A Learning Curve
No need to duck at the end to avoid a punchline to the nose.
Father and son we are. Even now, there are so many personal details, biographical and otherwise, we don’t know about each other.
It really is like being in love you will break the magical spell by going to sleep.
Handle with Care
Precious, fragile love might not be there when you awaken the next morning.
Normal, traditional fathers and sons take for granted these islands of fraternal , hair-down moments.
For some of us newcomers, this feels like fantasy. These are delicious, only dreamed-of, long-awaited sallies into trustworthy intimacy.
Where It Began
The acrimony of divorce 17 years ago seemed to eliminate any possibility that my son and I could have a normal relationship.
His saintly mother and I were an early-day Kim Basinger and Alec Baldwin, the saintly mother’s fulltime objective being to create permanent alienation between our sons and their father.
Largely, she has succeeded, to the degree she has become a role model for other saintly mothers.
The Greater Crime
What Mr. Baldwin said in last week’s widely distributed recorded message to his daughter was despicable.
What Ms. Basinger did to make the tape publicly available was worse, although you are not likely to read that opinion in a media and culture saturated with knee-jerk mother-sympathy.
The extreme contortions of alienation regularly practiced by the saintly mother led her to hospitalize two of our sons for prolonged periods.
Control Is Not Inclusive
Years later, these devious moves tragically have backfired to everyone’s detriment.
The nasty lesson of this sad chapter is that control has its limits. Minds, feelings are not restrained by fences or threats.
Emotional wounds do not carry an expiration date.
Why Side with Him?
In the present case, I have far greater empathy for Mr. Baldwin than Ms. Basinger. I don’t expect anyone out there in Newspaperland to share that opinion.
But I have been there, many times.
I have knocked on the door to pick up my sons, heard the laughter inside, the muffled declaration that no one is home, and walked away without a single son in tow.
That leaves a scar and ugle consequences. Each time it recurred, the scab was ripped open.
Through tears, anguish and penthouse-level voices, I have had a front-row seat in witnessing the lasting, under-appreciated damage an angry mother causes.
Unhappy Birthday
Our eldest son turns 26 years old a week from tomorrow.
For about the 12th year in a row, we will celebrate his birthday separately, even though we live less than five miles from each other.
Where Is He?
The last six or seven telephone calls I have made to him, dating back to last year, unsurprisingly, have not been returned.
Thirteen months ago was the last time I saw him.
You mean this is not normative for fathers and sons?
