Therapy With a Shot of Bourbon

Turns out, it works better without the alcohol chaser

Photo by Brandon Green on Unsplash

I’m sitting in the passenger seat of a Plymouth Sundance. It’s 1989.

I’m coated in dirt and dried sweat from soccer practice.

My mom’s car is parked along the sidewalk in a small town divided by a railroad track.

We’re waiting for my sister to finish her dance lesson.

I’m 13 years old. Mom is explaining to me that she wants to divorce my dad. That his recent arrest made her rethink their marriage.

She asks me what I think. What would I do? How would I feel about it?

My world is crashing down. It’s bad enough that my dad faces jail time. Now, my mom is weighing her relationship choices out loud.

I mean, I guess I’m glad she’s talking to me about it — but, not really?

I’m 13. I don’t know the full extent of what my dad has done — this time or over the course of their marriage.

I just know this feels — not quite right.

This is a short summary of what I talked about with a therapist. In that first serious meeting. You know, the one after the intake meeting — the getting-to-know-you.