When Confusion Becomes a Way of Life

First and foremost, I have to say, I thought I was DONE with the shit my husband would pull because he was relapsing and drinking which lead him to act like a complete asshole. Apparently he's on a "dry-drunk" as those familiar with Alanon lingo will recognize, because he's not drinking but he's still acting like a complete and utter asshole.
I hate this part of our relationship. I've been here before: he's been sober before and acted like a total dick head. Beyond all the shit that his alcoholism brings to our relationship, he's also being treated for depression and anxiety. As I have suffered the depths of depression to the point where I engaged in 12 sessions of ECT (electro-convulsion therapy; "shock therapy") as a potential resource for relief, I can empathize with his behaviors based on depression and anxiety. By the way, the ECT was very effective in treating my depression. There are gaps in my memory, especially while I was undergoing ECT, but overall the benefits outweighed the risks for me. Unfortunately I don't remember one of my best friend's wedding, but I have pictures and details provided by others to help fill in the gaps. I also continue to experience aphasia, the loss of words on the tip of my tongue, which really pisses me off because I had a memory, especially for dates and times, like a steel trap. The friend whose wedding I can't remember used to refer to my memory as something similar to Dustin Hoffman's character in the movie Rainman. The fact that I now struggle to recall those dates that used to be right there for me to grab out of the blue is a continued source of frustration. Although I do find solace in the fact that I'm not put on the spot to recall certain dates and times all that often. In fact, it's pretty rare for anyone to ask me the date I graduated from high school or the week a bunch of us saw both The Who and The Grateful Dead at Alpine Valley. My memory used to be a twisted sort of party trick which I happily participated in.
Regardless of all of that, the point is that I'm back in a situation where I don't know what to expect when I walk in the door after coming home from work. Today I attended an ethics training in Green Bay until about 12:30pm so after a coworker and I went out for lunch afterwards, I got home at around 2pm. Apparently I came home "in a mood" which I was not aware of. My "beloved" accused me of "having an attitude" when I walked in the door. Our memories of whatever took place this afternoon will always vary wildly, so it's not worth trying to argue my case. My concern is questioning bigger, existential questions.
Why have three out of the four major romantic relationships in my life involved an addict or an alcoholic? Do I think I can "fix" them? Is it because, as a recovering addict myself, those are the people I meet and hang with? Do I psychologically need the chaos living with an addict/alcoholic brings? Good God I hope the last question is not true. In my mind I'm totally fucked if that's the case because altering that pattern will take enough therapy to bankrupt me. Seriously. As a counselor, I have enough information about the entire billing process to know that if I begin addressing this issue at age 43, I'll likely be 53 by the time that entire web is unweaved and I don't have that kind of time, money or patience to unweave it and then rebuild a major portion of my personality. As much as my Freudian psychiatrist would like to hear that I need to schedule two-hour sessions twice a week for the next two to ten years, I'm not really up for it. Mostly because I don't think I'm the one who is being unreasonable here. Perhaps I'm rationalizing, but I'm not the one who recently spent five days in an inpatient mental health unit. Ok, that's a version of throwing stones from a glass house, but what the hell? This is MY blog, right?

It's a Cold and It's a Broken Hallelujah

It's been a hell of a week. If you've seen some of my Facebook posts from the week, you're aware that the husband of one of my best friends in the world died of cancer one week ago.
Mike was the kind of guy that slid right in to our circle of friends. Had he gone to high school with us, we totally would have hung out with him. He would've been one of "us", that's how closely he matched our general vibe, interests, music & "recreational activities". If I have to explain to you why recreational activities is in quotes, you didn't know us in high school. The "us" I refer to know who you are & anyone else from the 1989 class from Appleton West knows who comprised "us" as well.
I think I have a unique perspective on Jeanette & Mike's relationship, at least the budding beginning of it. She came out to Boston to visit me my senior year in college and reported that she was "interested" in this guy who worked with her mother (of all people) and they had gone on one or two dates by that time. Nothing serious, no expectations, but she was hot for him - girlfriends know these things about each other.
After she returned to Fond du Lac, she kept me updated on when they spent time together.
Then there was the week that went by when he didn't call her. She called me sobbing that he was "a thoughtless mother-fucker" and she was pissed off at herself for "thinking that it would work out." I had not laid eyes on Mike at this point and I was obviously totally loyal to my friend, so I concurred that he was indeed a "thoughtless mother-fucker" for stringing her along.
Then he called.
Then they had sex. Sorry Jeanette, but this is a crucial part of your history with Mike & this story. Her update about the sex was, "Man, I think he was going through the stats of the National League" (baseball) because it wasn't over in under two minutes, as is a common phenomenon for men in their early 20's. We were women in our early 20's and had plenty of experience with "the two-minute magic" but Mike is, was, 13 years older than Jeanette. He had moves. He had experience. He knew how to turn the two-minute magic into the twenty to thirty minute magic, which is very appealing when you're in your early 20's.
They eventually married. Her "g-ma" hand-made her wedding gown. She was stunning and he was majestic. The look on his face said, "Oh yeah, she kicks ass and she's mine." And he was right. He surprised her with a horse drawn carriage ride at the end of the ceremony. One of her attendants was our friend Eric J who told me at Mike's funeral that when he was standing up at the altar during their wedding ceremony he thought he was going to pass out because everyone in the church was staring at the wedding party and this was the first wedding he'd stood up for.
I remember our friend Steve taking communion, which generally isn't a remarkable event except that he's Jewish and "just got wrapped up in the crowd" that was heading toward the altar.
This was way before digital cameras and every time I snapped a photo my camera made a hideous "rrr-rrr-rrr" sound as the film advanced and wrapped around the spokes. Our friend Robb was seated in the pew in front of me and eventually got fed up with the whirling of my camera so he turned around to me and said, "If you take one more picture and that camera makes one more sound, I'm going to snatch it out of your hands and NOT give it back to you." This explains why I have photos of the first half of their wedding ceremony but none of the second half.
One of my pictures from their wedding was on a photo display at Mike's funeral. It includes Mike, me, Kate and Carrie. That photo captures a glorious moment in all of our lives and includes some of my favorite people in the world. I'm truly honored that it was chosen to be displayed as a testament to Mike's life.
I also have the dubious honor of making the first toast at their wedding reception. I was drunk off my ass, rambled on completely aimlessly for several minutes, raised my glass of whatever liquor I was swilling in large quantities and weaved my way back to my seat. My father and my sister were in attendance and after I returned to my seat, my sister immediately walked me out of the reception hall, plunked me in the backseat of my car, gave me a can of Sprite and said, "Just pass out and be done with it." I stupidly said to her, "But they must have liked it (my toast) because they were applauding when I was done." Her response: "They were just being polite."
A few years later Jeanette told me that the hotel where most of the guests stayed (not me as my sister drove us both back to Appleton that night, which I have absolutely no memory of) complained because by the end of the night, there was a large portion of a cheese and sausage platter floating in the hotel pool. I love those kind of weddings.
By the time our 20th class reunion came, Mike had been diagnosed with cancer and had undergone his initial treatment at Beth Israel Hospital in Boston. He and Jeanette showed up at my parents' house as I had invited "all of us" to reunite there. We spent many a weekend night in my parents' basement engaging in all sorts of debauchery that I won't describe in detail here; if you were there, you know what I'm referring to. At one point Jeanette asked my mom where I was and my mom's response was, "She's downstairs with some of you kids." At Mike's funeral Jeanette's mom Elaine referred to us as "you kids" as well.  My dad's assessment of that reunion evening was, "there are still cars lined up and down Lynndale Drive, but the cars are newer and in much better condition." My friends actually brought beer and liquor to my parents' house instead of drinking what had belonged to my parents at the time.
Mike was a huge Packers fan and during their run up to Super Bowl 36, or whatever the number was when Brett Favre took us to the Super Bowl and we actually won, Eric, Mike & Jeanette, Hays and I would get together at one of our apartments and watch playoff games. I again brought my camera and have wonderful snapshots of those playoff weekends.
Throughout Mike's past six years of treatment, he was a fighter. He would absolutely go to work on the days he was feeling up to it; likely he went when he wasn't feeling up to it because that's how loyal and dedicated to commitment he was. As a result of witnessing Mike's treatment, Jeanette went to graduate school and got her Master's Degree in Nursing and has become a huge advocate for cancer patients, cancer research and the care cancer patients receive.
For those of us who knew and loved Mike, our lives were made richer and better for it. Rest in peace my friend. Tell Jack-Dog and Peanut that we all love and miss them and take good care of them as they will take good care of you.

Auld Lang Syne 2014

Yes, it's the final day of 2014 and that generally requires some type of personal reflection of "the year that was"; however, I received a Christmas letter from a colleague and friend that really pared down the "review process" of reflection. I am going to attempt to complete my final entry of 2014 using the "thumbs up/thumbs down" process that she used in her Christmas letter. I thought it was genius to make something that can become SO complicated into some SO simple.
So, here are my personal "thumbs up" and "thumbs down" moments of 2014. I'll review the year month by month so as not to group all of the "thumbs up" stuff together and then lump all of the "thumbs down" stuff together because life is always a mixture of both.

01-04-14: Mark & I attended the "Dobbs Family Reunion" which is an annual event that reminds me of my connection to my Native American relatives. Although no one knew it at the time, this was the last reunion my cousin Shorty Dobbs would attend.

01-05-14: The Packers lose to the 49ers 23-20 in a play off game. Hopes of another trip to the Super Bowl are dashed.

01-06-14, 01-07-14, 01-28-14: Public schools are closed due to the significant sub-zero temperatures. This never happened when I was in school. We walked uphill in both directions to make it to school because schools didn't close due to freezing temperatures. We were lucky if recess was held indoors in these types of low temperatures.

01-23-14: My parents celebrate their 43rd wedding anniversary.  That's a long time to spend with another person. Go Rog & Shirl!

02-06-14: I have a phone interview with a sort of "outward bound" camp for at-risk adolescents located in Hawaii.  Unfortunately I would have to add a thumbs-down image because the phone interview never amounted to the in-person interview which would have been held in Hawaii, all expenses paid by the organization.

02-14-14 - 02-16-14: I spent the weekend at my sister's house with her family to facilitate a Pre-Marriage Workshop on 02-15-14 in Eau Claire. I got to spend time with my nieces, my sister and her common-law husband (if Wisconsin recognized such a relationship, which it does not) as well as their puppy Pearl and the "Dynamic Duo" her two cats, Snicks and Doobs.

02-22-14: My parents and I travel to Eau Claire to celebrate my sister's 40th birthday at a local golf clubhouse which had really awesome cupcakes instead of a cake. I bought my sister another charm to add to her bracelet from Tiffany's and her friends were going insane when they saw that "little blue box" on the gift table, expecting it to be an engagement ring from her boyfriend. I guess they would add a thumbs-down because it wasn't an engagement ring, but she seemed happy enough with the charm.
This same weekend Mark flew out to Denver to attend the wedding of his younger brother Bob to a wonderful woman, Irene.

03-03-14: My mom turns 65 (hello Medicare!) and Apollo turns 4!

04-05-14: We celebrated my mom's 65th birthday without her because she wasn't feeling well, but we had a great time!

04-25-14: Dad retires after 37 years at JJ Keller & Associates. He was hired in the summer of 1976 (before Chad was even born) as an Accounting Supervisor and retired as the Vice-President of Finance/CFO. I took my dad out for lunch on his final day of work and just as we sat down at the table, he handed me a dog-eared file folder and said, "I found this when cleaning out my desk today and thought you might want it." The folder contained every college report card, Dean's List acknowledgment, graduation and Dean's List announcements from the Post Crescent, and transcripts from my undergrad and graduate school programs. After paying for our lunch, when I got back to my office, I looked through the folder and began crying because my dad had been keeping track of my academic career since 1991, twenty years of accomplishments which is a gift I never expected to receive - and those are the best gifts to receive.

05-14-14: I celebrate my 43rd birthday and my second cousin Sammy celebrates his 5th birthday. It's so cool to share a birthday with a family member!

05-24-14 - 05-26-14: Memorial Day Weekend which in the Krause family translates to "grave-hopping"! We (my two maternal aunts, my sister, Ben & the girls, my three female maternal cousins, and myself) go to the cemeteries where our much loved ancestors are buried and clean off their graves and place summer flowers near their headstones in tribute to their lives; we truly celebrate them in memory. Once these tasks are completed, we stop at a local bar in Red River and then go out to eat in Shawano. We've been doing this for well over a decade and the group members have changed over the years; my Grandma Krause no longer goes along because all of the walking is too difficult for her; my great-aunt Shirley no longer attends because she's in a long term care facility due to Alzheimer's disease; and my great aunt Kootchie had passed on. The absolute BEST part of the weekend is when Grandma Krause fries eggs in a cast iron skillet in the bacon grease that she cooked up moments earlier. We all call it the "heart attack breakfast" but it's the BEST part of summer and something I look forward to every year.

06-01-14: Brayden's 5th birthday party: Our grandson Brayden turned 5 on 05-24-14 and we all celebrated at a birthday party on June 1st at a local park.

06-08-14 - 06-11-14: I attended a three-day training in Eau Claire and stayed at my sister and her family's house. The training was intense, but spending time with the girls & Pearl (the dog) and the Dynamic Duo (the cats) was awesome! This is me getting some lovin's from Pearl.

06-27-14 - 06-29-14: One of my best friends in the world whom I've known since junior high gets married to a really amazing guy on 06-28-14. The ceremony was beautiful, the dinner was amazing and the reception music totally rocked!

This is a photo of me & Mark at the wedding. I had complete strangers taking my picture because of my fascinator!

07-08-14: I had finally grown my hair long enough to donate to Locks of Love. The following photos are the before and after. I donated 13" of hair and my stylist cut off an additional 12" to style it!

Before.

After.

08-01-14: Dad participates in an Old Glory Honor Flight as a Vietnam veteran on the final Friday of EAA. It was an amazing experience for him and for me & Mark who were there to greet him when he arrived home and finally got the welcome home he deserved 40+ years ago.

Dad returns from his Honor Flight to Washington D.C.

09-02-14: I begin working at Rawhide two days a week through a contracted position with LSS. In a very short time I realize I love working with the staff and the residents who become my clients.

09-30-14: Mark & I celebrate our 9th wedding anniversary.

11-27-14: Thanksgiving wasn't so great this year as no one came to eat the feast I had prepared. This is the dessert they missed out on!

12-27-14: We celebrate Christmas at Mom & Dad's after I'd been sick with an upper respiratory "thing" from 12-22 through 12-26.

 The Porath family Christmas photo 12-27-14.







So that brings me to today, December 31, 2014. By totaling the thumbs-up and the thumbs-down, it's easy to see that despite the challenges and setbacks of 2014, the majority of events fall into the thumbs-up category. I guess, actually I know, you can't really complain about that!

Happy New Year's to you and yours. May the best of 2014 be the worst of 2015! I say, "BRING IT!" :-)

Gratitude, Christmas, and How it all Fits Together

For me, the last three or four Christmases or so have been "hit or miss", i.e., I didn't always know what I was walking into when we arrived at my parents' house. If memory serves me, last year it was me and my husband who were "on the outs" with my unpredictable mother and we spent very little time with my parents over the Christmas holiday. That meant not spending time with my sister, her long term boyfriend and his two daughters, whom I consider my nieces regardless if Jan and Ben ever get married or not.
The year before it was my sister who was "on the outs" with our mother and they (Jan, Ben and the girls) spent very little time in Appleton over the Christmas holiday.
This year it was somewhat of a toss-up. My sister hasn't really had much communication with our mom since a few weeks before Mother's Day when we were all specifically told via voice mail, "I'm done with you all and I know you're all done with me."
I admit that contact with my parents has significantly decreased since receiving that message loud and clear. When none of us (me and my siblings) went over to their house for Mother's Day (because, remember, a couple of weeks prior we were instructed that our mother was "done with us") she took this as a personal affront and left another series of angry voice messages about how we were ignoring her. This anger held over until Father's Day a month later when I called and spoke with my dad about when we should stop by to give him his Father's Day gift. During that phone call I could hear my mom yelling in the background that if we didn't see her on Mother's Day, we were NOT invited to their home for Father's Day. My very stoic father was in tears as he told me that we'll get together at some other time for Father's Day. Needless to say, this didn't do much to improve how I felt about my mom.
Despite all of this family discord, either my brother or my dad have picked up Apollo on weekdays and dropped him back off at our house so he doesn't spend his days alone while Mark and I are at work. Next to his leash I've left gifts, envelopes of photos, and Thanksgiving left-overs that my mom (my guess) wouldn't come over to receive, but we've received food in Tupperware containers in return and the containers of food we've sent over to them returned washed, cleaned and apparently appreciated, or at least eaten, in return.
This brings me to this Christmas, 2014. I was sick with a very nasty cold (likely picked up by the petri-dish kids I work with) on Monday afternoon, 12-22-14 until today, 12-26-14, when I finally stopped taking Dayquil every 4 hours and a hefty dose of NyQuil before bedtime. I missed celebrating Christmas at my Grandma Krause's house on Christmas Eve because the last thing on earth my grandma needs is any exposure to communicable diseases.
My sister, Ben and the girls arrived at my parents' house sometime today between noon and 1pm. Despite calling and texting, I wasn't given any additional information about "dropping by" today which I had planned on. However, if my sister and her family needed time to repair their relationship with our mother, I say, "Amen, Hallelujah, take all the time you need." Mark, Apollo and I are scheduled to arrive at my parents' tomorrow around 10:30am to "celebrate" Christmas and exchange gifts. As I haven't received any negative reports from Camp-Porath so far, I'm looking forward to going there tomorrow. We'll exchange gifts, take pictures, eat a lot of food and (with A LOT of hope) enjoy our time together. Time will tell.
Gratitude plays into this complicated scenario as a place where I can retreat to, remembering and honoring the true meaning of this season for me. On my Facebook page I posted the portion of the book of Mark from the New Testament that describes the birth of Jesus, which is one of my favorite Biblical passages. It reminds us that the Christ child, laying in a manger, wrapped in swaddling clothes, was born in the most humble of circumstances, despite being the Savior of all Christians. His life would be one of sacrifice and forgiveness: something all of us, especially me, needs to remember at this time of year.
Can I forgive my mother for her unpredictable, "crazy" behavior? What are the benefits for me of doing so? Perhaps it's not my benefits that I should focus on, but rather the forgiveness that Jesus exhibited to all that encountered him, regardless of their "worthiness" of His forgiveness. Because, in the end, if we believe, we are all worthy of His forgiveness. For that, I am extremely grateful this year.

 

The Irony of Thanksgiving

First, let me state that I'm using the term "irony" in the sense that we, as a society, seem to take one day out of each year to focus on gratitude and what we're thankful for, when it's really something we should at least consider on a daily basis. This may or may not actually be the definition of "irony". However, at this point during the day, I really don't care if I'm using the word improperly. Granted, for the other 364 days of the year I am a grammar snob, but today I am cutting myself some slack. I hope you are generous enough to do the same.
Do I have people, events, relationships, food, shelter, finances and a career to be thankful for? Of course I do. Do I daily acknowledge gratitude for all of them? Of course I don't, and I'm willing to bet that most of you reading this don't either.
That's the irony of Thanksgiving. Why do we wait until the fourth Thursday in November to acknowledge all that we've been blessed with? I have no idea who established that the fourth Thursday of November be designated as "Thanksgiving Day" and I'm really not interested in that bit of trivia. Having lived in Boston for two years, having visited Plymouth Rock and having been raised on the fairy tale that "the first Thanksgiving" was all about the Pilgrims and the Indians coming together to celebrate the fact that the English settlers somehow miraculously survived a year in this foreign land, that Native Americans survived the diseases that the British brought with them, and apparently there was enough food to feed both groups of people, I wonder how that is related to the way we currently celebrate Thanksgiving.
Today I made a turkey, mashed potatoes, andouille sausage & corn bread stuffing, green bean casserole, lemon and parsley artichoke hearts and a chocolate and peppermint layer cake. Outside of the turkey and maybe the potatoes, my contemporary meal displays little resemblance to what was likely served in Plymouth, MA several hundred years ago. Last year I made fry bread, a traditional Native American food which my great-grandmother (who was Native American, as am I, although I am a much more diluted version of such) called "hounds ears." They did not turn out well. Actually, they were pretty nasty compared the fry bread I've previously eaten. But I made a feeble attempt to represent at least something related to the Native Americans who lived in Wisconsin and Massachusetts before the landing of Christopher Columbus, the Mayflower and those who settled Chesapeake Bay in 1620.
Why am I so cynical this Thanksgiving? I'm not entirely sure, although I'm fairly certain it has something to do with the fact that I made the above mentioned meal and no one showed up for dinner at 1pm on Broad Street today. Due to illness, lack of communication and a plain old disagreement, I started baking this meal on Wednesday and began the bulk of the cooking this morning at 7am, as always, by myself. Which is not something I mind; good grief another person in my kitchen would drive me insane "trying to help me" which is my understanding of how most chefs feel toward unsolicited "help" on major cooking days. So basically I've got a shit-load of food that no one's going to eat.
As I'm writing this I'm watching "Lizzie Borden Took an Ax" on the Lifetime Network. I don't even want to get into what Freud would think of that, but rest assured I'm in no way homicidal. I'm just a little disappointed and a lot disillusioned about what Thanksgiving is all about this year.

It's Not Simply Teenage Wasteland

Life goes on whether we are ready for what it brings or not. I have been pleasantly surprised by the turns in my career path as of late. Let me catch you up:
During the spring semester of the 2013-2014 school year I was involved in the PATH in-school counseling program at three different schools: two area high schools and one middle school. Due to changes outside of my control, I am now spending Mondays and Thursdays at one local high school and another agency is providing services at the other high school and the middle school. No matter how often it happens, it's always a bit heartbreaking for me to say goodbye to clients and entrust their care to someone else. My ability to connect with kids on a truly empathic, non-judgemental level is something I pride myself on. Trust me, I'm the most surprised out of anyone on the planet that I apparently have the skills and ability to create these relationships. Since I was 12 years old I knew that I didn't want to have children of my own and when I started grad school, the population that I thought I'd have the most difficulty working with (because they scared the pants off of me) was children and adolescents. But here I am, spending four days of my work week working with children and adolescents.
My Mondays and Thursdays are spent at a local high school and on Tuesdays and Wednesdays I am at a boys' ranch outside of New London - I'm hoping you can catch on to what I'm referring to without having to spell it out because I don't feel comfortable revealing that information in a blatant way. Let's just say that Bart & Cherrie Starr are very involved in this organization. You're with me now, right?
I work with the boys who are residents on the ranch, some of which are placed there by the DJC (Department of Juvenile Corrections), their county social workers and others are "private placements" which means they are there because their parent(s) have decided this is the place that can provide them with the educational and behavioral changes they need to lead successful lives.
I love these boys the same way I love my high school kids - and I do refer to them all as "my kids". I want to do whatever it takes to teach them how to make healthy, effective decisions. I want to be someone they can trust to be there for them. I want them to know that I'm not going to desert them when they get into trouble or make a mistake. I want them to know that my concern and compassion is not conditional on what they do in school, with their friends, or have done before I met them. I have never met a teen-ager who shirks unconditional compassion for them; too often they receive that message at home or at school and that's not what my role in their lives is meant to be. I am here for them no matter what, through thick and thin, no matter what the over-used analogy might be. I am here for them.
I relish in every achievement "my kids" make, whether that is a higher ACT score than their last one, taking a healthy risk and trying something new at school, completing homework on time, getting into college, not losing points for poor behavior at the ranch, getting a rank promotion, or trusting in a horse to help them work through trust issues.
These are my kids and I wouldn't trade being a part of their lives for the world.

The Final Bell

There's a bit of history I should share before getting into the guts of this post:

During my first grad school counseling class, Intro to Counseling & Human Development, the instructor asked the class to write a paper about a client population we would be most uncomfortable working with and what we were going to do to deal with that barrier because in all likelihood, we would, at some point, work with that very population.

My answer was, "kids/children/teen-agers." My rationale was that I didn't have any kids of my own, I didn't spend a lot of time around kids, and I didn't have a lot of current knowledge about what their "deal" was; i.e. what music they listened to, what slang they spoke, what they did in their free time. My instructor (full disclosure: she is now my Director at work) wrote on my paper, "Get over it. You'll work with them some day." Actually, kids scared the crap out of me and I wasn't confident that I knew how to relate to them in any meaningful way.

Despite my belief in the CCR song, "Someday Never Comes", she was right. My "some day" started on December 2, 2013 when I began working four full days each week in two area high schools and one area middle school (which was called junior high when I was in those grades and I still catch myself referring to it as such.)

This week is full of finals and senior trips and field trips at local schools as graduation is in two days, June 5th, so my time in these schools during the actual school year ended last Friday, May 30th. I spent a little more than a semester working with kids ranging in age from 13 to 18. No one was more surprised than I was when I realized I love working with this population.

When I was a teen-ager, I took the most innocuous slight as a potentially life-destroying event. Whatever those slights were, they are nothing compared to what the kids I work with face today. It's no longer a world of "teen-age waste land" in the same sense that The Who sang about 45 years ago. Some of my clients are homeless; they spend time sleeping on the couches of various friends' houses. Many of them take food home from their school on Fridays to insure there is something for them to eat over the weekend. Several of them get "new" clothes and shoes from Clothes Closets available to them at school. Some of them get hospitalized over the course of the school year due to unmanageable depression, anxiety, or thoughts of suicide. A number of them are self-injurious - they cut themselves to feel some sort of relief from the severe depths of depression they experience every day. Some are the targets of heinous and cruel cyber-bullying. A few of them spend their weekends in "lock up" at a local jail due to truancy or other legal charges they've accumulated. A few of them have come to school intoxicated because alcohol is the only coping mechanism readily available to them to numb the stress, sadness, frustration and anger they feel due to a parent or parents who place way too much responsibility on them to care for younger siblings, achieve straight As, try out and make "the team" for whatever co-curricular activity, whether it's sports, theatre, debate, DECA or any other of the myriad of available options. I talk to kids who cry over getting an ACT score of 24. I talk to kids who cry because of an unplanned pregnancy. I talk to kids who've had a parent die yet the school expectations go on. I talk to kids who are amazing, bright, talented, "labeled", funny, make some bad decisions and face the consequences. I talk to kids who survive and despite all the "waste land" they experience, they THRIVE.

My part in that is very small. I've always told clients that they do the hard work, I'm just there to offer them some guidance along the way. In that Intro class, the instructor stated something that was repeated throughout my graduate school training: Counselors are not responsible for their clients failures nor their successes. I know that's true, but when I see one of "my kids", as I now refer to them, succeed, it makes my heart tingle just a little bit more. And when I'm the one they come to, to cry about their struggles, that too makes my heart tingle, because if I'm not there, who would be?