Great Expectations, Random Walks

With Christmas gone and New Year’s on the horizon, almost no one in my immediate circle is really happy.
I will spare you the usual self-flagellation about how Americans and other citizens of developed countries don’t appreciate how truly privileged we are.
It seems with our hot running water and relative freedom of speech, though, comes the burden of expectations which in this day and age, few of us can hope to fulfill.

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Okey Dokey

The other day, I saw a person standing outside a municipal building in Falmouth and didn’t recognize that it was my son. Duh.
In my own defense, rarely do I see Flargh-boy in actual daylight, so I’ve probably forgotten what he looks like in a “normal” setting. He is usually sitting down, in the middle of Kristalnacht-like chaos, dressed in pajama bottoms and a t-shirt, staring at a computer screen.
I am also used to seeing him while his chi is being mangled by one or more shrieking or sulking children. These are by the way highly intelligent, creative children who nonetheless do not grasp that they live in a house with multiple floors, multiple rooms and a large fenced-in yard and, thus, do not have to share the same space as Daddy.
But I digress: given my recent experience, I can somewhat relate to the parents who thought they’d buried their son, Kevin Wickoff, an inmate who’d committed suicide at the Lexington, Oklahoma, Assessment and Reception Center. They thought they buried him – until they got a phonecall from none other than Kevin himself right after his funeral.

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Alex

If you’ve been patient enough to be a regular reader of this blog, you know my opinion on the adoption of children.
Unfortunately, you don’t have to look very hard, or even make a conscious effort, to find cases where adoptees have been mistreated, abused or murdered by those responsible for their care.

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