Conclusion of Lectures (Part2)
It was not long before my father, the psychoanalyst, would take me into the garage simply to throw a bolt at me. He would keep, nearby, a lined notebook. In this book he would make notes on my reaction to getting hit by the bolt. This occurred more frequently as the days and months went by.
One day my mother found the notebook and read it.
When my father got home from the university she confronted him about it. I should be quick to say that it was really not a confrontation but more of a confab. Mother and Father discussed the notebook in hushed tones. She had folded the corners of some pages and turned to those as they spoke.
It must have been an emotionally exhausting effort because they claimed that they were tired and were going upstairs to take a nap.
Dad’s mother fixed me a sandwich. We could both hear the strange noises coming from upstairs but we ate our sandwiches in silence. Dad’s mother would occasionally glance my way with a weird smile. I never acknowledged that I saw her doing it.
My mother’s computer time and chat room visits dropped off drastically after that. My father would occasionally take me into the garage and make new notes in his book after throwing a few bolts at me.
My father’s mother and my mother would read his garage notebook together when he was at the university. It would make them tired also. Together they would also go take a nap.