The Rosie Effect
Page 55
‘I don’t know, Don. But Rosie is not fond of geneticists telling psychologists what to do. Case in point, me. Second case in point, you.’
I explained how the Lesbian Mothers Project would provide me with valuable knowledge relevant to parenthood.
‘Good work,’ said Gene. ‘You can tell her how to do motherhood as well as psychology.’ He put his hands up in dual stop signs. ‘I’m being sarcastic. You do not want to tell her how to be a mother. If you learn something from the project, wonderful, but surprise her with your skills rather than beating her over the head with your knowledge.’
Gene recommended that I not raise the topic of the Lesbian Mothers Project again.
21
The Good Fathers Program was scheduled for Wednesday, 9 October on the Upper West Side. As with the Paedophile Assessment, I was astonished at how long it had taken to deliver support to a potentially dangerous person.
I told Rosie that I had organised a boys’ night out and, in the interests of minimising deception, called Dave and invited him to participate. Gene was having dinner with Inge.
‘I ought to catch up on some work,’ Dave said. ‘I’ve got a pile of paperwork this high.’
Obviously, I was unable to see whatever signals Dave was making to indicate the height of the pile, but I had a strong argument.
‘I recommend you do something baby-related,’ I said. ‘Sonia is unimpressed by your lack of interest. She considers it a result of your focus on work. Which you are currently demonstrating.’
‘She told you that? When?’
‘I don’t remember.’
‘Don. There’s a lot of things you do, but forgetting isn’t one of them.’
‘We had coffee.’
‘She never told me.’
‘You probably failed to ask. Or were too busy with work. I’ll meet you at 42nd Street A-Train uptown platform at 6.47 p.m. and we can attend together. I’ve estimated thirteen minutes for travel to the venue.’
‘I figured.’
The class was held in a room attached to a church. Dave and I were joined by fourteen other men, including the convenor, age approximately fifty-five, estimated BMI twenty-eight, appearance notable for the combination of frontal baldness and very long hair, plus a beard. The evening was warm, and he was wearing a t-shirt that made it apparent he had invested heavily in tattoos.
He introduced himself to the class as Jack, and explained that he had been a member of a motorcycle club, had spent time in jail and at one time had a bad attitude to women. It was quite a long speech but omitted some important information. I assumed he was being modest. When he asked if anyone had questions, I raised my hand.
‘What are your professional qualifications?’
He laughed. ‘The university of life. The school of hard knocks.’
I would have liked more information as to the disciplines, but did not want to dominate question time. As it turned out, nobody else asked anything, and it was our turn to introduce ourselves. Everyone provided only their names. Due to mumbling, Jack had to ask several times for a name to be repeated before he could match it on his list. When Dave’s turn came, Jack shook his head.
‘You’re not on the list. Don’t worry, they screw this up all the time. Spell your name for me, slowly.’
Dave provided the information.
‘Bechler. Yugoslavian?’
‘Serbo-Croatian, I think. Way back.’
‘We get quite a few Serbs. Something in the genes. Not that I want to encourage stereotypes. Any other Serbs here?’
No hands went up.
‘Your wife’s pregnant?’
‘Yes.’
‘Who told you to come here?’
Dave indicated me.
Jack looked at me for a few moments. ‘You’re his buddy?’
‘Correct.’
‘You brought him along because you thought it’d be good for him?’
‘Correct.’
‘Smart move, Don. If we all looked after our buddies like Don here, there’d be a lot less mothers showing up at the emergency room, a lot less babies shaken to death by men who won’t ever be able to look at themselves in the mirror again.’
Dave appeared more shaken than the hypothetical baby.
‘Now,’ said Jack. ‘Everybody’s here for a reason, including Dave. You’ve all done something to someone that you probably regret. I want to hear about it, and I want to know how you feel about it now. Who’s first?’
There was silence. Jack turned to Dave. ‘Dave, you look like—’
I interrupted. I needed to save Dave from being revealed as a non-violent imposter.
‘I’m willing to commence.’
‘All right, Don. Tell us what you’ve done.’
‘Which incident?’
‘Sounds like there’s been a few.’
Few was accurate. There had been three in my adult life, but the frequency had increased recently.
‘Correct. Two in the past month. Prompted by the pregnancy.’
‘That’s not good, Don. Maybe they’re a bit raw to think about now. Maybe go back a little, to an incident you’ve had time to do some thinking about. Do you understand what I’m saying?’
‘Of course. You’re suggesting that analysis of recent events may lack a broader context and be clouded by emotions.’
‘Yeah. That. So go back a bit.’
‘I was at a restaurant. My costume was criticised. There was an altercation which escalated, and two security personnel attempted to restrain me. I responded with the minimum force needed to disable them.’
I explained how the Lesbian Mothers Project would provide me with valuable knowledge relevant to parenthood.
‘Good work,’ said Gene. ‘You can tell her how to do motherhood as well as psychology.’ He put his hands up in dual stop signs. ‘I’m being sarcastic. You do not want to tell her how to be a mother. If you learn something from the project, wonderful, but surprise her with your skills rather than beating her over the head with your knowledge.’
Gene recommended that I not raise the topic of the Lesbian Mothers Project again.
21
The Good Fathers Program was scheduled for Wednesday, 9 October on the Upper West Side. As with the Paedophile Assessment, I was astonished at how long it had taken to deliver support to a potentially dangerous person.
I told Rosie that I had organised a boys’ night out and, in the interests of minimising deception, called Dave and invited him to participate. Gene was having dinner with Inge.
‘I ought to catch up on some work,’ Dave said. ‘I’ve got a pile of paperwork this high.’
Obviously, I was unable to see whatever signals Dave was making to indicate the height of the pile, but I had a strong argument.
‘I recommend you do something baby-related,’ I said. ‘Sonia is unimpressed by your lack of interest. She considers it a result of your focus on work. Which you are currently demonstrating.’
‘She told you that? When?’
‘I don’t remember.’
‘Don. There’s a lot of things you do, but forgetting isn’t one of them.’
‘We had coffee.’
‘She never told me.’
‘You probably failed to ask. Or were too busy with work. I’ll meet you at 42nd Street A-Train uptown platform at 6.47 p.m. and we can attend together. I’ve estimated thirteen minutes for travel to the venue.’
‘I figured.’
The class was held in a room attached to a church. Dave and I were joined by fourteen other men, including the convenor, age approximately fifty-five, estimated BMI twenty-eight, appearance notable for the combination of frontal baldness and very long hair, plus a beard. The evening was warm, and he was wearing a t-shirt that made it apparent he had invested heavily in tattoos.
He introduced himself to the class as Jack, and explained that he had been a member of a motorcycle club, had spent time in jail and at one time had a bad attitude to women. It was quite a long speech but omitted some important information. I assumed he was being modest. When he asked if anyone had questions, I raised my hand.
‘What are your professional qualifications?’
He laughed. ‘The university of life. The school of hard knocks.’
I would have liked more information as to the disciplines, but did not want to dominate question time. As it turned out, nobody else asked anything, and it was our turn to introduce ourselves. Everyone provided only their names. Due to mumbling, Jack had to ask several times for a name to be repeated before he could match it on his list. When Dave’s turn came, Jack shook his head.
‘You’re not on the list. Don’t worry, they screw this up all the time. Spell your name for me, slowly.’
Dave provided the information.
‘Bechler. Yugoslavian?’
‘Serbo-Croatian, I think. Way back.’
‘We get quite a few Serbs. Something in the genes. Not that I want to encourage stereotypes. Any other Serbs here?’
No hands went up.
‘Your wife’s pregnant?’
‘Yes.’
‘Who told you to come here?’
Dave indicated me.
Jack looked at me for a few moments. ‘You’re his buddy?’
‘Correct.’
‘You brought him along because you thought it’d be good for him?’
‘Correct.’
‘Smart move, Don. If we all looked after our buddies like Don here, there’d be a lot less mothers showing up at the emergency room, a lot less babies shaken to death by men who won’t ever be able to look at themselves in the mirror again.’
Dave appeared more shaken than the hypothetical baby.
‘Now,’ said Jack. ‘Everybody’s here for a reason, including Dave. You’ve all done something to someone that you probably regret. I want to hear about it, and I want to know how you feel about it now. Who’s first?’
There was silence. Jack turned to Dave. ‘Dave, you look like—’
I interrupted. I needed to save Dave from being revealed as a non-violent imposter.
‘I’m willing to commence.’
‘All right, Don. Tell us what you’ve done.’
‘Which incident?’
‘Sounds like there’s been a few.’
Few was accurate. There had been three in my adult life, but the frequency had increased recently.
‘Correct. Two in the past month. Prompted by the pregnancy.’
‘That’s not good, Don. Maybe they’re a bit raw to think about now. Maybe go back a little, to an incident you’ve had time to do some thinking about. Do you understand what I’m saying?’
‘Of course. You’re suggesting that analysis of recent events may lack a broader context and be clouded by emotions.’
‘Yeah. That. So go back a bit.’
‘I was at a restaurant. My costume was criticised. There was an altercation which escalated, and two security personnel attempted to restrain me. I responded with the minimum force needed to disable them.’
