Under arrest - or head vs. heart

A mother I know shared this story with me, and agreed to let me publish it here. Some details have been changed or omitted to protect her identity:

The call came at 3:00 Friday afternoon: "Hello, ma'am. This is Constable (blank) with the police. Your son has been arrested for stealing a bike. We'll be releasing him in about an hour. Please come to the police station and pick him up."

I had a shower and got dressed. (After all, it was important that I make a good impression.) And all the while I was thinking, Why this? Why now? How could this be?

I arrived at the station at 4:00, the epitome (or so I hoped) of a concerned and responsible parent. What happened next is what's most critical: I asked a lot of questions and gathered a lot of information. Why? So I would know what to think about my son, how to feel about him, and how to treat him.

The constable expressed concern - more about my son's attitude than about the offence itself. He said he was cocky, indifferent and unco-operative, and when he was put in a holding cell with his friend, he had the nerve to ask if he could have his iPod back. This was alarming. What had happened to the kid who left my house that morning? And do I really know him at all?

I was escorted in to see him a few minutes later, and refrained from saying, "Who are you, and what have you done with my son?!" I squeezed his arm and kissed his cheek before we were taken to the staff sergeant to sign the necessary paperwork. Then we were free to go.

On the way home, the silence was suffocating, and I ended up asking more questions than I should have. What had he been thinking while he was stealing it? "I'd rather not answer that." Had he given any thought to the person who's bike he'd stolen? No response. "I hope you're not planning on making this your next career." He looked taken aback. "What would you like for dinner?" Shrug.

Then I told him by biggest concern: what the officer had said about his attitude. "My attitude? Mom, it wasn't my attitude that was the problem!" I understood his point, and just nodded.

I went to bed that night with an uneasy mind, thinking of my grandfather. He was intelligent, wise, insightful, had a wonderful sense of humour, and was unfailingly kind.

But what I remember most is that he always had faith in me, and he always believed in me. My mother told me that, when she was at her wit's end with me in my 20s, he would say to her, "Leave her alone. She's a smart girl. She'll figure it out." Really? He said that? How extraordinary! And those words stayed with me and sustained me, gave me hope and encouraged me throughout my life.

I dreamed about my grandfather that night. I don't remember the dream; I only remember waking up crying.

When my son got up later that morning, I took him aside and said, "This is what I should have done when I saw you at the police station yesterday." And I wrapped my arms around him and held him and rocked him. As I let him go, I said, "That's what I would have done if you'd been hurt or in trouble. And that's what I should always do."

I also told him that whatever was going on with the stolen bike was between him and the police, and that it had nothing to do with him and me. He blurted out, "Thanks, mom. I love you," and threw his arms around me.

What did I learn? I learned that, when I treat someone else the way I think they deserve to be treated, I pass judgement on them. This is the biggest trap there is, because judgement comes from the head, not the heart. As soon as I judge, I close my heart, and a closed heart can't respond lovingly or compassionately to another human being.

When I die, I won't be held accountable for how anyone else treated me. I'll only be held accountable for how I treated them.

Thanks, Grandpa, for showing me what words could never have taught me.