Page 145 of What Boys Learn

Just one sniff and I could remember holding it, pouring it, the aroma blending with that of the pine-scented floor cleaner. Ewan would have done it differently, using some kind of motor oil or WD-40, something the cops or paramedics would have noticed as soon as they came and picked Martha’s broken, cold body off the slippery floor. Ewan or me: I thought those were the only choices. I didn’t realize that loving someone didn’t need to mean hurting someone else.

I’ve tried my new thoughts about unconditional love on some of the families I work with. We talk about that stage when you realize you have to seewhat isbefore you can even hope for awhat will be. Some get it. Some don’t. There’s always the more extreme case of a kid who has done something so clearly beyond explanation that a parent is having a hard time forgiving or even understanding. They want to stay in denial because it’s safer. They don’t know how far their hearts might be able to stretch, once they know everything.

With my clients, I don’t fight the denial head-on. I try to be the one willing toseea troubled and even violent young offender. I don’t shock easily. Not even when it’s a kid who’s been accused of taking a life, such as that of a family member who was abusive or simply unloving.

I get why you may have done what you did, I’ll say, which often surprises a young client, especially when they’re used to all the grown-ups collaborating and covering up.But here’s what I’m offering you. A fresh start. The person you are today is not the person who did that.

They look at me as if I’m tricking them.

Sometimes I wish I could tell them a story, about a girl who loved her brother so much that she wanted to protect him from another bad person. Sometimes I wish I could tell them about the mistakes any person can make, doing the wrong thing for what seems like the right reason.

Then I remember what Benjamin has said, about how talking is the part of therapy he likes least. I remind myself to expand my activities with juvenile clients. We don’t stop talking, of course, but we mix it up. We draw and paint or go roller-skating. We visit with therapy dogs and horses. I think of Benjamin, rescuing that girl. I think of myself, rescuing Benjamin.

I tell my clients, you just need to find the thing that sets you free. The thing that assures you of your own value on this earth. It’s like trying to open one door after another. You’re going to keep trying, locked door after locked door, but one day you’ll find the one that opens. You’ll stop revisiting the worst memories from your past, the dark and slippery moments that threaten to trip you up.

You’ll take the next step.

You’ll walk through that door.

You’ll never turn back.