May 23: Read the Baseball, "Hidden Pictures," Stigma of Mental Illness

Santiago talks luck and baseball . . . 

"Eighty-five is a lucky number," the old man said. "How would you like to see me bring one in that dressed out over a thousand pounds?"

"I'll get the cast net and go for sardines. Will you sit in the sun in the doorway?"

"Yes. I have yesterday's paper and I will read the baseball."

The boy did not know whether yesterday's paper was a fiction too. But the old man brought it out from under the bed.

"Perico gave it to me at the bodega," he explained.

I don't really believe in luck.  Bad things happen.  Not because of bad karma or planet alignment.  They just happen.  Santiago is a good guy.  He works hard every day.  Loves the boy.  Prays.  Yet, he hasn't caught a fish in almost three months.  

Tonight, I screened a film called Hidden Pictures:  The Underexposed World of Global Mental Health.  There weren't many people there.  Besides my wife and son, there were just two other attendees.  The film is about the stigma of mental illness throughout the world.  The filmmaker travels to India, South Africa, China, and France.  She also talks about her father's schizophrenia and suicide.  It's an eye-opening documentary.

After the movie was over, one of the audience members wanted to have a conversation about its content.  My son was sitting in the back of the room, listening.  I talked about my personal experiences with mental illness in a close family member.  The rollercoaster of medication adjustments.  The power of guilt and shame and secrecy.  And the need to drag mental illness out of the back of the family closet.

Then my son walked to the front of the room and sat next to me.  He started talking about his own experiences with ADHD and depression.  He spoke his truth without embarrassment.  Eloquently.  I sat next to him, marveling at his composure and ability to speak in front of complete strangers. 

I'm always proud of my kids.  That's my job as their father.  Tonight, however, listening to my son talk about his mental health struggles, I experienced a moment of grace.  After having a full week of what many people would call bad luck in school. my son tried to help this woman understand mental illness.  I don't know too many thirteen-year-olds who would do that.  

Saint Marty wishes his son's entire school could have seen him tonight.

May 13: A Stick, My Son, Fears and Prayers

"That's a fine spider and I'm going to capture it," said Avery.  He took the cover off the candy box.  Then he picked up a stick.  "I'm going to knock that ol' spider into this box," he said.

Avery's a pretty typical little boy.  He likes spiders and frogs.  He's jealous of his sister.  And he leaves mayhem and disaster in his wake.  In his attempt to capture Charlotte, he accidentally smashes a rotten goose egg, filling the entire barn with a horrible stink.


My son is Avery times ten thousand.  This afternoon, he got into trouble on the playground.  He decided to kill a tree.  He bent it over until it snapped, and then he wouldn't go back to his classroom.  Sat out in the hallway instead.  The playground aide said it was like my son didn't even hear her.  He was "just gone."

Of course, having a history with mental illness, I immediately jump to the conclusion that my son is suffering from bipolar or schizophrenia or dissociative personality disorder (whatever that is).  My radar for those kinds of things is super-sensitive.  Overly sensitive, probably.  Chances are, my son is just a normal boy, full of the devil sometimes.

I just wish he wouldn't be so . . . destructive and uncontrollable sometimes.  One therapist has called him a "strong-willed" child.  I think that term is a little too delicate.  My son is a Herculean-willed child.  And he's putting us through the twelve labors, if you know what I mean.

So, my prayer intention this week is for my son.

Dear God,

I know You never give me any problem that is impossible.  Life is a series of problems.  If we don't have problems, we're not really living.  I'm just asking for guidance and help with my son.  Help me understand how to help him.  Still my fears and give me peace.  And still my son's wild mind.

I'm afraid my son is beyond my help, but I know he's never beyond Your help.  So please send him Your love and guidance.

Your loving child,

Saint Marty

My son fighting the tree