July 9th, 2025
I’m taking Asher to see his therapist tomorrow morning. He spends an hour with her once a week. It might seem odd that a four-year-old is getting help from a clinician, but that’s what Asher is doing. Going to the therapist was his mother’s idea, and it’s a good one. In Asher’s short time on earth, he has already had more than his fair share of chaos and trauma. Having another concerned adult in his life to listen to him and guide him is a positive thing.
A side effect of Asher’s therapy is that I have also started talking to someone from the same clinic. I had not planned on doing that, but therapy was offered to me by the doctor in charge of the clinic, and it seemed to be a good move. My life has been at least as chaotic as Asher’s, and it helps me and those around me if I have somebody to meet each week to sort out my thoughts and feelings. So, almost every Tuesday afternoon, I spend an hour with a man who tries to help me to make sense of my life. It’s a process and a journey, and I have no idea what the end result will be. Maybe the end result doesn’t even matter.
This isn’t my first time with a therapist. My wife and I went to couples therapy back in the 1990’s. That was intense at times, but apparently it helped. We are married now for forty years, so the therapy must have done some good. I was impressed with our therapist, and I asked her if she would be willing to work with my dad and me on issues that we had. She agreed to give it a try.
I remember calling my dad on the phone and asking him if he would come to see therapist with me. He exploded,
“No way! Absolutely not! I don’t have any problems! You’re the one with the problems!”
I didn’t ask him again.
In my father’s generation, men rarely went to see a therapist. It was socially unacceptable. If a guy went for treatment, that implied that something was wrong, and men like my dad never admitted that anything was wrong with them. They were okay. It was everybody else that was batshit crazy.
So, did men in my dad’s time talk to anybody when things were bad? They might talk with a really close friend, or maybe a bartender who took the time to listen. I think in my dad’s case, he might have talked to his parish priest when in uttermost need. That’s what priests were for, and that’s what they are still for.
The Church was different then. Parish communities were relatively small and there was an abundance of priests to serve the faithful. That meant that a priest could really know the members of his flock. He would probably know each of them and how they struggled in life. The priest, by virtue of his role, carried some authority and his counsel could be of real value. A good priest, like a good therapist, knew how to listen. He knew when to encourage and when to admonish. He would help people to grieve and to heal. He might not have a solution to every problem, but then there are some problems which do not have an answer. Some things are simply carried like the crosses they are.
A priest often occupied the position that is now usually held by a therapist. But those days are done. We go to a church which is part of a cluster of four parishes, and there are two priests to run the entire operation. These two priests are very busy men, too busy. They are more like corporate managers than the shepherds of souls. Neither of these two men know me or my family. They can’t. There is no time for them to get to know who we are and what we endure. The priests seem to be good, dedicated men. However, they are often unable to give an individual the deeply personal kind of attention that their predecessors provided years ago.
I have not often gone to a priest for guidance, even though I am a Catholic. The priests just seem too preoccupied to establish a relationship with me or anyone else. Oddly enough, I have most often received the best help from rabbis. I’m not sure why that is, but they connected well with me, and they were excellent listeners. Zen masters are good too.
I am not sure that a person necessarily requires a professional therapist to solve life’s riddles. I have found wisdom in strange places. There was a Vietnam vet in the psych ward of the local VA hospital who gave me sage advice. I have had found encouragement in the company of former prison inmates. Homeless people have taught me things.
Asher is an excellent therapist.
Frank is Emptiness 