The Boy and the Pine Forest

One day, his parents drove him several hours outside of the city and the place that he knew as home. They passed by meadows, farms and forests on the way to his grandparents’ house. As soon as they pulled into the driveway, Ricky was mesmerized by the thick forest that came right up to the edge of grandma’s yard. He stared…a bit fearful, yet very curious. He had never seen so many towering pine trees before.

After saying his hellos, he announced that he was going outside to explore. Ricky slowly walked over to the looming trees. He looked them up and down, trying to gather the courage to enter and run around beneath the canopy of branches.
He peered between the trees, looked for anything that might scare him and then took his first step into the pine forest. Beneath his feet was a soft bed of dried pine needles. It was like walking on a gigantic pillow. He smiled. Slowly walking, looking at the tree bark, the slow dripping streams of sap oozing from most of the trees, admiring the green needles high above and lightly bouncing on the crackly pillow of brown needles under his feet.

He, wanting to be careful, turned to look back over his shoulder to make sure that he could still see the house behind him, saw nothing but the immense trees in every direction. Instantly he became afraid. He thought that this inviting forest had lured him in and then swallowed him whole.

As he started to panic, turning his head back to the forest in front of him, his fear instantly turned into excitement.

There was a gap in the furry branches above and a radiant light transformed the ominous forest into a glowing kingdom in which birds and butterflies danced in the air above his head while teams o squirrels and chipmunks scurried all over the cushiony ground, playing what seemed to be the best game of tag ever.

He walked into the middle of the golden circle on the forest floor, sat down and took in the sights and sounds of what was now the happiest place in the world. After a few minutes, he lay back, resting his head on a pillow of pine needles and closed his eyes. He felt a magical peace that he never wanted to fade away.

Ricky dozed off into a peaceful sleep.

His dreams were filled with all of the sights and sounds of his new found kingdom. From beneath his eyelids, he could see the animals dancing about and he could fee the light brush of butterflies fluttering by his cheeks. Ricky then heard the chirps of birds and squirrels becoming more and more clear. At first he thought that they were just chattering back and forth…until he began hearing chirps that sounded like his name. Amazed by this, Ricky strained to hear. Again he heard, in little chirpy animal voices, “Ricky, Ricky”. Startled and amazed, he quickly sat up. He listened. And then from a distance he heard his mother’s voice calling his name.

He stood up, disappointed that he would have to leave his enchanted land, Ricky looked around and could not figure out which direction to go…everything looked the same. He heard his mother’s voice again and he took a few steps in the direction of her voice. All of the sudden, he could once again see the house…and his mother at the edge of the lawn.

He turned to look over his shoulder to say goodbye to the forest and the dancing animal friends he had made and, as he walked, he saw the glowing golden light begin to fade.

Ricky knew that this had to be his secret and that adults would not understand the magic that lived inside this great pine forest. With an eager anticipation, Ricky looked forward to he next chance to visit his kingdom in the woods.

Where Have The Years Gone?

I have to say that this whole getting old thing is getting under my skin.

I was having a conversation with our 14 year old son (big hockey fan) yesterday and I proceeded to tell the story of going to my first hockey game. Bruins vs. Penguins. I continued saying that I was so excited because Bobby Orr was playing and I had seats right behind the bench.

He threw me an odd look and said, “who the heck is Bobby Orr?” I, feeling old, said, “what?! He was like the …Pele of hockey.” Then I got…”and who is Pele?” I said, “OK…he was like the Tiger Woods or Kobi Bryant of hockey.” The response to that was, “Oh…he cheated on his wife with prostitutes?”

This conversation went on for a few more minutes, until I finally got through to him with comparing him to Michael Jordan and Wanye Gretzky.
It is sad to me how many of my sports heroes are not known by today’s youth.

The one good thing about my …aging is that Mariah has a ‘thing’ for little old men. I think that I am going to give in and invest in a walker.

Learning About Love - The Hard Way - Part 4

Please make sure to read parts one, two and three before you get sucked into this

My teenage boy brain insisted that she was the one. She had never had sex, never drank, never done drugs, never snuck out of her house, never ditched school….and I was the one to show her how it is all done.

Our relationship was good…while it lasted. I taught her that blow jobs on demand were “what people in love do.” I taught her that slinking up to the college guy outside of the liquor store and putting on a cute smile so he’d buy us beer was the greatest gift a girl could give her man. I taught HER that sneaking out of her house late at night, and walking the ¾ miles to my house, to have sex with me in the woods was best, cuz I would have more energy for her. I taught her that …well…I won’t get into the real heavy stuff. I think you all get my drift.

Anyway, I can honestly (and now shamefully) say that I thoroughly corrupted her. Only a few months into our relationship she; smoked cigarettes, drank on a regular basis, smoked pot here and there, coned beer out of unsuspecting college students, ditched school, snuck out of her house at night and put my sexual gratification above anything else.

It was not long after my step father walked in on …her kneeling before me in my mother’s home office, that I broke up with her. Honestly, I think I did it because I was starting to get more attention from a lot of other girls (she had a tendency to discus our sex life with all of the other girls at school). To top everything off…as payback for me breaking up with her, she asked my younger brother out (and he said yes) and proceeded to have sex with him for about 2 weeks before that faded away.

Now…if you have read all of the parts of this series, you’ll understand that I had finally learned a thing or two.

I moved to NYC shortly afterwards and proceeded to spend the next 5 years just being a single (dog) guy in his mid to late teens. I had no serious relationships…but did have a lot of fun. I guess that is why they say that you have to ‘live a little’ before you settle down.

The End…for now.

the mind of a 4 year old

It cracks me up… the things that come out of the mind of a 4 year old. Sometimes I feel like they have such a ‘raw’ sense of things that they teach me a thing or two.

My 4 year old son walked up to me today, looked me in the eyes and said that he wanted to tell me something.

Son: “You know that green Power Ranger that was missing its arm?”
Me: “Yeah.”
Son: “I fixed it this morning…just put his arm back in.”
Me: “Great job…what…are you a doctor?”
Son: “Um…NO but then when I was fixing his arm I broke off his leg. (with a familiar ‘oopsie’ look on his face)”
Me: “Well that stinks.”
Son: “Yeah, I guess it is not bad. I would be bad if I broke off both of his legs cuz then if he wanted to go somewhere he’d have to bounce around on his butt.”
Me: “Yep! It sure is a good thing.” Then I burst out laughing.

And then…..

not more than 5 minutes later he walked up to me and said: “Dad…you know what?” I turned to him as he continued by saying, “You know what I do when I have a fart coming but it does not come out?” I responded with a puzzled look as I tried to hold back a burst of laughter and “What buddy?” He then continued, “I go like this.” (Squatting down and resting his elbows on his knees…with his toosh in firing position.)

the good old days

Scary but good…how far we’ve come since “the good old days.”

Back then they were the good old days, now…as an adult looking back…how the fuck am I not completely fucked up and locked away somewhere?

My parents got divorce when I was in first grade and we (the kids) spent the school year with our mom and the summers with our father. I remember loving the summer. When asked what my fondest and happiest childhood memory is…it is from one of those summers. NOW, my emotions are very conflicted. Within the same summer…I had my fondest as well as my most devastating childhood experiences.

We were living at the house overlooking the ocean in Maine. I look back and can see how I would have loved it as a kid…but now, as an adult…who the fuck were these people?

It was my step-grandmother’s house and my sister and I lived there with my father, step-mother, her brother and sister and their mother. WTF right there.

I would go out to my uncle’s (the detached guest house) and hang with him for a few hours. Not only would he let me rummage through his endless stacks of Playboys, but he also taught me how to smoke marijuana. I thought I was the coolest kid on the block. Porn, weed, hanging with a guy 15 years older than me…Life was good.

Now looking back on that…a 12 year old boy sitting around smoking pot and looking at porno mags with a 30 year old guy…not so good. Kind of creepy and …shit just not right.

Also that infamous summer…I, on more than one occasion, proceeded to go into my aunt’s (my step-mother’s sister) room when she was in the bath tub. This family was very open, free-loving and…not shy.

She told me that it was ok to come in, which I did. She started by asking what I wanted her for. I was at a loss – especially after watching her soapy boobs bobbing around in the water. I tried to act like I was unaffected but I think that my inability to avert my eyes from the first set of real boobs. My aunt humorously assured me that naked bodies are normal, natural and nothing to be ashamed of and it was ok to look. I have to say that although I felt a bit weird…I took her up on the offer – I was a 12 year old boy you know.

After the second ‘bath conversation’ (yes…there were …a few) I was becoming more comfortable just sitting and talking to her and less and less just staring at her boobs. At one point during one of our chats, she asked me to rub soap on her back. I obliged, without even thinking about it. It was not until my increasingly confused mind started wondering what would happen if I touched the sides of her boos while I was rubbing soap on her back….what the fuck is wrong with me? That is my aunt! Wait a minute…What the fuck is wrong with her?!

Anyway…I think you get the gist of what I am saying and how a 12 year old boy could have seen these times as the times of his life. But, at the same time…How fucked was all of that? If anything like that happened these days…everyone would be locked up and under psychiatric care.

Sidelines, Soccer Moms and Blood

Standing at the sidelines feeling completely “in” the game. I watch every movement by the players on both sides. My arms, legs and body move and twitch with the game involuntarily. As I pace up and down the sideline with the action, I tune out the clusters of chatty moms that seem to surround me.

My voice overpowers that of both coaches and the rest of the parents combined. I shout out moves and plays to the player with the ball. I bark at players to ‘open up’ and call for the ball. Forgetting about the scores of sibling children buzzing up and down the sidelines…and the moms cheering for their sons to play well. Here I am…shouting at the top of my lungs, “Take him down!” “Use your body!” “Flatten him!” I call out to my son as loud as I can, “Cody….take that kid out!”

Now I know that my voice carries and I am sure that everyone at the field can hear my aggressive and brutal orders. After catching disapproving glances from parents…on both teams, I tone it down a notch. I continue pacing up and down the field…intent on mot missing a beat. As I pass by a group of moms, sitting in their little folding chairs…talking about a sale at Macy’s or the latest debacle at the grocery store….I can’t help but to stop and say something crass…or at least uncalled for. Today it was, “Um, you are at a Lacrosse game…not the nail salon. Enough gossip…Watch the game.”

I know, I know…these are the parents of the other kids on the team and people that I spend a lot of time with. I really do not mean to be offensive, but how dare they not be as into the game as I am? I have secretly gone over to the players at halftime and broke out a wad of cash while announcing that I will pay $5 for every opponent that they take out of the game and $3 to see blood oozing out of anyone on the other team.

I know that some of the parents…and the coach have heard me…I am now starting to fear that everyone thinks that I am completely psychotic. Yes, I have been warned by referees before and almost been asked to leave games.

Yes, these are 12 and 13 year old boys. Yes, this is a team sport. Yes, the coaches are working hard to have the kids learn sportsmanship and to advance their skill with their sticks. I just can’t help myself…if you can’t outmaneuver your opponent…take his ass out!

It seems obvious that…I am in my own little sideline world, mostly due to the fact that when I go to games now and get my chair set up…the rest of the parents set up about 15 yards down the field from me. I suppose my pacing up and down, screaming at the top of my lungs for blood may interfere with the moms just wanting to see little Johnny get his first goal.

Cover their eyes and plug their ears!!!!!!!

Not that I am stating anything ‘for the record’ about my state of mental health with this post…but I need to throw something out there.

I have been to a therapist…or …maybe a dozen, and I have heard somewhere along the way that the music and TV shows that we gravitated towards as kids …says something about who we are as people.

THAT SCARES THE SHIT OUT OF ME!!!!

Yes, I grew up in a large family and typically had to fight for the radio or TV. Thinking back, I pinpointed that music and shows that I’d listen to and watch when I was alone.

During the 70s my favorite song was Take Me Home Country Roads by John Denver. May favorite cartoon was Underdog…and I was an A-Team addict.

Mixing those 3 things…does not paint a pretty picture to me. Kind of like a gay dog in a cowboy hat riding around in a custom child molester van…blowing things up.

Over the years, I have had conversations with friends about what their favorite cartoons and shows from the 70s were … and I always took pride in my picks.

Drop the gay part...but I will say that I would have no problem doning a fancy cowboy hat, driving around in a customized van...just blowing shit up all the time. Coincidence?????

I am not sure anymore…and if asked…I will plead the fifth!!!!

What picture do your past favorites paint?

**Shit...what do your kids watch and listen to? Should we all be scared?

My Pine Forest

I grew up in a small town in southeastern New Hampshire. That is where I developed my love for the outdoors. As there was not much to do, I (with my brothers and sisters…and friends) spent a lot of time exploring. I loved running around in the woods, playing in fields, climbing trees and just sitting and watching animals ‘doing their thing’ in the forest.

When I look back at my past, I will say that my fondest memory would be at the age of 9, at my grandmother’s house in Newcastle, ME.

She had a large house on a private road. The house sat on a cliff, overlooking the Atlantic and bordered on two sides by a forest of large pine trees. I did love sitting out in the yard, looking out over the beautiful beach and watching the waves crash on the rocks below. My siblings and I had a great time climbing up and down the 50 foot cliff and playing at ‘our beach.’ But most of all…when thinking about this time…I can…still to this day, close my eyes and transport myself back to the pine forest surrounding the house.
I inhale and can smell the soothing aroma of pine. I walk barefoot on the ‘featherbed’ of pine needles that line the floor of the forest. The gentle crackling of the dried needles beneath my bare feet send tingles up my spine. I lie down, feeling the softness of the forest floor. Looking up, the tall pines shelter me on all sides. Large pine cones are scattered, as if sprinkles on a cupcake. I could sit there for days, walking, sitting and staring at the glimpses of sky through the tall bushy trees, rolling around…getting the needles stuck in my clothing and in my big head of hair. It is pure delight.

My love for that little forest of mine was enhanced by the constant smell of salt in the gentle ocean breeze, along with the feeling of being completely safe and secure in ‘My Pine Forest.’

having my shit together

I am going to start by saying that I am a firm believer in organization, preparedness and all around just having my shit together.

Now that school has started up and Summer has come to an end, I thought that I’d get back into the swing of our ‘school year schedule.’ The kids are gone from 8AM until about 4 every day and we finally have time to get things done. Well… at least that is what is supposed to happen. Between our work, after school sports, homework, play dates and our (collectively) new addiction to the blogosphere, shit is still slipping through the cracks.

While grocery shopping the other day, I seem to have forgotten to buy cereal. When I noticed this last night, I went into “the back up storage” to fetch a box to put into the kitchen pantry. Smiling to myself, I was pleased with my preparedness…I actually HAD back-up. I rock…and the kids will eat some tasty Kellogg’s Honey Smacks!!!

13 year old Cody walked into the kitchen this morning to grab some cereal for breakfast and then he looked over at me and said, “ Um…I think this cereal is…a bit old.” I looked over at him, expecting to explain that they are NOT old and that if he wants breakfast…just to eat them. I did not say that…All I could do was laugh. Actually I burst into laughter…after spitting a bit of coffee across the room.

This is what Cody showed me.

Right...that cereal is OUT OF ITS BAG.

I guess one needs to be careful in what items go into the “back-up storage.”

What a great start to my day!!!!

Let "ME" The F Out!!

Dear (10 year old) TentCamper,

I am writing to you today to tell you that no matter how you might feel right now…things WILL change. I know that you are only in fourth grade and that people pick on you, call you names and beat you up, only because your skin is darker than theirs. You need to trust me, I have been exactly where you are right now and if you stay strong and show everyone that you are a nice, likeable boy, you will be fine.

When I was your age the same thing happened to me. I was scared to go to school most days and knew that I was going to be beat up by groups of bigger kids. The butterflies in my stomach were so bad most of the time that I threw up or just went straight into the nurse’s office to hide. I used to fight back, the best I could, but for the most part…I tried to be invisible. I did not want anyone to notice me. I stayed to myself, did not make waves and ALWAYS wanted to be alone. I was very lonely and wanted the other kids to like me…but I was too scared to take any chances.

Do you feel ‘hollow’ like I did? I hope not. It is a horrible way to feel. If you can, take only this advice; be yourself. Let everyone know just how funny, nice, cool and smart you really are. Tear down that wall that you have put up around you. Crawl out of that hole. Open your heart to others…even if you think that they won’t care. There will be no way that they won’t like you. I will tell you - that worked for me.

I was always a very kind, gentle, caring, funny, personable and sensitive child, but I never let other people know …only because I was scared of them. They never saw who I really was. Not until I was in 5th grade…that is when I let ‘ME’ out. And from that point on…not even my skin color could drag away some of the great friends that I’d made.

The last thing that I’d like to say to you…and you can believe me or not…You are going to have a great life. You are going to be important in the lives of many people and the happiness that you are going to bring them will change them forever.

My heart is with you.

TentCamper Sr.

For more great stories , check out Mama's Losin It

my imaginary life

30 years ago, I knew my destiny. Well… I guess that no 10 year old boy…in the 70s…really knew how his life would pan out.

10 year old TentCamper was (besides all of the shenanigans and altercations at school) quite a happy, fun and outgoing kid. In my neighborhood, I had some very good friends and we (and my 2 brothers and 3 sisters) spent every daylight hour playing games in the woods and out in the neighboring fields.

Besides the normal…get on your BMX bike (or in my case, the yellow Schwin with the big yellow banana seat) and ride over the unstable, plywood, unrealistically angled, ramp secured only by the pile of cut firewood strewn beneath it. Or the use the whole neighborhood for a game of capture the flag…we had our favorite - Vietnam


Vietnam (the rural New Hampshire game) had several differing versions. It really depended on our mood and who was playing. We had the POW version…(the sisters were involved there), where we would capture them, drag them out into the woods, tie them to trees or make cages out of tree branches and twine. The girls really did not like this version too much. Then there was the sniper version, during which we would split into two teams…the snipers and the ‘enemies’. The enemies would be sent to the field across the street and would have to wait 5 minutes to let the snipers get into position in the woods. Please note that the snipers all carried Rural NH versions of M-16s …I think they were called Daisy Pump-Action Pellet Guns. Then the ‘enemies would have to make it through the woods…any way they could…to the clearing on the other side. We also had Booby-Trap Vietnam. You can imagine what this game involved. Watching movies like Rambo, Hamburger Hill, Apocalypse Now, Force 10, etc…we were good. I hated being one of the enemies during this version…kids got HURT. We once, completely by accident, caught my little sister in a snare that hoisted her into the air . she was dangling by one foot about 4 feet in the air for about 2 hours. I got the “wooden Spoon” for that one…My mom did not believe in “The Belt.”

Anyway…I was GOOD! Rarely got snare, never got captured as a POW (mini TentCamper could run like the wind) and only had to have lead pellets removed by mom – and a pair of tweezers on a few occasions. I was convinced that I was going to be in the military. I would have made an exceptional sniper, spy, trap setter, demolition expert (ask my mom about our TV) and I could spot the enemy “miles” away. My cat-like, stealthy, movements and reflexes would make Jason Bourne, Rambo and Jack Bauer collectively cry out of jealousy.

My mother did not allow me to join the Army…she said that the Army would not allow a boy my age…but she would still use it as a threat when we were bad (which for me I’d smile at.) She said that when I turned 18…I could if I still wanted. That was the plan…skate through school til I was 18 and then get on a copter to wherever our military needed me.

After all was said and done…it never happened. By the time I was 18…I was on…”a different” track. Leading to places more like the ‘grey bar motel.’ Every time I started thinking about it…and wanting to join…something would happen in my life that would prohibit my enlisting.

I still think about it to date. Last year I called and emailed our local Marine and Army Recruiters and Reserves to let them know of my dreams…I could hear the chuckle (even through email) when they replied that a 40 year old guy with no training…other than the self taught, rural New Hampshire business…was probably not going to make the cut.

So these days, I would like to give a big shout out to, Jack Bauer, Jason Bourne, Ethan Hawke, Michael Schofield and all of the members of The Unit for bringing my imaginary life to the forefront of my head. I am living my dreams through you!!!!

My Sister Is A Ninja

I going to take you all back to Durham , NH…the year is 1976. I live with my mother, stepfather, 3 sisters, 2 brothers and our Golden Retriever Cinnamon. As you can imagine…the house was ‘hectic.’ Between us siblings…someone was always fighting. For the most part it was pretty amusing. I’m second oldest, I have an older sister, so I caused, instigated or was the bully in many of the fights. Some fights were physical, some emotional but they were ALL quite the show.

I have a memory of my youngest brother so mad at me(just for making fun of him) he swooped up the iron fire poker and chased me all over the house…until I was able to maneuver into my parent’s room (the only room in the house with a door that locks.) That made no difference because about 5 seconds later, after I hear some banging…I see the tip of the fire poker as it is smashing through the door. I had to jump from the second story to avoid that encounter.

On another sunny New Hampshire day…my middle brother and sister were going at it. I don’t even remember what it was all about…but what I do remember is that IT went on ALL day. At dinner that night, while our mom was still in the kitchen about to bring out our food, the two of them started up again. My brother was sitting at one end of our long table and my sister on the opposite side, in hopes that the arguing would cease. My brother kept egging her on and jabbing at her…That is until…out of nowhere, she picked up her fork and threw it (ninja style) across the table…the fucking thing hit my brother square between the eyes…and actually stuck there for 4 or 5 seconds…til we heard it clanking to the floor. ALL of us (mother included) just sat there, stunned, jaws on the floor…and wide-eyed.
After that night…we all thought twice about pushing middle sister too far. That was a scary little 8 year old.

I Peed As A Child Too

I know that It is probably hard for you all to believe…but once upon a time…I was a child. A little tinkler – a mini pee'er. I ran around peeing on things and causing extreme havoc in every way that I could. Well…that was just sometimes. I went through a lot of phases as a little one. I wanted to; be in the military (a sniper or spy), a stunt man, O.J. Simpson, Wayne Gretzky, Indiana Jones….and a cowboy.

Yeah, yeah…I know…What kind of kid was I?...not wanting to be a fireman? OK…I am scared of fire. What the hell kind of fireman would I be?

Back to what I was trying to write about.

Now, for a number of years, and through many of the above ‘phases’ I had one special thing that rode it all out with me…my Saber Tooth Tiger tooth necklace. Now this was really a plastic replica of a tiger’s tooth…but to me…and the rest of the kids that I convinced…it WAS a Saber Tooth Tiger’s tooth. It was hard to convince most people, but I sure as shit gave it my all. Its plastic construction, visibly seem (from the mold,) its size and its weight were all working against my story. Still I did have a few kids that envied my most prized possession.

The string that it was on had to be replaced from time to time due to all of the attention that I gave it. It had basic twine, plastic string, a leather strap, kite string and even a sturdy electrical wire.

I loved and cherished this ancient, archaeological find of mine and there was not a sole on earth who could remove it from around my neck. We slept, showered, swam, played sports and went to school together…ALL THE TIME.

Here is a picture of me wearing it…during my cowboy phase (1976 or 77). Damn I’d be a cool ass cowboy (with a saber tooth tiger tooth around my neck.)

For more great stories visit Kathy

Meeting The 12 Year Old Me - a look back in time

The 12 Year Old Me

As I approached the young boy who was standing in the hall, at first glance he looked like a happy, outgoing, typical 6th grader. When I stopped to watch how he interacted with the kids around him, I noticed his uncomfortable posture. It was easy to see that he felt out of place. I could plainly see the internal struggle behind his cleverly constructed façade.

After watching him for a few minutes, I decided to go up and talk to him. As I got closer, I knew that he would be dismissive. He saw me approaching and quickly looked away, as to not invite any conversation. I leaned up against the wall where he stood and plainly said, “Hello.” He looked at me briefly and responded with an unenthusiastic, “Hey.” Noticing several scars on his face and arms, I knew that he had been through quite a lot for a 12 year old boy.

After trying to strike up a conversation a few times and being brushed off by him, with his one word responses, I knew that I would need to try a new approach.

Not wanting him to leave, I invitingly said, “I grew up in a town…exactly like this one…and DAMN it was hard. How do you do it?” I felt that putting him in the power position or position of giving the advice might be the way to go. He told me that it was easy…”all about making friends. When everyone likes you…life is smooth.”

I could not help but to chuckle a bit and say, “I used to think that way too. It wasn’t until I grew up and left my childhood friends behind that I realized that I was not sure who I really was…as a man.” I looked at him, hoping for an inquisitive response. He, partially, turned to me and said, “Yeah, well…I gotta do what I gotta do to get through.”

I completely understood that attitude…as I still feel that way sometimes myself. I felt kind of frustrated that he wouldn’t really talk to me…and didn’t seem to be listening.. But then again, the things that I wanted to say to him…(level with people, stop and think, cry, be honest with yourself) are all things that I don’t even do all of the time. Do as I say…not as I do.

I looked back at him and uttered, “Well…I live here now and will always be her if you ever need someone to talk to. You can come to me with anything…questions about sex, girls, friendships, school, parents, siblings…anything…I’ve been through it all.” He just looked at me, with an enough already look on his face and said, “I can deal with it. Things are fine.”

I told him that I would still be there for him…day or night. Then I reiterated to him that I grew up in a situation just like his and that it all seemed good, but that I had no feeling of independence and that everything that I did was a direct effort to blend in, become a leader among my peers and increase the number of friends that I had…inside I felt very alone. At that point, he turned to me, looked me squarely in the eyes (wanting to end the conversation) and said, “Yeah…OK If I need anything, I’ll let you know. Then he started down the hall towards a small group of girls. I could almost make out his snide remarks ...which made the girls giggle and look down the hall in my direction.

Watching him go, I could not help but to realize that he would not come to me. That made me sad…and angry. Sad because I wanted that boy to fix what is wrong and to find some inner peace…Angry because I knew what the future held for him and I was not strong or pushy enough to get through to him.