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My Son Josh

 In Amy Bloom's story "Silver Water," a troubled young woman goes with her family to family therapy. The session doesn't flow smoothly. The therapist is icy and judgmental, and the young woman starts picking her nose.


"I wonder," says the therapist, "why your daughter is behaving that way."

The narrator jumps in. "Maybe because she doesn't like that you're talking about her in the third person."

The other day, a paraprofessional handed my son off. "You may want to put that water bottle in boiling water," she said. "For some reason, HE decided to throw it in a trash can. Hope he does better tomorrow."

And one part of me wanted to shrug. To say, "HE probably senses that you hate your job, and in turn HE doesn't like you very much. And walking to the trash can was one way to express all of that. Clever guy!"

I can feel frustrated that the YMCA lied and claimed to be able to handle a case that was beyond their capabilities. But really I have to be annoyed at myself. I had a little inner voice saying, "This might not be ideal." And I didn't listen.

After I pulled the plug on the Y, I felt sort of OK. It's like firing someone. There is the exhilaration of thinking, I never have to talk to this person again. But there is also the terror of the unknown. There is that old chestnut about the devil you know....

Still, I did sleep pretty well last night. Onward and upward.
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