Baby

Monday

What we decided, doctor, was that it would be best to lay our problems before a really competent professional person. God knows, we've tried to do the best we could. On our own. But sometimes a person has to admit defeat. So we decided to talk to you. But we thought it would be better not to come together. If one of us could come, say, Monday, Wednesday and Friday, and the other on Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday, that way you could get both of our points of view.

A few debts. Not many. We try to live within our means.

Of course we can afford it. We don't want to spare any expense. But, to tell the truth, we picked you because your fee was more reasonable than some others. And Dr. Greenwich said you specialized in problems of this sort.

No, we're not doing anything right now. Just riding out the storm.

Certainly not. That's what we're here to find out from you.

How much background do you need to know?

Yes, we've both had physical checkups within the past year.

Both born in this country, good native stock. Why, did you think we were foreigners? You're a foreigner, aren't you, doctor? You don't mind questions like that, do you?

At the beginning, you can imagine, we felt very sure of ourselves. With a good income, a house with no mortgage, membership in three---

Sometimes. Sure. Doesn't every couple? It's only human nature. But they blow over. Then we usually celebrate by seeing a movie. We used to take in the plays at the Forum, too. But we don't have as much time for that anymore.

Oh. we dote on him. After all, when you have an---

Pretty regularly. Once, twice a week. Thank God. there's nothing wrong with that side of things.

No, it was the group that suggested we consult you. We're not claiming all the credit for ourselves. But probably we would have thought of it anyway.

All right, sure. We do. But what's wrong with that? We really get along very well, considering the difference in our educational backgrounds.

Perhaps our problem seems ridiculous to you.

No, no, we didn't mean it that way.

All right.

That door?

• • •

Tuesday

It's really Baby who's the problem, doctor.

What?

Oh, complete sentences. Right off the bat. He just started right in.

We take turns. It's not far.

He likes to. After the alarm rang, every morning, Baby used to bring us cups of steaming hot coffee in bed.

We try not to interfere. Baby's room is full of junk. We offered him the bigger bedroom, but he insisted....

We took a camping trip last spring in Big Sur for two weeks. We wanted to take Baby along, but he wouldn't go. He said he had to study for his exams.

Sure, he's perfectly able to take care of himself, cook his own meals. Still, sometimes we do worry.

He loves to.

Poe. Bulwer-Lytton, Jack London.

But we're afraid Baby is ruining his eyes. All he does is read. He doesn't want to play with the other kids. Comic books. 19th Century novels, the encyclopedia, it doesn't matter to him. After we turn the lights off at nine, he reads under the covers with a flashlight. We've caught him several times.

Just sitar lessons.

No, we don't try to influence Baby. Whatever he wants to be when he grows up is all right with us.

We don't believe in the old kind of family. Everybody living on top of each other.

We've talked about taking our vacations separately. It's good for people to get away from each other once in a while, don't you think?

Union Station. The old one, downtown.

Like when we go to Sunday meetings of our group, we usually don't sit together.

Oh, Dr. Greenwich has been extremely helpful about that problem. We hardly even think about it anymore.

No, we decided not to have affairs. Lying would be awful, and since we both have a jealous nature, it seemed best not to.

You have a pretty cynical view of human nature, doctor. Maybe you spend too much time with people with problems.

That's right. From the beginning. We don't find being honest as complicated a business as some people do. All it takes, after all, is a little courage. And self-respect. But perhaps we're old-fashioned.

A dream. Anything you say, doctor. But it'll have to be for the next session.

• • •

Wednesday

You've probably had a lot of parents who brag about their children. But Baby really is precocious. When he was little, we tried to keep him from knowing how much smarter he was than the other kids. We didn't want him to get conceited.

Perhaps if we were younger....

Not what you'd call an accident. No. But he wasn't planned, either.

We don't believe in abortion. As far as we're concerned, even a fetus has its rights. Despite what you doctors say.

No, we never thought of adopting another child.

Baby is quite healthy.

It wouldn't be the same, would it?

Of course, sometimes we wish Baby were athletic. Truth is, he can't even swim. Even in the Doughboy pool he just flounders around. Hardly makes it worth while to get a real swimming pool.

Isn't that a rather conventional idea, doctor? Maybe there aren't many athletes with high I.Q.s, we'll grant you that. But we don't see why a brainy kid has to stay indoors all the time and refuse ever to go to camp.

You bet we encourage him.

He's always had real guts. And stick-to-tiveness. He likes challenges. And he's curious, too.

He likes to collect things. Old things. Baby loves the dinosaurs in the County Museum.

You know, we both remember the night Baby was conceived.

No. He's always brought all his little problems to us.

One spanking was enough. We haven't had that kind of trouble since.

The maid.

Yes, he used to bite his nails. But not anymore.

We're thinking of moving to a better neighborhood. It's probably more than we can afford. But the kids from Cudahy Baby has been running around with are rough. And the other Sunday, when we were out driving in Topanga Canyon, we saw this new split-level hacienda--it wouldn't cost much, just the down payment with a 20-year mortgage--that would be just right for us. It has a three-car garage that Baby could use part of for his chemistry lab and his ducks and chickens.

Two ducks.

Laurie and Billy. Sounds ridiculous, doesn't it?

No, he hasn't given names to the chickens. But there're six of them.

Straight A's this semester. We promised him a bicycle if he made the honor roll.

Oh, it's a fine school. High standards. Old-fashioned discipline. And they take all the necessary precautions. Baby came down with the measles yesterday. And his homeroom teacher called the house this morning, around ten A.M. That school is very careful, they have to be. Since they had a kidnaping two years ago.

No, we don't discuss what you say between us. You told us not to, didn't you? Neither one of us is deaf, doctor.

Already?

• • •

Thursday

We found a box of condoms in the drawer in Baby's night table. Don't you think he's a little young for that, doctor?

Baby's teacher came to the house. She wanted to know what was wrong.

Maybe Baby ought to see a doctor, too.

Baby's handwriting is very strange. Should we bring you a sample?

Just say the word.

Baby keeps a journal. Under lock and key, mind you.

We wouldn't dream of it. That would be one hell of a fast way to lose his confidence, wouldn't it, doctor?

We couldn't agree more. Young people are so pretentious.

It's nice of you to say that.

Arithmetic is his weakest subject. Penmanship, that's not even worth mentioning. Atrocious.

History. And chemistry.

Never missed yet! Every semester.

Not much. He has such a good memory, he doesn't have to. But we'd like him to read more.

Everything. He remembers last year's supermarket prices, smog readings, the lines from an entire TV serial, closing averages on the stock exchange. He knows all our friends' telephone numbers. At the end of a day, he can reel off the license plates of every car we passed on the freeways. We tested him. He's a regular garbage can of useless information.

He's waited hours outside The Greenhouse because Steve McQueen has lunch there sometimes.

Basketball. He's good at volleyball, too.

Well, of course, he is tall for his age. It runs in our family.

And thin.

Regular measles, mumps, tonsillitis, the usual, when he was little. Braces for three years.

He snores when he sleeps. He's had his adenoids out twice.

You know something odd about Baby? He laughs at four every morning. He must be dreaming. But if you try to wake him up, he doesn't remember anything funny.

No, you don't understand. Always at four, exactly. Even when we went to Hawaii, where it's a two-hour difference. Still lour A.M., right on the dot. How would you explain that?

Honestly! You can set your clock by it.

He has a wonderful laugh. Wonderful. It makes us feel warm all over, in the next room, just to hear him.

Actually, we did try once. We stood at the door to his room, waiting for four A.M. As soon as we heard the laugh, we rushed in and shook him awake and asked him what he was dreaming. He was so sleepy, poor kid. At first he didn't say anything. And then, you know what he said?

Guess.

You'll never guess.

"Fish." His eyes were closed, mind you. Then he laughed some more and repeated "Fish." And then he went back to sleep, snoring.

We asked him in the morning. But he didn't remember a thing. Not even our coming into the room.

One other time. But we didn't actually wake him up. It was when we were camping out in Big Sur last spring, sharing the same tent. Sure enough, the laugh went off at four A.M. exactly. We checked our watches to make sure. And we just called out, very softly, "Baby?"

And you know what he said? In his sleep, of course. He said: "Napoleon in a sealed train going to Elba." And then laughed and laughed. Pretty smart, don't you think? Even when that kid dreams, he dreams smart.

Maybe it's stupid to worry so much about a child. Is that what you mean, doctor?

We've tried to give him every advantage, but---

Yes. Sometimes. Not often.

You think we were wrong?

Good. That's what we thought. Anyway, it was the maid who caught him.

Oh, Juanita loves Baby. Everybody who meets Baby knows he's special. Especially kids.

We were wondering if you shouldn't meet Baby yourself. Then you'd see what we mean.

• • •

Friday

Baby got a bloody nose in school yesterday.

The pediatrician says he's quite healthy except for his adenoids. Do you think he should have another checkup?

We think protein is very important.

But some things are physical. You do agree, doctor?

Using Dr. Greenwich's guidelines, we tried to cope ourselves. But it didn't seem fair taking up too much time at group sessions for a personal problem.

Perhaps you've never had a case exactly like ours.

Of course, we've tried to get him to see a therapist. But he refuses. You can't force someone to go, can you, doctor? People have to want to be helped.

Exactly. That's why we thought we could help Baby by talking to you.

Dirt-cheap. But their data-storage system is outmoded.

That wouldn't help. We raised Baby's allowance last week.

Green Stamps. But he'll never make it.

Baby says he wants to be a priest when he grows up. He sleeps with a Gideon Bible under his wooden pillow.

From The Wigwam in Barlow.

Awfully hot. It's a motel in the shape of a wigwam, and you know what Barlow's like in the summer. We almost suffocated. But Baby doesn't mind the heat.

We were probably crazy to go there in June. But when we get to feeling cooped up, sometimes we just have to get into the car and drive someplace.

You don't mind if we turn up the air conditioning, do you? Aren't you hot?

That way, oh. Thanks.

Baby is very mechanical, you know. He fixed the TV in the den the other night, when it jammed just as we were expecting eight for dinner.

We did. Ourselves. There wasn't any point in wasting money on that.

Both stick shift and automatic.

Sometimes we regret he leans so much toward science. It's a bit like having Dr. Frankenstein, Jr., around the house. And no matter what they say, you have to (continued on page 120)Baby(continued from page 76) admit that science hardens the heart.

For instance, when Mickey, his best friend, died of emphysema last summer. They'd been in surfing camp at Seal Beach the year before. We tried to keep the news from Baby, because we were afraid he'd be too upset. But when we told him, he didn't seem sad at all.

No, not you, doctor. We're sure you're a regular torrent of sympathy. But then, we wouldn't call what you do exactly a science. Would you?

Oh. Well, that isn't what Dr. Greenwich says.

You really want us to ask him? What if he doesn't agree?

Do you know, doctor, that's the first time since we've been coming here that you've smiled. You ought to smile more often.

It's a deal. Why didn't you say so in the first place?

• • •

Saturday

Sharper than a serpent's tooth, and all that. You don't mind our being a little corny, do you, doctor? It's such a relief to talk about it.

We wanted him to have piano lessons.

No problem with hair.

Well, that depends what you mean by drugs, doesn't it?

No.

Only at school.

A little, small doses, but he swears that he's stopped.

Never, thank God! That just ruins your mind for good, doesn't it?

What makes things difficult is that Baby holds grudges.

Wait a minute. Has Baby tried to see you, behind our backs?

Why not? Listen, you don't seem to understand how clever he is.

Baby says he was born on Krypton and that we're not his real parents.

Well, what do you think of a kid only five years old who announces that he's going to win the Nobel Prize? And that we would be proud then to have known him. He said it to the maid.

In chemistry.

The first time he ran away? Yes.

With an air rifle.

No, not very far.

A tempura vendor in Ocean Park got Baby to show her his school-bus pass and telephoned us. She saw Baby going on the roller coaster for four hours straight.

The police was only the third time. We hated calling the police, but there didn't seem anything else to do.

Everyone has an unhappy childhood, don't they, doctor? At least, everyone seems to think so. You must have a lot of people trooping in here to tell you that. What did we do that was especially wrong? Of course, nobody has any respect for the family nowadays. We knew the ideas Baby would pick up at school. But in the home we tried to provide some balance, to teach him---

No, he doesn't like any of his cousins. Of course, they're not as bright as he is. But even so....

His cousin Bert was accepted at Cal Tech.

He's always liked to be treated as a grownup, rather than a child. He beams when you give him little responsibilities and tasks. You know, Baby's more punctual than we are. That's pretty unusual in someone his age.

Whenever he feels we're treating him like a child, he has a tantrum.

The first time Baby had his adenoids out at ENT, we stayed by his bed in the hospital all night. But this time--don't you think?--he's old enough.

Not strict, no. We haven't the heart. But sometimes we have to be stern, for his own good.

Well, you do have to give him credit for that. We know it's necessary for him to rebel against us.

You don't agree. How surprising.

Do you have any children of your own, doctor?

That's not the same.

Anyway, a precocious child is different. You're not going to tell us that an eight-year-old who's reading Schopenhauer could possibly be easy to handle.

Maybe.

All right. We'll try to find out for tomorrow.

That's right! Hey, how are we going to manage for a whole day without you?

Of course, we'll do it without asking him directly. You really take us for idiots, don't you? Just like Baby.

• • •

Monday

We had a fight last night, after the group meeting. And bang in the middle, we caught Baby listening at the door in his sleep suit.

We couldn't.

In the morning, we found he'd wet his bed again.

Oh, we've tried. And we tried sleeping in twin beds, to dampen his curiosity. Baby has a habit of crawling into bed with us on Saturday and Sunday mornings.

Sometimes we have affairs. We don't feel we ought to take each other for granted. But we tell each other everything.

Listen, everybody's got to live their own lives.

Sure we've thought of having other children. But it never seemed to be the right moment. You have to plan these things.

Maybe it's too late now. And we haven't done so well with the one we've got, let's face it.

He never says. He prefers older children. His best friend is eight. Her name is Thelma DeLara, but he calls her Bloomers. She calls him Vanilla. They're so adorable together. He told us he's going to marry her. Those two can sit in the front-hall closet together giggling for hours.

Thelma baby-sits for us when we go down the street to the Turnells' to play bridge. Generally on Thursday nights. They have a boat just like ours.

The Turnells. They're friends, doctor.

No, they don't belong to the group. They're not the type.

What do you mean? Who the hell told you that?

Oh. Well, it's not true. We're not interested in that kind of thing. We don't object to it, of course. Other people can do what they want.

Why are you asking so many questions about us, doctor? All of a sudden. Nothing in our friendship with the Turnells will help you understand better the problem with Baby.

Baby doesn't even know the Turnells. They don't have children his age.

Sure it makes a difference. Raising children is an art, you know. When we see all the parents around us who don't take it seriously. Even you'd be shocked, doctor. For all your cynical ideas. You don't know the half of what goes on!

• • •

Tuesday

No, Baby doesn't know what we do on Sunday evenings. Why do you ask?

Are most of your patients members of some group, doctor?

Just curious.

We did once. We decided to get a divorce, but we couldn't go through with it. Baby would have been so unhappy. He's too small to understand.

First, to teach him how to take care of himself. Baby is so trusting. He's ready to go off with any smiling stranger who promises to drive him to Disneyland.

We take turns walking him to school. It's only six blocks away, but with the neighborhood what it is now, you can't be too careful.

What part of town do you live in, doctor? This isn't your apartment as well, is it?

Oh, it doesn't look like it. You're lucky. It's so hard these days to find a good house.

Baby got mugged in Griffith Park, where he went to fly his kite. Three Mexican boys.

He was carrying seven dollars.

Just a knife.

No, he wasn't hurt.

When he first got the chemistry set, it was really adorable. He said he was going to find a magic formula so that we could live forever.

No, that was the odd part. Just the two of us.

(continued on page 204)Baby(continued from page 120)

We worry occasionally that we can't be as close to him as other parents because we weren't all that young when he was born. Not that the generation gap is all it used to be. But still....

Of course, youth is a state of mind. Don't you think, doctor? And we do keep fit. We jog. And we don't smoke.

Us walk around naked in front of Baby? Certainly not! Not that we have anything against it. But Baby is so beautiful.

We're saving Baby's first lock of hair. Yesterday we took him to an Italian barber in Westwood. Baby hardly cried at all.

Sometimes we have a sinking feeling of time passing by so quickly. There's no stopping it, is there, doctor? He's changed so much already.

You can see it in the snapshots we take each month to record his growth. That album is probably worth more than all the words we're spilling out here, put together.

That's a strange thing to say, doctor. You know perfectly well what we want.

• • •

Wednesday

Reason with him? That's all we do. But he's so withdrawn.

Last year he refused to eat breakfast anymore. And now he's stopped drinking milk. We've warned him it's bound to stunt his growth. Actually, it hasn't. But it still doesn't seem healthy.

Are you interested in nutrition, doctor? You're probably aware that Dr. Greenwich has rather firm views on the subject.

Have you read his latest pamphlet?

We can get it for you if you want.

Cheez Doodles, Banana Chips, Squirt, Fritos, pizzas, tacos, you know the kind of junk kids stuff themselves with.

Mostly he stays in his room. We have to ask him ten times before he'll help with the dishes.

Baby says he disapproves of hobbies. Imagine! But, of course, he has them--just like every youngster.

Model airplanes. But Baby refuses to buy the plastic ones you get now. He made his own parts out of balsa wood and worked out a really ingenious propeller and tail strut with files and rubber bands. The damn thing looks as if it could really fly.

Of course, we know about glue sniffing. Doctor, please! We weren't born yesterday.

Listen, Baby cares too much about his child-prodigy brain ever to get involved with drugs. Also, he's too unsociable. We wonder if he ever even talks to the other kids at school.

Well, maybe it's just as well. You should see that school. It's a mess.

No supervision. The kids can do anything they want. The teachers are simply afraid of them.

It's a dog-eat-dog world, doctor.

You don't agree. Well, maybe it's a cliché. But it's true.

Maybe the Chinese have the right idea. Not that we'd want to live over there. But at least people are honest, they have a real sense of community, there are neighbors, marriages stay together, children respect their parents. Of course, people don't have any material comforts and they aren't allowed to think. But we reckon we could do without the three cars and the pool and all that. A lot of good it's done us, when you come to think of it. And as for heavy thinking, look where that's gotten Baby.

You don't believe that, do you, doctor? That's a mighty smug look you've got on your face. You think you've got us pegged, don't you? Well, maybe you'll realize now we're not as typical as you think. We're really radicals, though we don't show it.

Baby thinks we're radicals.

He's going through a conservative period, like a lot of kids nowadays. We don't criticize him. We just hope he'll outgrow it.

Baby has a Confederate flag over his bed.

Last Christmas, we gave him a record of Pete Seeger singing antiwar songs. His first phonograph, you know, very sturdy. He couldn't break it. He could just manage to hook the record on the spindle with his pudgy fingers.

He used to play those songs for hours. And sing them in the bathroom, while he played with his rubber ducks.

Now he just wants cash for Christmas and his birthday. We don't know what he spends it on.

Oh, we don't stint. Listen, the kid has to have a normal life. But that doesn't mean that we don't feel excluded. And sometimes, when we see him doing something stupid, we really have to bite our tongues.

But he doesn't seem to like fun, like other kids. Always studying. Worrying. He's so stern.

Baby got a crewcut, doctor. And what's even worse, you know what he says?

He says he knows it's the least flattering hair style in history. And that's why he likes it. He says it's meant to deflect attention from the surface to the inner man.

Strange to think of Baby being such a puritan.

We begged him to grow his hair long, like the other kids.

Your hair is sort of short, isn't it, doctor?

• • •

Thursday

He did it again! Played hooky yesterday. You see what we're up against. Probably went to the movies. At least, we hope so.

Baby has seen The Great Escape with Steve McQueen 13 times. Would you say that the film represents---

Oh, you haven't seen it.

Do you go much to the movies, doctor?

Never. Even when he brought girls to his room, we closed our eyes to it. Alter all, we hardly have the money to set him up in an apartment of his own. Not at this stage of the game. But we thought he shouldn't be penalized for that. Our problem.

Then one day we caught him stealing.

Oh, no. He doesn't know we caught him.

No, you couldn't exactly say he was accident-prone.

He did get a nail in his foot in camp last summer. The counselor said he was quite brave.

All his shots.

But he never tells us when something is wrong. That's why we have to worry so much.

After Baby had his wisdom teeth out all at once, we took him down the Colorado. We were in a little boat with the other tourists, all wearing heavy black-rubber slickers. He started to bleed on the rapids. A lot of water came into the boat. Baby's face was wet and the blood ran out of both sides of his mouth. But he didn't say a word.

No, that was his decision. He's got to learn to make decisions on his own. And not come to us for everything.

Baby wants a motor bike. But we told him it's too dangerous, what with city traffic. Not like the Valley in the old days.

His cousin Bert had a terrible accident and was laid up for eight months in St. John's. Both ankles shattered, three operations. He still limps a little. Probably will for the rest of his life. And Bert was lucky! We've heard of some really gruesome accidents.

You know kids. They never stop wanting things.

He's always wanted a dog, but we don't think he has enough sense of responsibility. He's too young to walk the dog each night. And, he's already late every other morning for school. So you can imagine if he had a dog to walk first.

In a few years, maybe.

Getting him to accept responsibility has always been the hard part. He thinks we're here just to pick up after him.

That's normal, sure.

But you should see Baby's room. He never throws out anything. Stacks of torn, old issues of National Lampoon and Penthouse and Rolling Stone. Jars of pennies and God knows what else, movie stubs, Dodger score cards, dirty Kleenexes, cigarette butts, old candy wrappers, empty matchbooks, Coke cans, his clothes all over the floor. Not to mention what's hidden.

Baby has a swastika in his top bureau drawer, beneath his underwear.

Baby draws obscene comic strips.

We used to go in and pick up after him, as soon as he left for school. But he would be furious when he found something missing. Now we don't touch anything.

If he wants to live like a pig, he'll have to find out how unpleasant it is.

Some of them, we admit. They turned out to be collector's items. Of course, Baby won't sell them. But you're not going to tell us that Baby's keeping six years' worth of TV Guides is ever going to amount to anything.

People have to choose, don't they, doctor?

• • •

Friday

Do you think a gradual gain of weight is a sign of anything wrong, doctor?

The past six months.

Not more than usual.

No, he doesn't smoke. Thank God for that. As a matter of fact, Baby's always kidding us about smoking. He's rather hypochondriacal. Since he was small.

Baby is afraid of germs. He's started wearing a white-cloth mask over his mouth, like the Japanese.

Of course we've tried to give up smoking. Hasn't everybody?

You don't smoke, do you, doctor?

Does this smoke bother you? Come to think of it, we just assumed, because you have all these ashtrays around---

Good.

Maybe he's afraid we'll die before he grows up.

Pretty long-lived, on both sides. But we can't talk about longevity to Baby. Just mention the idea and he goes wild. It only seems to remind him about death.

Sure he knows. Every date. Baby made a genealogical chart and hung it over his bed, beside the Confederate flag. You wouldn't believe the questions he asked.

Imagine, he wanted to know if we were first cousins.

Enough is enough, we said to him. Trying to make a joke out of the whole thing. And he actually seemed disappointed.

The best part about Baby is just holding him. We feel inadequate sometimes, answering his questions. But when he shows his need for us more directly, then it's all pleasure.

If only he'd laugh more often. He has such a wonderful laugh.

Baby loves spinach. And lamb chops. Those are his two favorite dishes. He won't let us set him in his high chair unless we call him Baby Lamb Chop.

Baby's teeth are coming in crooked. He was born with an abnormally high palate, as we were told the morning after he was born.

No, but that's what's causing the trouble with the adenoids. It was predicted right then.

And a blueish mark in the small of his back, called a Mongolian spot. Funny. We certainly don't have any Oriental blood, that's for sure. The obstetrician said it was very rare in Caucasian babies.

We don't know. Have you ever heard of the Mongolian spot?

At least up to then, yes. Until puberty, he used to run all around the house naked. We dropped some hints, but when he kept on doing it, we stopped. We certainly didn't want him to feel that we---

Perfectly normal.

Fifteen. No, that's wrong. Fourteen and a half.

Well, we assume so. Naturally, we haven't seen him naked since.

He does like clothes, yes. You could say he's rather vain. He can take an hour to make up his mind whether he's going to wear the Mr. Natural or the Conan the Barbarian T-shirt to school in the morning.

Sometimes he stays in the sauna for hours. It isn't as if we don't give him his privacy.

We always feel that Baby is hiding something from us. That he's ashamed. Particularly the crush he had on his journalism teacher, Mr. Berg.

Baby is editor of his high school paper. He was junior high school paper editor, too.

Of course, it's normal, in a way. You don't need to tell us that. But you can understand we were a little apprehensive.

We just didn't want Baby to be hurt. We saw what happened when Berg didn't show him any special attentions or flatter his editorials. Baby would be in a tearful sulk for days.

No, we wouldn't object if he turned out to be. One thing we've learned. Any way you can be happy, doctor, you're already ahead of the game.

That doesn't mean that when Baby got married, we weren't relieved. We'll be honest with you.

We don't believe in early marriages, either. Young people have to find themselves first.

Her father is a systems engineer at Lockheed. We should tell you about her. It's too late to start this time.

• • •

Saturday

Leaving something behind means we didn't want to go at the end of the last session, right?

It looks broken.

No, here. Look.

Never mind, it doesn't matter. We have another one at home.

Perhaps we could double the sessions. We could both come on the same day. One in the morning, one in the afternoon.

Naturally. But starting Monday?

Well, it doesn't seem to be getting any better.

No, not worse.

No. Why should we be pessimistic, doctor?

We're not pessimists by nature. We're just trying to be realistic.

Going to group gives one a certain confidence, you know. Perhaps we were too confident.

Laurie died.

The duck, remember. We told you.

In the back yard, all by himself. By candlelight.

Not very. Surprisingly enough. If Baby could cry when he learned that George Washington is no longer alive, the least we thought was that he would cry about Laurie.

We offered to get him another duck, but he said he'd rather have a snake. There's some snake store out in Culver City, near MGM, where he went after school last Thursday with a friend. He wants us to come with him, but we put it off. Spoiling him, giving him everything he wants, won't help, will it, doctor?

Fish, turtles, a macaw. No, first the macaw and then the turtles. They died. Baby forgot to feed them. Then the chickens and the two ducks.

It's funny that Baby likes snakes now. He used to be so terrified of being bitten by a rattlesnake when we had the house on Doheny Hill.

He's afraid of policemen, too. It started when he was three.

We pretend we don't notice the pot smell in his room. And he pretends he doesn't know we're pretending not to smell it.

Of course, the windows were open.

He buys an awful lot of pornographic books and sex manuals, it seems to us. You'd think he'd learn enough about all that in school.

Baby wears earphones when he plays his cassettes. We don't take it personally, mind you. But it is another way in which he shuts us out. And the look on his face when he's listening to music is almost indecent.

Are you recording what we say? Funny, we never thought to ask you that. There's no tape recorder on your desk. But, of course, that doesn't mean anything.

Lots of doctors do. Dr. Greenwich does. We don't mind. It's probably a very good system, especially if you don't have an excellent memory. Go right ahead.

Are you sure?

In fact, it might even be helpful for us to listen to ourselves. You could play back parts of the sessions and we could comment on them.

Really, you ought to think about it, doctor.

• ••

Monday

What pressure?

When he dropped out of Occidental, after one year, we didn't insist that he get a job. We told him that his room was always there, waiting.

He hung around.

That was later, after he did try something.

Right. Then we forked out for flying school in Long Beach. It's supposed to be the best in the country. But he flunked out because of his nose.

Three adenoid operations. But there's still something wrong with his nose.

Have we? Every specialist known to God and man.

Sure, we're going to try again. We can't let the kid go around breathing through his mouth for the rest of his life.

You should see what happens when we go to the movies together. People near us change their seats, his breathing is so loud. They can't at a play, because the seats are reserved.

Oh, one thing. Before we forget. At the meeting last night, they asked us to report on our work with you, doctor. You don't mind, do you? Perhaps we should have asked you first.

Dissatisfied? Certainly not.

Sometimes, though, to tell the truth, we have the impression that it's you who are dissatisfied. With us.

Well, impatient, then. Isn't that true, doctor?

Listen, if you think we have any interest in prolonging this, you're sadly mistaken. Not to mention the money that's going down the drain.

OK, but imagine how impatient we are. We have to live with the problem every day, round the clock. You get to sit there, listen to us, and then you can forget about us after we leave.

Grim? It relieves the tensions, we've found.

Of course, we have moments of joy. Have we ever denied that?

Baby got a new tooth today. Don't think that doesn't give us pleasure. But it doesn't cancel everything else out.

How? We don't just live from moment to moment, like the lilies in the field, doctor. Much as we might like to. We have memories and hopes. And fears.

Afraid of you? Why should we be afraid of you, doctor?

Feelings are one thing. But sound advice is another. Dr. Greenwich vouches for you. We're sure the group is going to give you a clean bill of health.

We're afraid of Baby.

• ••

Monday

Why shouldn't we look grim? He's started drinking again. Mescal. Southern Comfort. And some vile stuff called Georgia Moon.

Since he's of age, how can we?

Moral force? That's easy to say, doctor. Easier said than done.

Baby has a will of his own, doctor. That's what you don't grasp. A terrible will. Trying to stop him only makes him do it more. He'll do anything to defy us.

Even cause himself pain.

We had to put bars in front of the portable grill after Baby inched all the way across the dining-room floor in his playpen, rocking it back and forth, and laid his palms on it. He knew what he was doing. He knew it was hot.

A terrible burn. He's got both little fat hands bandaged up over the wrists, like gloves. But the pediatrician says it won't leave any scars.

One day, he's really going to hurt himself. That's what worries us.

We're not sure he even knows anymore what causes him pain. Or else--and this is worse--Baby has made himself into someone who just feels less and less.

When Thelma DeLara moved away, Baby was inconsolable. He cried for weeks. You remember our telling you about Thelma. His best friend in first grade.

Now he's gotten cold and hard.

Whatever we want to do, he's against. What we cherish, he spits on.

Last night he hung a big black flag from the television aerial on the roof. We almost broke our necks getting it down.

Patient! What do you think we've been all these years? You've heard of the limits of patience, haven't you, doctor?

We've been shopping around for a special school. Not an institution, of course. He wouldn't feel locked up or anything like that. Just someplace where people would know how to handle him.

It's only reasonable, don't you think, doctor? To admit defeat when your back is against the wall.

Sure.

You're right. But it wouldn't do any good to go around beating our breasts about it. What would that accomplish? What's done is done, isn't that right?

Maybe.

But we are still trying. Why the hell do you think we came to see you in the first place? Isn't it evidence enough of good faith that we've---

Already?

All right. You're calling the shots.

• • •

Tuesday

Do you have a cold, doctor?

Sounds like a cold. You'd better take care of yourself.

There's a lot of that going around these days.

It's off the subject, of course, but we're curious to know your opinion. Do you believe in massive doses of vitamin C?

Oh. We don't happen to. But Baby does. He's a regular health nut these days.

Anyway, it's better than becoming a Krishna freak, like his cousin Jane. Painted all blue and everything.

Not Bert's sister. Bert's cousin. Baby takes 50 vitamin-C pills a day. But he still gets colds.

Squeamish about some things, yes. Baby threw up eating a soft-boiled egg because the white was runny. And he refuses to kiss his Aunt Rae--Bert's mother--because he said she had a black mole on her cheek.

No, he wasn't imagining it. She does have one. The kid's not a basket case, for God's sake.

But we don't think that was the real reason.

Rae's a goodhearted gal, but you have to know how to handle Baby. You have to win his confidence first. He's not delicate but he's high-strung. Like all precocious kids.

You can't just charge at him and grab him. You have to kneel down, get down to his level and talk to him first. Before you can touch him.

Baby's never been the sort of kid who likes to be hugged and kissed just like that, or jumps in your lap, the way Bert is. Every kid is different. And they understand a lot more than you think, even before they can talk. We learned that.

You know, doctor, what you've just said is a little surprising to us. If there's some misunderstanding, we better clear it up right now. Baby isn't crazy.

We don't have your clinical experience. But we know the difference between crazy and not crazy.

Sure, we can give you an example. Baby told us recently that for the past two years, every time he is about to board the bus that takes him to school, he hears a voice. The voice says, "Sit on the left side. Or you will die." Or, "Sit on the right side. Or you will die." And he never knows, each morning, which command the voice is going to give.

Right. But wait till you hear the rest. We were naturally very upset, of course. The morning Baby told us this, quite casually, as he was eating breakfast before he went off to school, our hearts sank. Once you start hearing voices, and voices that say you're going to die if you don't obey them, it's pretty serious.

But then we thought to ask Baby a question. Has it ever happened, we asked, that when you got on the bus, the side that the voice told you to sit on was completely full? So you were forced to sit on the other side?

"Sure," Baby answered. "Lots of times." And then what happens? we asked. Wondering if Baby had noticed that, despite having disobeyed the voice's command, he hadn't died.

"Oh, then," Baby said, cheerfully, "then the voice says: 'Today it doesn't matter.' "

What are you thinking, doctor?

Well, it's obvious. Isn't it? You couldn't come up with a neater example of the difference between psychosis and neurosis, we'll bet, if you practiced your dubious profession for a hundred years. You know what we mean? A psychotic is someone who doesn't hear a voice at the last minute saying, "Today it doesn't matter."

Don't you agree, doctor?

It's not that we're asking you to give us much hope. But he's not crazy. That's not what's wrong.

Maybe it's worse.

• • •

Tuesday

Baby's become a vegetarian. We're humoring him. He'll outgrow that, don't you think?

Cottage cheese and fresh pineapple. And lots of raw peas. He always has some in his pockets.

And his pockets always have holes. If you want to sum it up, there it is.

He never takes care of his things. Clothes are to wreck, as far as Baby is concerned.

He's stopped wearing underwear. Is that a fashion these days among junior high school kids, doctor?

Baby likes to hold his breath under the water in the bathtub. He's got a stop watch.

Baby hasn't washed in two months.

One-Y. He was all ready to go to Canada, he said. We were beside ourselves. But it turned out the adenoids were good enough. Of course, we'd feel safer with a 4-F. But Baby says they're really the same now and that we shouldn't worry.

He doesn't respect any of the conventions anymore. At his high school graduation, when they played Land of Hope and Glory, we cried. Baby didn't even go.

Don't think we're feeling sorry for ourselves. We're probably better off than most parents. Two of Baby's friends have O.D.'d. One suicide. And his best friend in high school is doing one to five in San Quentin for holding up gas stations. So we're well aware that the problem could be worse.

He's certainly holding his own.

Maybe we expected too much of him. The way you do with an only---

All we hope is that some of the damage can be undone. That's not too much to ask, is it?

If he would only confide in us, tell us some of his problems. Then we could help him better. He knows we know it's not easy to belong to his generation.

We both had hard lives. Nobody gave us a head start, and we've had to work to get where we are now. But at least we could take certain things for granted.

The family.

Poor Baby! You've got to help us help him. We'll never forgive ourselves if we don't.

His life is just beginning, ours is at least half over. It isn't fair, doctor!

We'll do anything.

But what more can we do?

• • •

Wednesday

Baby has asked more than once how babies are made. We tell him, but he always forgets and asks again in a few weeks.

It must be that he can't connect it with anything in his experience. We feel awfully silly explaining it over and over.

But if we don't answer his questions, he's liable to think there's something shameful about the whole business.

He's quite dexterous. He learned to tie his shoelaces on a wooden shoe in one morning flat.

A friend of ours gave Baby a Marine flak jacket for his birthday. Of course, it's much too large now. He swims in it. He'll have to grow into it.

Ronnie Yates. We haven't mentioned him. He runs the heliport in Venice West. He got stuck on helicopters during the war. Baby loves to hear Ronnie's war stories.

Baby wants a set of bar bells and an exercise machine. It seems to us he gets enough exercise already. Sheer narcissism, that's what it looks like to us.

He's always chinning himself.

Baby wants to get a tattoo. A black sun between his shoulder blades, larger than a silver dollar.

Yes, but if he ever gets tired of it, he won't be able to have it taken off. They say it's awfully painful to do that.

He may be stoical, but he's not that stoical.

Everybody has their limit of pain, isn't that so, doctor?

Of course, he's healthy. That isn't the point. No matter how many times the pediatrician gives him a clean bill of health, we can see with our own eyes.

Baby has found a guru. Doctor, he looks so awful with his hair long. Sickly. The guru lives in a dune buggy parked by the marina at San Pedro. Baby is planning to go with them on an expedition to Guatemala, gathering medicinal herbs.

Threatened and threatened him. We told him right away we'd cut off his allowance. But he's been told that penalty is part of his initiation.

But we hate to think that our authority over Baby finally rests on the simple fact that we're still supporting him.

His wife apparently doesn't want to go. That's our only hope. She's scheduled to give some noon and midnight poetry readings at Farmers Market in April, and she doesn't want to pass up the opportunity.

Yes, but it all depends on whether Baby really loves her.

Frankly, we don't think Baby knows what love is. That's his problem.

• • •

Wednesday

What we're afraid of, doctor--it's an awful thing to have to say--is that Baby is poisoning us. We discovered him trying to synthesize parathion in his lab in the garage the other night. When we asked him what he was doing, he looked scared and didn't answer at first.

You're right. We should have told you before. But there are some things that are just too painful to face. Even the bravest of us become ostriches from time to time, isn't that so?

Really? Well, we've been told that three drops is enough.

Did we mention that he won the city-wide Bausch & Lomb Science Award in high school? And it was he who founded the chemistry club in his high school.

Astronomy, too. Baby asked for a telescope for Christmas.

Of course, we wish he'd read more. Literature, that is. He must take after one of us that way. You can't get him near a book that isn't some manual all full of charts and formulas. Still, it's more practical to be interested in science.

Did you ever want to be anything other than a doctor when you were a child?

What a strange ambition.

Baby is so single-minded. Once he decides something, you can't budge him. You wouldn't believe how stubborn he is.

Sure, everybody hates to be wrong. But Baby takes it much harder than most people.

Changed the subject? How?

But what can we do? We don't have any proof. We can't call the police.

Oh, we threw it out. When he wasn't looking. He hasn't said anything about it yet.

Well, we certainly aren't sleeping as well as we used to.

With the lights on.

Of course, we're keeping our date with the Turnells tonight. If we don't, Baby is sure to get suspicious. We can't let on that we know.

That's the only advantage we have right now. He thinks we're dumb. That we haven't noticed a thing.

No, how could Dr. Greenwich help? He's never even met Baby.

Well, if we don't show up for tomorrow's sessions, at least you'll know, doctor.

You hate wisecracks, don't you, doctor? Listen, if we were serious about this all the time, we'd go crazy.

Look, don't worry. You want us to give you a call around midnight, just so as you'll know we haven't received our forty and forty-one whacks, respectively?

No. Baby's supposed to go to a yo-yo tournament with Bert at the Wilshire Ebell Theater.

Of course, he may not go.

Baby has fantasies of omnipotence.

No. Much more specific. What it is is that he thinks that everyone he sees is blessed, something like that, just because he looks at that person. If only just for one second, in a crowd. So he has to travel around as much as possible, so his glance will catch the greatest number of people.

He says it's his responsibility.

Well, not exactly blessed. But their lives become different, once he has looked at them. All the people he's seen will get what they deserve. The good will be rewarded. And the bad people will be punished, eventually.

We think so, too, doctor.

No. He says he hasn't decided whether the look works for people he only sees in photographs or on TV.

That would give his powers a much wider scope, wouldn't it? Perhaps we should be encouraged that he's at least hesitating about that.

Justice! What's justice got to do with it? That's the last thing in the world that interests Baby.

He wants to make us feel bad. He wants to make us feel unwanted in our own home.

• • •

Thursday

What are you being so aggressive for, doctor? If you don't think you can help us, we can see someone else.

Defensive, then, if you like.

Well, of course, everything is relative. Isn't it, doctor?

We want Baby to be more independent.

He's devious. That's the word. He never tells us anything.

A water bed. Round. We have to keep Baby off or he'd wreck it.

He wants to make us feel like outcasts.

We're bleeding. Can't you see, doctor? Help us.

Are you a medical doctor?

Yes. Much better.

Where were we? Oh. Did we tell you that Baby has a gun in the closet? He's an N.R.A. junior marksman.

Then you do think it's possible to make poisons with a Chemcraft set. A big, expensive one.

He has everything set up in the garage. That limits the damage, at least. Like when he burned himself with his Bunsen burner.

Baby got gassed at an antiwar demonstration at the Long Beach Naval Base.

He was always a natural pacifist. When he was four, we read him a child's version of the Iliad and he wept at the death of Patroclus.

We're hiding the book from him until he's older.

Baby carries a picture of Steve McQueen in his wallet. That's the sort of person he admires now.

He's trying to grow a mustache.

Maybe he got tired of being a sensitive child. But don't you think he's gone a bit far in the opposite direction? We never asked him to be a genius and we never asked him to be a slob.

Baby's teacher came over this morning and told us he beat up a little kid in his class and took away his lunch money.

We wouldn't be surprised if he joined the Hell's Angels. Or worse.

If they'll have him. Baby's not as tough as he thinks.

Oh, doctor, it's terrible to want something from a child. Baby is right. We should be treating him like a visitor from another planet. We shouldn't care what the hell he does. We should be taking care of ourselves, for a change, instead of throwing good money after bad.

Not you, doctor.

• • •

Thursday

We had to cut Baby's right hand off. It was the only way. He kept playing with himself.

We made a little wheelchair for Baby. And a bed with sides, so he doesn't fall out.

We had to cut his left foot off, because he tried to run away again.

All we wanted for him was to be happy, make a living, rear a family, contribute to society and Stay out of trouble.

Do you believe everything we tell you, doctor?

That's not really an answer. Maybe it's part of your profession to be evasive, but for once we're asking you a direct question. Why don't you answer?

Of course, we're telling you the truth.

About the foot?

That's right.

And the hand.

But we told you it was a terrible situation, doctor.

Maybe you see too many people who have to exaggerate in order to get your attention.

If you want to know the truth, our problem is that we often tend to minimize things. We like to face life with a cheerful point of view. There's enough horror in the world without inventing more, don't you think, doctor?

Sure. Of course, you probably have an overly sad view of life. Since you spend most of your time listening to people complaining. We've always felt that the more positively you confront a situation, the more likely it is to turn out well. At least to your advantage.

Because even disasters can be a blessing, can't they? They teach you something. You become wiser.

What doesn't kill you makes you stronger.

Exactly. That's how we try to approach the situation with Baby.

Baby says what doesn't kill you leaves scars. He's right, too.

Sure, it's horrible. That's what we've been trying to tell you all along.

Didn't you believe us?

For God's sake, doctor. Now's a fine time to tell us that--after all these weeks. And then calmly look at your watch and say it's the end of the session. Put yourself in our place.

All tight. Maybe we've accomplished something today, after all.

• • •

Friday

It was Dr. Greenwich who saved our marriage. Before joining the group, we were so caught up in the rat-race, we'd completely lost touch with each other. Just going to their meetings once a week---

Sometimes.

Yes.

You're right.

It's a relief to talk about ourselves for a change. We envy your other patients, doctor.

Well, back to work.

Of course, we do. Isn't that natural?

He could get work part time in the post office or drive a truck. Jim Turnell offered him a job as a data shipping clerk in his Van Nuys warehouse. But he says he doesn't want to do anything.

We've offered Baby the summer in Japan, Mexico, if he promises to take a job in the fall, when he comes back. But he says he doesn't like to travel. Isn't that awful, at his age?

Not blasé, exactly. All the kids of his generation are a little blasé, maybe. But it's not that.

He seems angry.

Sometimes it just doesn't seem worth it. Neither of us ever had much chance to travel when we were young. But he just doesn't seem to appreciate that.

Have you traveled much, doctor? Apart from being born abroad, that is.

On a charter flight?

Oh.

When?

That soon?

You're probably hoping you can finish the work with us by then, aren't you?

Doesn't matter.

Listen, we've been thinking. The financial burden of the two sessions daily is a bit more than we can bear. We're going to have to cut back to one a day.

No. not with Dr. Greenwich. By ourselves. You didn't expect that, did you?

Tomorrow?

• • •

Saturday

About travel and enjoying life while you can---

Don't you remember? What we were saving yesterday. Some things are just wasted on some people.

Not you, doctor. Baby.

Baby thinks he's going to live forever. We don't want to disillusion him. It's great to be young and not know what the world is about.

Maybe somebody should tell him he's not going to live forever.

No. He wouldn't believe it coming from us. It should be some older, wise person. If he knew someone like you, doctor, you could tell him.

Tell him he's not going to live forever. Tell him that we aren't, either. Tell him that one of us has to die first and that we've made a new will. Tell him not to hate us. Tell him what we've done was meant for the best. Tell him we couldn't help it. Tell him we're not monsters. Tell him how monstrous he's been to us. Tell him he has no right to judge us. Tell him we don't have to all live together, if he doesn't want to. Tell him he's free. Tell him he can't leave us alone. Tell him he's killing us. Tell him he can't get away with it. Tell him he's not our Baby, that he was born on Krypton. Tell him we hate him. Tell him we never loved each other but only him. Tell him we didn't know any better. Tell him we've gone away forever and the house and the station wagon are his and the spare set of keys is under the door mat, and that we've remade the will entirely in his favor and disinherited Bert. Tell him he'll never find us. Tell him we'll be waiting on the patio by the fountain in the cute little house in San Miguel de Allende. Tell him we'll get him an arithmetic tutor so he won't flunk fourth grade again. Tell him he can have a dog--Malemute, collie, old English sheep dog, Samoyed, Saint Bernard, whatever, as big and stupid as he wants. Tell him we did try to get an abortion, but the doctor was in Acapulco. Tell him we met Steve McQueen last year and didn't ask for his autograph. Tell him we poisoned Laurie: Billy, too, but it didn't work, that's why only Laurie died. Tell him we threw out his collection of old issues of Rolling Stone and National Lampoon behind his back, not the maid. Tell him to wear underwear, because it's disgusting not to wear underwear. Tell him to take his vitamin pills, and the yeast and the rose hips. Tell him Thelma DeLara's mother is a dyke. Tell him he's not any better than we are. Tell him we should never have had children, but we thought we ought to. Tell him we never wanted him to be like us. Tell him it's too hard to bring up a child, especially an only child, and he'll see that one day when he grows up. Tell him he's got to drink milk. Tell him he looks ridiculous with a mustache. Tell him not to take out his braces at night or his teeth will never get straight. Tell him to blow his nose. Tell him the dog can shit all over the living-room rug for all we care. Tell him he got ripped off and the stuff he's hoarding in the Skippy jar is birdseed and oregano. Tell him he'll understand us one day when he has children of his own. Tell him we were born on Krypton and were just pretending to be his parents, but we've gotten tired of concealing our superpowers beneath this meek, mild-mannered exterior and have flown away. Tell him he'll miss us when he has to manage on his own. Tell him to feel guilty. Tell him to come off it and burn his Superman suit. Tell him he's not going to win the Nobel Prize: or if, by any chance, he ever does, by then he'll be so old he won't care anymore. Tell him how proud of him we always were, and are. Tell him how he intimidated us. Tell him we know he stole the money. Tell him to clean up his room. Tell him to write Aunt Rae the thank-you note for the roller skates. Tell him he has to renew his registration and that he can't drive the Toyota around in that state. Tell him how we lied. Tell him how sorry we are. Tell him we're victims, too. Tell him our childhoods weren't any better than his. Tell him how we wept with joy when he was born. Tell him when he was born we started to die. Tell him that we tried to kill him. Tell him that we knew what we were doing. Tell him that we love him.

Oh, God, doctor, why did our Baby have to die?