Whoa! Didja get the numbers off that truck?!?

2001-08-18 - 12:27 a.m.

Hoo boy.

The older son just told me he wants to see a psychiatrist. It must be something, if Mr. Stoic comes out and tells me this.

I told him I'd do what I can, but I thought the difference between a psychiatrist and a social worker is the years of schooling and the script pad.

I think of psychiatrists as tweedy bearded men in dark rooms with leather furniture, thinking pensively as they stroke their stylish goatee. Then they come on to my teenage son.

Whoa. Bad dream.

So he wants to talk with someone. Me. What about me. Talk to me. Maybe it's me he wants to talk about. The younger son has no trouble talking to me. This will serve us well when he fully passes through the puberty portal. But the older one is closed up, and sometimes too much like his mother.

That was a cheap shot. Well, I've got several rounds in this here gun and I ain't afraid to use it.

But the boy is sixteen and the product of a Broken Home. (It was broken before I fixed it IMHO.) I've never been through a divorce from that vantage point though, and my young Mr. Stoic holds things in.

I saw a "counselor" back in the Dark Days, it was actually a marriage counselor. Well it was marriage counseling until I found out she wasn't interested in any more visits. Then it was a JohnnieV counselor; and it really really worked. The building we met in burned down a few months ago, isn't that interesting? A really heavy smoky curtain fell on that chapter of my life.

Maybe Son1's curtain won't come down.

Good night.

the last one -*- the next one