I agree with Cat wholeheartedly.
Your friend needs a loving mentor now more than ever. He doesn't need to be "punished" or to be yelled at, or even to be shown the error of his ways. He needs a strong man to take him in his arms, and love him.

Let me give you an image. Not even a metaphor, just a picture; a parable if you will:

A little boy is visiting his grandmother, and he sits on the floor playing sadly with his little wooden firetruck while she knits some indistiguishable garment for someone. The wise old lady looks at him and asks him "Why are you inside on such a beautiful day? Your cousins are all outside playing in the yard!"

"I don't like them, they all hate me!"

"Ahh," says the grandmother. "I see, I see."

She knits another row on the pile in her lap. "So tell me little one, why do they hate you so much? Do you smell funny?"

"No! They say I hog all the toys, but they don't know what they're talking about! I'm just trying to have fun."

"Ahh," says grandmother. "I see, I see."

Another row is slowly added. "You know, little one, that seems like a very odd thing to be hated for. Is there anything else that happened?"

"Well, one of them tried to take the police car, right in the middle of catching the robbers, and we started fighting over it, and, and... and it broke! And that's when they said they hated me!" and the boy burst into angry tears, not even realizing that he was grinding the little wooden firetruck into the hearth. A small crunch echoed in the ancient little house, and the boy gasped in horror at what he'd done to his favoritest toy at his grandma's house. It lay in his hand in several pieces, and as he looked, a wheel fell off his hand and hit the floor with a loud click. He watched as it rolled away from him until it came to a wobbly halt right in his grandma's knitting. His eyes keep going, knowing that he is going to be scolded, just like his cousins scolded him before. He doesn't want to see the look on his grandma's face, and he tries to stop himself, but his eyes have a life of their own, and as his gaze gets closer and closer to the horrible stare he is certain awaits him, he starts crying all over again.

Grandmother puts down her knitting and opens her arms and says "Come here child, come sit in my lap." He comes and sits and her large meaty arms softly wrap around his little body and he begins to sob great big, trembling sobs into her blouse saying "Please don't hate me! I didn't mean to do it!"

Grandmother holds him tight, and softly caresses his little head and she whispers to him "My child, my dear sweet child, look at the mess you've made of things today. I'm so sorry! But I will never ever hate you! no matter how many toys you break, I will always love you, because you're mine and you are special to me, much more special than a thousand little wooden firetrucks."

And she holds him until he falls asleep and the fire begins to die, when the boy's mother rings the dinner bell, and all the cousins pile in from outside. The little boy squirms out of his grandma's embrace and eagerly sits with the others at the big dining table, leaping over the forgotten little wooden firetruck, still broken on the hearth. The grandmother slowly raises he old bones out of the rocking chair, and then slowly bends down and scoops up the pieces of the broken toy in her wisened old hands and gently lays them on the dieing fire. They merrily crackle into flame and are soon nothing more than burning kindling; good wood serving having served its purpose.


What your yf needs right now is the kind of love that grandmother has for her little one. He needs you to take him into your arms and tell him that he is still loved. The follies of youth are just that: the follies of youth. It is how we grow as human beings: we do stupid things, selfish things and we learn from them and from our feelings about them, knowing the truth in our hearts no matter how hard we try to prove otherwise to ourselves and others. And then we forget the specific ocurrences, usually, but never the lessons we learned. Good wood that has served its purpose, even if it was painful for many.

Love in Christ,
~CSL