Mom and Dad are in the front seat, I’m in the back. We just switched off, my dad and I, in Suwannee, and he’s going to drive the rest of the way to St. Pete. The drive with my mom and dad has so vividly illuminated the background for countless behavioral patterns that I’ve spent thousands of dollars in therapy trying to unlearn. I thought about audio taping their conversations to bring to my next session with a therapist and telling him, “Listen to this, Doc, it’ll save you and me a lot of time and money–respectively.” They’re incredibly happy with each other, my mom and dad, yet they’ve settled into an almost comic routine of control, annoyance and bewilderment. Listening to them I think, “Oh, that’s why Bachelor #8 thinks I’m controlling.” During another exchange, it’s “Oh, poor Bob, how did he put up with me?” and then, “I wasn’t telling BC that I needed him to get it together, I was telling myself!” Now I’m sitting here thinking, “What is Reese going to be complaining about to his therapist in 20 years?”
It’s raining now. Pouring. The windshield wipers are moving as fast as they can and it’s still not fast enough to provide visibility. It’s like we’re under water. In another two seconds the clouds will part and we’ll be back in the sun. These showers come out of nowhere and then go right back to nowhere. See? It’s all clear again.
We’re now crossing the Withlacoochee. I want to name my child that. I love all names “oochee.”