They go:
Me and your mom have been noticing lately that you've been having a lot of problems, you've been going off for no reason and we're afraid you're gonna hurt somebody, we're afraid you're gonna hurt yourself. So we decided that it would be in your interest if we put you somewhere where you could get the help that you need.
And I go:
Wait, what are you talking about, we decided? My best interest? How can you know what my best interest is? How can you say what my best interest is? What are you trying to say, I'm crazy? When I went to your schools, I went to your churches, I went to your institutional learning facilities? So how can you say I'm crazy?
-- Social Distortion
Around kindergarten my dad divorced my mom so he could quickly date, live with, and marry a younger woman who had had a troubled life. This wasn’t dad’s first attempt at playing savior – before I was born he taught history and English to poor, inner-city kids. He remained in the education field after I was born, transitioning into a job to improve teaching methods with the latest theories. How odd it was for him to care so much about helping others while he shifted from being my parent to pretty much being a seagull manager. This term is used in business when a work situation needs attention and a manager swoops in, makes a lot of noise, craps on everything, then takes off. Dad, the eternal optimist, made his noise giving me his assessment seen through rose-tinted glasses, simultaneously voiding my issue of the moment while crushing a little boy’s eggshell-thin ego.
But dad only had me on some weekends – the rest of the time
I lived with mom who entered the workforce to keep a roof over our heads. In
first grade I convinced both parents that I no longer needed after-school
daycare and so became a latchkey child, skateboarding the several miles to and from school alone.
