A Study in Dialogue, or Chatting With Dr. L
"I think my dad is disappointed in me." I told Dr. L.
He raised an eyebrow. "What's up this time? Oh, and by the way, you're late."
"As if, Dr. Drama. If you make me wait forty-five minutes in a room full of screaming kids again, I'm gonna kick your ass in front of everyone."
He gave me a smile. "You on your period?"
"Why does everyone assume I have to be on my period to be bitchy? Maybe that's just how I am. Maybe I'm just a spoiled bitch."
"But are you?"
"...Yeah." I sighed. "Now go ahead and do your patronizing male thing."
"I've got a better idea. Why don't you tell me what makes you say you're a spoiled bitch?"
"Dad, that's what."
"Does he ever lay off on you?"
"Don't say that. That was exactly what he was talking about. He says...all I do is whine to you about him, like a spoiled brat."
"He said that?" He sounded surprised.
"Well, implied, I guess. He said I was spoiled, at least. He was all, "Why don't you just go whine to Dr. L about it?" "
"About what?"
"The whole excersize thing. Sometimes I just hate Dad."
"Well, you're kinda supposed to right now." Dr. L smirked a bit. "But what happened to make him say that?"
"We had a bit of a fight. You know, it isn't like I'm telling him to go to hell or anything. I sort of am, but...on some things, he really makes sense, you know?"
"Are you trying to say you agree with him about your being a spoiled brat?"
"On some level..."
"You don't strike me as someone who asks for much."
"I'm not that kind of brat. I don't get into trouble or anything, but I don't do much, either. Dad always says that he used to beg Grandpa for stuff, but at least he was doing something..." I trailed off. "Doing things...that's what he cares about."
Dr. L. was quiet. He thought for a long while. "I'd like to ask you something, if I may," he stated, his usual line. "And I may because...?"
I managed to get an eyeroll in before replying. "...it's your office."
"Correct. How do you know who's right or wrong in this scenario? You or your dad?"
"I didn't think there was any right or wrong. It's kind of my word against his...but he sees me in a way I don't see myself. I mean, deep in my heart of hearts, I don't think I'm bratty, but if he does, how do I know how the rest of the world sees me?"
"Should that matter?"
"It's not like that! I'm not trying to be some perfect person, but Dad's told me all these stories about spoiled kids who are smart but don't amount to anything. I don't want to conquer the world, but I don't want to turn out like one of those kids, either."
He tapped his chin. "Paige, kids--as parents see them--are either tools, toys, or trophies. Way back when, people got pregnant so they could have some extra hands to help raise crops and all that shit. But now that we're in an age where we don't need that help, kids are just a commodity. A status symbol, like the iPods of adulthood. They exist for the amusement of their parents. Some take it further. Remember when we talked about the proverbial mini-me's?"
"Yeah." How could I forget that?
"Well, it's like that. Some parents live through their kids. They want them to be the best in everything; hence, trophies. Now, I'm not saying your father is like that. He's a good guy. You know that, right?"
"Yes."
"But he's part of this revolution where people just want more, more, more. He's so scared of being impoverished or insignificant that he pushes himself to ridiculous levels of stress in order to put 110% into everything. We know that's kind of a crappy way to live, but, well, it's how he confirms his identity. My point is, he's sort of considering you and your sister as an extension of himself. Hence he sees one possible fault in you and he overreacts."
"I see..."
"So what are you thinking?"
"Am I spoiled?"
"If you want my honest opinion..."
"Yeah...?"
"No, you aren't."
"But what if dad thinks I don't need you?"
"Beyond food, water and shelter, we don't really need anything. If he's willing to hire you an athletic trainer, a shrink is small potatoes. Plus, I need you to pay my mortgage."
"You're really comforting, you know that?"
He handed me a slip of paper. "Read this book. The Stranger, by this dude called Camus. I think you'll like it."
"Thanks, Dr. L."
"I know, I'm fabulous. Now, git. It's your sister's turn."
I'm babysitting for the first time tonight. A five and ten year old. The ten year old is amazingly mature, but the other...I'm nervous. I don't like kids, and they don't like me, either. I'm not cool enough. But we'll just have to see how this goes...