Counseling part 2

 

Now it was my turn to pay a visit inside the private office of Dr. McGaw. 

“Savannah Plumb Cheesman, right?”

“Yes.”

“Daughter of Nathan Plumb the composer and Sandra Bellingham Plumb the former orchestra conductor.”

I nodded.  How did he know who my parents were?  They couldn’t have been that famous – were they?

“I think I’ll cut right to the chase.  I have spoken at length with your daughter – and I have to tell you – she is very – I can’t say she’s angry, because anger is not the emotion I’m looking for here – but she’s quite frustrated with you.”

“I don’t see why.  I give that girl – and all my kids – I give them everything.”

“Except yourself.”

“Are you kidding me?  I don’t come home from work until three in the morning.  The kids are in bed by then.”

“What kind of work do you do, Savannah?”

“I’m a paranormal expert.  Right now I go around town collecting spirits and detecting paranormal activity.”

“Your daughter tells me you’re also into archaeology and academic work.”

“That’s my profession, primarily.”

“Sit down, Savannah.”  He made the request with a quiet authority, like my dad.  He never rose his voice.

“Tell me this truthfully, Savannah.  Has your job interfered with your ability to be a good parent?”

I took a deep breath.  “Well, I haven’t spent as much time with my children as I would have liked due to my career, if that’s what you mean.”

“Would you consider yourself a workaholic, Savannah?”

“Uh – I, uh, happen to enjoy my work, if that’s what you’re saying.”

“Do you bring your work home?”

“Sometimes.”

“Your daughter tells me that they don’t see you for days at a time. Sometimes weeks, all because of your job.”

“My career requires me to travel a lot.”

“And you enjoy traveling.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Do you enjoy traveling because it takes you away from your children for long stretches at a time?”

“I like traveling because it allows me to learn things about different cultures.”

Dr. McGaw seemed to pivot to another strategy.  “Savannah, you have the two boys at Fort Starch boot camp right now, ordered there by a judge because of bad behavior.”

I nodded.

“Your youngest daughter, the little one, is already skipping school and has disciplinary problems.”

I nodded again.

“The teenage daughter, the one who wrote the letter, is basically begging you to spend more time with them.”

I let out a deep sigh.

“And you don’t think this is a problem.”

“Oh, I know this is a problem.  That’s why I’m here.”

Counseling part 1

Our friend Gabriella Ornales gave us the number of Dr. Bill McGaw, the foremost therapist in Hidden Springs and a personal friend of hers. According to her, "he's treated everyone who’s anyone in this town." He even has his own TV show where he solves or tries to solve his guests' problems. So on a whim, we dialed him.
So last Friday, we wound up in his office, his personal office.
"How did we let our family get like this, Andy?" I asked as we waited for Dr. McGaw to come out.
"You dragged me here to this – this -- shrink!”

“Andy, Sage needs this.  We all do, I think.”

“I tell you what, Savannah. This McGaw guy better be good."

First, he called Sage into his private office.  "Sage, how old are you?"
"Just turned teen, sir."
"You're the one who wrote the letter to your mother?"
"Yes, sir, I did."


“Why did you write the letter to your mother?”

"It was the only way I figured I could get through to her. She -- she doesn't listen otherwise."
"You don't think your mother listens to you?"
Sage took a deep breath.  "It's -- it's not just that I don't think she listens. I'm not sure she even cares. I mean, we're strangers in our own house. We hardly know each other."

 
Sitting in the next room, I heard Sage break out in muffled sobs.
"Why do you think you and your mother hardly know each other?"
"Because she's working all the time."
“What kind of work does your mother do?”

“She’s – she’s – she’s an adventurer.”

“Adventurer?”

“Travels all over the world.  Archaeology, paranormal studies, history lectures.”

“She’s in academia.”

“I guess you can say that.”

"I'm sure your mom cares. She -- she just isn't sure how to show you that she cares. If I get her some classes to help with you and your brothers and sisters, do you think that things will get better?"
Sage looked up. "I hope so."

Sage again

 

My 14 year old daughter wrote me this letter and by the end of it I was in tears. 

I had no idea she felt this way.  I had no idea.  I mean, I knew she was troubled but I didn’t know it was this bad.  For the first time, I’m at a loss.  I don’t have the answers.  I don’t know what to do. 

Itsy Bitsy Puppy

Meet the newest member of our family, Sage's golden retriever puppy, Bitsy. Bitsy was a birthday present for Sage from Bassy.

Andy adores her too, because she's so playful and loyal.

Bitsy is so small now, she's smaller than the newspaper.

I was ticked off at Bitsy though. The first day she started chewing on the leg of the dining room chairs. We're renting this house, we don't own it!

"Bitsy," I reprimanded her, thinking of my upcoming workout, "you can't do that."

She looked at me with her head hung down. She's so cute when she does that. I mean she knows when she has done wrong. She is like my kids that way.

Visiting AJ

About a week ago, I paid a visit to my son AJ at Fort Starch Military Academy.  Putting him (and Sety) in that school was bar none the toughest thing I’ve ever had to do. 

Fort Starch is this huge campus with wood cabins surrounding the main building. 

I approached Sergeant Downey, the commandant in charge of AJ’s regiment (Sety has a different commandant and is in a separate regiment) and asked him if I could see my son. 

“Our different regiments have different visitation days and hours,” he explained.  “In your son’s case, his visiting hours are from 10 to 3 on weekends.”

“But it’s Tuesday afternoon.  I’m going crazy here, I have to see my son.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Cheesman, no exceptions.” 

It was the first time I’d ever been called Mrs. Cheesman.  I wasn’t sure I liked it.

I found out later that Sergeant Downey was the father of the boy AJ so mercilessly tormented.  Whoops. 

 

Just then I caught a glimpse of my son coming out of one of the cabins.  I barely recognized him.  His hair had been lopped off, he had lost weight, and his eyes took on that lost-puppy-dog look.  I hoped that he had been chastened by his time at Fort Starch – indeed, it didn’t look to me to be a very forgiving place. 

“Hey mom.”

“Here, I brought you something.  Your favorite.”  I handed him a box of coconut crème cookies.  The butler baked them – but he didn’t have to know that.

 

We stood there for a good ten minutes, just staring at each other.  Other than having my mom’s chestnut hair, he looks exactly like his father.

“Can I come home, Mom?” he begged.

It took every ounce of my strength to tell him no.  In a perfect world I would have scooped him in my car and taken him and no one would have been the wiser, as he is my son and the last thing I want is for him to suffer. 

“You have to serve out your sentence,” I told him, “if we let you come home, who knows what the consequences would be?”