Hey Ms J.

What's new? Oh not much, really. Dan's birthday is fast approaching. September 12. Monday. He's been looking forward to turning nineteen so he can drink legally. God help him. I've bought him neither card nor gift. I had planned to ignore his birthday this year. But it doesn't feel right. It doesn't feel like the kind of thing a good father does. He hasn't been acting like a good son for the past couple of years. Still, it doesn't feel right not to wish my boy a happy birthday. I considered taking him out for dinner on Monday, just the two of us. I agonized over what to talk about. On Friday morning I phoned Kelly for advice.

"You know him better than I do, Kelly. What should I say to him? 'So I hear you've knocked up a retard. Way to go, son.' Seriously, Kel. What can we talk about? His court appearance the next day?"

Her answer didn't surprise me. She recommended the easy way out.

"Don't mention any of that unless he brings it up. Just talk about other stuff. He got a job, finally. Ask him about that."

I told her I'm not sure I'll be able to do that. It seems to me there are some pretty important issues to discuss. I mean, I'm glad he got a job and all, but what if he has to go to jail? And what about the baby? What are they going to do with the baby?

"They'll prob'ly just stay here, Dale. Where else could they go?"

I am so torn up inside about this, Ms Journal. So angry. So frightened. So hurt and disappointed.

"Dan should hear how I feel about this," I said sternly.

"He knows how you feel about it, Dale. Don't you think he knows you're angry and disappointed in him? Why do you think he's avoided seeing you or speaking to you?"

I was silent for a long time as I took in what she'd said. Dan never answered the phone when I called. He never came to the door when I collected Meagan or delivered her home. Maybe he was avoiding me.

"Are you still there?"

"Yeah, Kelly," I sighed. "I'm still here. I don't know what to do. I want Dan to know that I haven't written him off completely, that I still care about him. And I think it's right that I should see him on his birthday, especially since I didn't get him a card and it's too late now to send one. It's just that I'm nervous as hell about seeing him. I don't know what I'll do, what I'll say. I feel like punching him right square in the lips. Well, that's how I feel right now, anyway. Help me, Kelly. Help me find the right words to say to him. I don't see how we can sit together over dinner and not discuss the fact that he's gotten a seventeen year old retarded girl pregnant."

The thought crossed my mind then to demand to know what on earth she was thinking when she put those two together in the first place. Honestly, Ms J. What kind of a mother would match her son up with a mentally challenged girlfriend? Eh? I ask you. I'm absolutely appalled at Kelly's lack of judgment in that regard, and to be frank, livid beyond words. But I've learned that it's pointless to criticise her. In fact, it's proven in recent past to be dangerously counter-productive. She defends herself in a desperate and vicious manner and follows up by telling the kids every word I said. So I am powerless now ever to say anything that might call into question Kelly's maternal abilities. Or lack thereof.

"I don't see how we can sit there," I continued, "and not mention the fact that he's going to court the next morning to be tried for possession of a dangerous weapon and assaulting police."

When she spoke, she sounded calm and her voice was soft, a sharp contrast to my impassioned rant.

"It's his birthday. Make it a good day for him. Let him at least have that."

But I was still uncertain, still reluctant to do what's difficult. I was still sitting in the boat, still frightened, rowing madly and going nowhere.

"I dunno, Kel'," I said. "I need to spend more time with this. I just need to be with it a while longer."

"Fine," she said. "You do whatever you have to. Let me know what you decide."

Tonight, I phoned my son. I'm picking him up at 5:00 on Monday. We're going out for pizza.

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