I felt like taking off his glasses and rearranging his smug nostrils.  The whole time he talked with Miriam and I tonight, I found myself thinking “You actually get paid for this?” and “Really?  It took you seven sessions with my son to figure out that out?”.  Give me your glasses.  POW!

Yeah, he has problems with me.  He’s a freaking thirteen year old boy.  He is going to test his limits.  I am going to yell at him now and then.  The kid does need to hear that I like what he does and that I like him.  Duh.  Touch him now and then.  Sure.  Duh.  Duh.  Duh. SLUG!!!!

Oh, he doesn’t really tell you much and acts like he doesn’t want to be talking to you?  That is because his mother is making him go to therapy.  It makes him feel like he is crazy.  He told ME that.  He hates school.  Yeah.  A lot of boys do.  He told me that too.  I should do things with my son?  Sports isn’t enough?  Hand me your glasses again, please.  KABLOOEY!!!

Seven sessions with my son, two with my wife, and you still don’t want to sit down with me to get some ideas from me.  You lazy so and so.  In seven sessions you haven’t even scratched the surface with this kid.

His mother lets him stay up too late.  What kid can function in school when he stays up past midnight every night?

The boy can’t fart in school without his mother knowing about it.  If a teacher fails to smell it, she sends the teacher an email about it.  And how many times a day is she online checking his grades, then asking his teachers about it?  Daily.  No exaggeration.

She hounds him.  She feeds him crap.  She hovers over him.  If he goes to a friend’s house to play, she calls him every freaking fifteen minute, then goes over to check on him if he doesn’t answer his phone.

Oh, but mister counselor with a degree, the boy’s real problem is his father.

Leave your glasses on for this one.  Good night.


I have to come back and revisit this blog, a rant I had to let loose last night before attempting sleep.  It worked.  I slept very well.

There is a dilemma in those words up there, a struggle to accept and understand the instruction that counselor tried to give to me last night.  If I don’t at least try to understand, then I may be doing myself a disservice.  I asked questions during the course of the session, requested clarification.

“What do you mean when you say to address his disrespect with respect?  Can you be more specific?  Can you tell me why you are saying that?”

I wanted to ask what my son has told him that makes the counselor want to address only me.  Yes, my son is angry with me.  I know that and I often wonder how much that anger fits in with a normal thirteen year old boy to his father.  How much of that ties to how much disrespect his mother has allowed him to direct at me, that she even has encouraged?  I didn’t ask questions like that.  I wanted to listen and fight off the defensiveness that I wanted to put up to protect myself.

The counselor did not like being questioned.  He wanted to speak in generalities, wanted to do all of the talking.  This was the first time he met me, yet he did not really want to know anything from me.  When I offered input, he simply paused and went on from where he left off, as if what I said was an interruption that deserved no attention.  I found that strange for a counselor to do that.  He has talked to my son seven times, my wife at least two times that I know of, me no times.

He made a lot of assumptions about me.  I have been portrayed, apparently, as distant and not involved with my family.  Really?  That is the farthest thing from the truth, so preposterous that it truly is insulting.  And the counselor wanted to simply give advice, wanted to go with that assumption without finding out how true that is.  There are so many dynamics to my family and to my relationship with my son that the counselor simply ignored.  That he wanted to give advice without talking with me first and do it in front of my wife tells me all I need to know — he’s trying to please my wife, validate her, instead of really tackling the issues.

This does not help my view of counselors.  I am skeptical to begin with, especially when it involves my son.  Nate is really a normal boy for the most part and I get the feeling that going to counseling, because it makes him feel like he is crazy, has been more of a detriment than a positive.  The counseling really has been more for his mother, who seems to me unable to understand males as a whole, so she feels like counseling is going to help her little male fit into her own little comfortable box.

Maybe I am wrong.  Maybe I am right.  Life is full of that personal debate.


crap (Photo credit: matiasjajaja)