My Son Struck Me Thirty Times at His Birthday Dinner. The Next Morning, I Sold the Mansion He Thought He Owned.

Raymond picked him up.

He checked the scraped elbow, helped him stand, and said, ‘You can have another try when you’re ready.’ He did not carry Trevor home.

He did not tell him the fall was somebody else’s fault.

I had forgotten that part of parenting.

During Raymond’s illness I made up for every disappointment with something Trevor could purchase, wear, or drive.

I imagined I was protecting him from grief.

Now I wondered how often I had simply taught him that consequences could be negotiated away.