandpa are going to be watching from the wings.

I'd rather you said
fuck
than did heroin.

There's a correct way to speak your mind. Be yourself in your own home. But be polite and respectful. And I've taught my kids the difference. As a parent, you have to pick your battles, and swearing is really not a big deal. As long as it never happens in front of Grandma!

I see it like this. Sure my kids my say
fuck
every now and then, but they're good kids, who work hard and stay away from trouble. Wouldn't you rather that, than a kid who has the cleanest mouth in the world but is hiding a drug problem from you?

Kids need to know that it's wrong to say “where's my fuckin' dinner?” or “get the fuck outta here” but it's fine to say, “Oh, Ma, the craziest fuckin' thing happened today.” It's fine, it has to be, I swear like a fuckin' truck driver, but I can still be a lady in a business meeting.

From when the kids were two years old, we told them to shake hands and look people in the eye when they did. People thought it was cute. They were taught to always say please and thank you, and they still use good manners now. Manners cannot be overrated. Being polite is everything—and this applies to swearing, and learning who you can swear in front of, and when.

My kids had to call everybody mister or missus, never could they call an adult by their first name. That still drives me insane. Your kid can call me Mrs. Manzo until I tell them it's OK to call me Caroline. Same goes with swearing. I'll let your kid know when it's OK to drop an
f
-bomb.

There should be nothing a kid can't tell a parent. If you start breaking a kid because of some of the words they use when they tell you, you're building a wall in your communications that will only get higher and thicker as the kid gets older.

It kills me that a lot of the kids I've met through my own children did not have an open dialogue with their parents, unlike what I shared with my own children. I met kids who told their parents absolutely nothing about their lives, because they were too afraid of their parents' harsh judgment. I was the person they came to with their problems.

Lauren had girlfriends who had problems; they were sexually active and some of them had issues at home. She would tell me that she was going to accompany her friends on doctor visits when they got into trouble. I'd feel awful for her friends, but I'd also be so proud of Lauren for standing by her friends.

My message to those poor kids was always the same. A kid should be able to speak freely in her own home. We told our kids, even if you go out and commit a murder, tell us. No matter what was going on in their lives, we were there to listen. To care. To help. Let your kids tell you about anything at all, let them feel comfortable that you will accept them for who they are and not pick apart every word they say—and learn to listen, and think, before you react. Let them say
fuck
—and maybe you'll help them stay away from the heroin.

Drugs may kill you, but your
father will kill you first.

My kids have never experimented with drugs. We scared them straight from very early on. Even though I had kids very young, by that time in my life I had already seen the destruction that pot, coke, and heroin can bring into a family. We had friends and family members with substance problems, and we decided to never hide it from the kids.

One time, when Albie was eight, Lauren was six, and Chris was five, Al lined them all up and said, “If you try drugs, I will kill you. If you put your mother through the pain of dealing with an addict, I will kill you. You do not have a single chance.”

I used to show the kids videos of people strung-out and high. When the kids were little we'd drive through the bad parts of Paterson. I'd show them the junkies living on the street and say “This is what drugs do to your life, this is what not working does to your life.” And then later when we were at The Brownstone I'd tell them, “This is hard work, this is what Daddy does so you can have a nice life. He works hard. He works long hours. So you can have all the things you have.”

The kids knew that drugs weren't recreational. I wanted them to know that using any chemicals at all robbed you of your life, your judgment, and your family.

I have been around drugs my whole life, and they have never interested me. All of my friends smoked pot, from as young as when I was in grammar school. They'd offer it to me, and I'd decline. I didn't care that they were doing it, I just knew it wasn't for me. And I look back on those days and they seem so innocent now—a bit of pot here and there. These days kids are exposed to so much more, and so much worse.

Cocaine, meth, heroin, and speed are not only more available these days, but they're also more affordable. This is perhaps the most terrifying fact of being a parent today. You need to set the ground rules early and stick to them. If you find out, God forbid, that your kids are already using drugs, you only have one option and it's brutal: tough love.

I have a friend whose son got hooked on heroin. After a series of lies and heartbreak, my friend kicked his own son out of the house. The kid went and lived on the streets. And his father, every night, would drive around until he found the doorway that his son was sleeping in. Then he'd park down the street and watch over his son for the whole night. His son was so out of his mind on heroin, he never even knew that his father cared so much that he spent every night in a car, making sure his son was not harmed.

When his son hit rock bottom and asked for help, his father was by his side immediately. They got him into rehab, and they got him clean. The guy has now been sober for years, and he works as a drugs counselor.

When I found out that some of my kids' friends were using drugs, I didn't ban my kids from seeing them, but I made sure they knew never to get in a car with that person if they were high, or to ever go with them when they went to buy drugs.

One time, some of the boys' friends were smoking pot in my driveway when I got home. I lost my temper. I rounded up those kids and read them the riot act. The next day, they came back, apologized, and gave me a sign that read KEEP OFF THE GRASS.

As hilarious as that was, this is one area in which I don't have much of a sense of humor. I'm still terrified of my kids ever touching drugs, but I'm comforted by the fact that my husband will still kill them well before the drugs can.

Early boyfriends are your
training for Mr. Right.

Before meeting Albert, I went on a lot of dates and had three boyfriends. Some of them were more serious than others. The thing is, back then I was pretty shy, so maybe if I was more outgoing I would have been more popular with the boys. Apparently guys would flirt with me, but I was so oblivious for the most part it would sail right over the top of my head. I just didn't pay attention. I was always hearing that guys thought I was a snob for not talking, when the reality was, I was just clueless! When I was a senior in high school, I had my first serious boyfriend, this guy Frankie. He was a baseball player, and he looked just like Rocky Balboa. I was such a good girl, and he was so popular, I had to date him. It's funny now, but to a sixteen-year-old girl, he was irresistible.

Things didn't work out of course. He was older than me, and during the seven months that we dated, he kept wanting to have sex. I knew in my heart that I wasn't ready and I refused. Looking back, it surprises even me that I was able to stand my ground, as I was as gaga in love with him as only a sixteen-year-old girl can be. It wasn't that I was afraid of my parents finding out, or getting into trouble or anything. I just looked in my heart and saw that I was in no way ready to have sex yet.

Frankie was always a gentleman with me, but he clearly wanted us to take things further. He never pressured me, but once it became clear I wasn't going to put out, we split up. The funny thing is, his sister later married my brother, so we became in-laws! He's my niece's uncle, and I see him from time to time at family events. I saw him at her birthday party last year, and my brother pointed at him and joked with me, saying, “Isn't it crazy? If he didn't break up with you, you would have married him!”

I looked at my brother and said, “You're right. I would have married him.” You should have seen the shock on my brother's face. It's true. I was so smitten with the guy, if we'd gone all the way and I'd gotten pregnant, we would have gotten married. Would I be as happy as I am now? Most likely not.

Frankie still teases me that he always believed I'd grow up and be a soccer mom and I'd drive one of those station wagons with wood paneling. When I see him these days, I'm always tempted to read him a list of all the nice cars I've driven, the Ferraris and Bentleys and all the rest. I've driven station wagons too, but it makes me happy that he was so wrong about the way I'd turn out.

After Frankie, I dated this guy named Val. It was a lot of fun while it lasted—he was a great-looking guy from a good family. He was a little too privileged, but we dated through the end of high school. His mother was very overprotective and she didn't exactly welcome me with open arms. When during our graduation speech, our school principal singled me out to say that “Caroline Laurita is the picture of integrity,” I leaned over to Val and told him to tell his mother what the principal had said.

It didn't matter too much. After about four months of dating, he cheated on me with one of my best friends. I was devastated, and I broke up with him immediately. I heard he wanted me back, but I refused to ever speak to him again. I think he's a dermatologist somewhere in South Carolina, now. I'm sure he's happily married and still a great guy.

After high school, I started getting more moxie when it came to guys. I found it easier and easier to go up to a guy and start talking to him. One day I was at the gym with one of my sisters and I saw this guy working out. He had great legs. We're talking amazing, muscular legs. So I decided to go tell him.

“You have great legs,” I said to him.

“Do you think so?” he asked.

“Yeah, I think so, and I think you should take me out,” I boldly replied.

He seemed a little surprised, but he asked me out. We had dinner together later that week, and we began dating. His name was Mark, and he was very sweet and kind. I liked him. I don't know that I loved him, though I'm sure I told myself I did at the time. We went on some fun dates and had a lot of laughs together. But everything changed the night I met Al.