Conversations
So I’m asking, Johnny, son – why the tears. He’s real distraught, I mean eyes all puffed and red hasn’t touched the packet of skittles in front to him. No, honey – do u mind, I’m telling the story. Ok, you tell the end. So imagine, that’s our baby, he’s hurt, and we’re there thinking about how much this might cost us in future counselling bills. So we proceed with the agreement we made, when he first wet his bed. Talk to him. It’s good to talk. So he finally confesses, and I’m stunned, in between the sobs, the dripping snot, the broken sentences to catch breath, I’m almost storming out of the door, back to that goddamn school. So he pulls out the reason for all this, not even A4. Three sketches, a kids cartoon doodle…..

