I guess strangling him wouldn't improve his COMMUNICATION skills, would it?

Last fall, Daniel had a bit of a personal crisis. Though I got the bare bones of it, he didn't want to talk about it with His Mother. Could he please go see Dr. D, the psychologist his older sister had seen for a few months after the separation? (Who his sister still chats with once in a while.)

The sessions cost $155 an hour. This is not small change for me, parent of three, step-parent of five, living on one and one-fifth income. (Four-fifths of my husband's income is taken up by income tax, student loans, union dues and child support.) However, it's my child's well-being... And maybe the boy will learn some useful emotional and life skills. So, yes, of course you can see Dr. D, son.

After a couple of months, I asked how it was going. The crisis was comfortably over, and it is costing  $155 every week... My budget is feeling the pinch like a vice-grip applied to one's butt.

"Well," he said, "I like talking to her. It's nice."

("It's nice?" Um, no. NOT worth $155/week, son.)  Okay. Must probe a bit. "Can you give me some idea what you're talking about?"

"Well, mostly about communication."

My mind reels in delighted astonishment.

COMMUNICATION!!!!! My son was discussing COMMUNICATION! My son, my cheerful, easy-going, largely cooperative son, who can and will talk your ear off about a quirky cartoon or a computer game, becomes completely mute when conversation threatens to become personal. He will talk about personal stuff when it reaches the crisis point, and I take a great deal of satisfaction in that, but in the ordinary run of things? I get NOTHING, people, NOTHING. Shrugs, grunts, one-word non-answers.

My boy is getting an hour a week's tutorial in COMMUNICATING??

Worth every penny. Every single penny. I'm sure we can squeak the money out of the budget somehow. We don't really need to eat three times a day, after all. Do we? Surely twice would suffice.

It was worth it even more when, by dint of a doctor's prescription for psychotherapy, our insurance started paying the lion's share. (Thank you to smart doctor who thought of that. I didn't know therapy could be prescribed!! But why not?)

COMMUNICATION! My boy is getting lessons in COMMUNICATION! I envision that glorious day when "You feeling okay, sweetie? You look a little down," is answered with full, entire sentence! Yeah!

However, I'm still forking out a chunk of money every month. After six months, I decide it's time to  check in with the boy. And besides, I'm his mother. I love him. And I'm curious! I want to know what he thinks about it. I want to know how the experience is affecting him. I want to know what's going on inside his head, his thoughts, his responses.

I want COMMUNICATION.

Me: How are your sessions with Dr. D going?
Daniel: Fiiine. (Tones of mild suspicion.)
Me: Are you enjoying them?
Daniel: Yes. (Suspicion rising.)
Me: Do you feel you're getting anything out of them?
Daniel: Yeees. (Hint of defensive, self-protective edge to the voice.)

Longish pause. Will he divulge?
Pause continues.
And continues. And continues some more. My patience is rewarded by ... silence. He's not divulging. I will have to ask. Sigh.

Me: So, what do you think you’re getting out of them?
Pause.
Daniel: Well, that’s hard to say, really.

Six months working on "COMMUNICATION", and it's "HARD TO SAY" what he's getting out of these sessions.

Money well spent, wouldn't you say?

Comments

[the planet of janet]

"what did you do in school today?"

"nothing."

lather, rinse and repeat. it doesn't get better, ya know.....

[Ilona]

He's nineteen now. I'm figuring that out. Boys *are* different than girls, aren't they?

[Daisy]

I don't get much out of my 16-yr-old after his sessions, either. I've noticed when I go in with him and simply listen in, the talk seems to be very productive. I have to hope that it's the same or better when I'm sitting in the waiting room with a book or correcting papers.

[Ilona]

I've never been in. Neither he nor the therapist suggested it, and it didn't occur to me it was a possibility. I'm quite sure my son would not have wanted me there, anyway -- and at 18 (now 19) and officially an adult, he gets to choose.