It took four hours to admit my 15-year-old son, Bob, to the psychiatric hospital for suicidal ideation. It had been a long stressful day since Bob told his therapist he almost killed himself the night before. She had made Bob sign a safety contract then released him to me. I tried to keep him busy and distracted, but by late afternoon he could fight no more. Bob asked me to take him to the hospital.

October 29, 2012, it was the perfect storm. Hurricane Sandy was coming from the south. High winds and heavy rain tormented the east coast. My 15-year-old son, Bob, was spiraling towards the psychiatric hospital with suicidal ideation. I knew about the hurricane. However, I had little appreciation of the deadly depression developing in my son's brain.

I worry my son will end up in jail. This is ironic because my son is a rigid rule follower. He attends a small college prep high school and plays basketball. He's a good kid. But, he's a good kid with a serious mental illness.

My child with mental illness stopped taking his psychiatric medication without telling me. Yeah, I spit 'em out. I flushed 'em in the toilet and ran 'em down the garbage disposal. I slid 'em into my pockets and held 'em under my tongue. Why? Because they make me feel normal and I hate feeling normal! I know medicine refusal is common for those living with mental illness. A chapter is devoted to the topic in every book. I should not have been surprised.

"But he doesn't look sick," my daughter said. She was right. On the outside, Bob looked like any other middle school child. What his sister and the rest of the world didn't know was that Bob had been diagnosed with a serious mental illness. His psychiatrist suggested we keep Bob home from school and wrote a note stating Bob was a threat to himself and others. Now I had to explain this to Bob, his sister and the rest of the world.

The moment my 12-year-old son ran out the front door, I locked it. The temperature that evening was 17 degrees. Bob was wearing basketball shorts, a tank top and no shoes. Earlier he was playing with knives and making threats. My mind struggled as he banged on the door begging me to let him in. Finally, I unlocked the back door to the basement and told him to go around the house. He slept downstairs (behind a locked door) while my family slept safely upstairs. The next day Bob was diagnosed with bipolar disorder.

Have you heard this story? About the 6-year-old kindergartener who, throwing an epic tantrum, was handcuffed by police and escorted to the police station? Who has been suspended from school until August--i.e., the remainder of the school year? Have you heard the comments from the general public agreeing with the actions taken? I have, and I am outraged. If you're not, you should be.

It was a perfectly innocent scene--my boys, ages 10 and 3, sitting on the couch watching a mild-mannered cartoon. The three of us watched an animated teenage boy kiss his animated teenage girlfriend--nothing pornographic, just a light peck on the cheek. And, out of nowhere, the older boy announces: "I can't wait til I have a girlfriend, 'cuz I'm gonna have sex!" Aaaaaand that's about when my heart stopped.

I don't know about your neck of the woods, but mine is literally blossoming with signs of Spring. Trees are budding, flowers are blooming--we even dug the lawn mower out of hiding yesterday. With the return of Daylight Savings Time and April 1 less than a week away, I'm holding my breath and crossing my fingers, wondering--Will Bob's psychiatric symptoms get worse in the next few months, or do we have them well enough under control?

There are two sides to every coin, right? Having offered up my list of what I, as a parent, wish educators knew about childhood psychiatric illness, it seems only fair to play devil's advocate.