From Flummoxed to Fine

Well, I had lunch with The Boy today. With Dan. I drove to Norval and picked him up at 11:30. We went to his favourite restaurant in Georgetown. We ate. We talked. Mostly, he talked. I listened.

He talked about David. And about David's bedtime, and David's teething pains, and David's moods and ... Well, he talked about the baby. I told him I was a little nervous about taking an infant camping this weekend.

"So am I, Dad. He's been cranky lately, with his teeth coming in and so on. And he reacts badly to insect bites."

I asked if his mum might look after the baby for the weekend and he and Maxine might come camping alone.

"Well, I don't like leaving him, really. He always cries when we leave him. And Mum doesn't know his schedule like me and Maxine. I'd like to take him, Dad. I just feel a little nervous, that's all."

"There'll be lots of people at Uncle Pat's to help you care for him, Dan. Lots of arms to hold him if he cries."

"Yeah, I know," said Dan, "but David is my responsibility, not anyone else's."

I liked the sound of that, Ms J. I really liked the sound of that.

We enjoyed our lunch. I decided not to lecture my son or to suggest (for the twentieth time) that he get a job. Instead, I observed his clear, blue eyes and sincere manner that reminded me how far he'd come since those horrible days when he lived here and when he was full of drugs and mental illness. I remembered the frantic trips to the hospital and the visits from the police. He's come so far since then. I really feel there's hope for him.

If I preach to him or criticise him, he'll only close his ears. But if I continue to demonstrate my "sense of direction" and how it helps me to lead a happier Life, perhaps he'll get the message. Eventually. One day. On his own. It'll be fine.

Dan'll be OK, Ms J. Somehow. God knows how. And I believe He's got a plan for my son.

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