Apple

Apple

There once was a boy who bit into an apple, releasing its blessed juices. He found the apple to be so delicious that he desired more.

With apple in hand, and the fruit’s taste still fresh upon his palate, he retraced his steps to the tree that bore his sweet treat.

Alas, the tree’s boughs had been picked clean. The boy stared at the tree for a moment, confounded as to how something so delectable could be so scarce.

He deserved another.

In anguish, the boy spat on the tree’s roots and shouted, “If I cannot have more, I refuse to have any!” He hurled the near-whole apple at the naked tree, spoiling what he had treasured in a breath of fury.

The boy turned his back and forgot the taste of the apple he bit but once.

Analogy

Imagine, if you will, a powerful river, strong as God intended, surging down an empty canal, only to come up against an even stronger dam, thick and sturdy. On the other side, one would never suspect the swirling force that roars behind the cold flat dam. The waters crash about so violently, one cannot help but feel it is unnatural for such water whose purpose is to flow naturally to be withheld.

Tough Question

Yesterday I was out with my 4-year-old client. We spent an hour in the park before going to get a sno-cone and heading back. I was taking him to his baby-sitter's out in the country, and on the way we passed a graveyard. He told me that his dad had told him that that's where dead people were. He then asked me how the dead people get there. He was sitting in the backseat behind me and I looked up in the rearview mirror and told him that when people die, their friends carry them to the graveyard to bury them. He looked at me and seemed to understand. He paused for a moment, then looked back up at me and asked,

"Do they take their love with them?"

I didn't really know what to say. I asked him to repeat the question in case I heard wrong, but he repeated the exact same question. What would you have answered?

Gooshy

Gooshy

This past Thursday I was seeing one of my younger male clients (around 6 years old). His mother was showing me around the house before she took off, and she was showing me where the bathroom was, when my client ran up to her and whispered,

"What happens if it's a gooshy one?"

I let out a scream inside my mind.

His mother replied, "Just ask Mr. Casey to help you."

More mind-screaming.

She then told me that if it's a "gooshy one" that there are special wipes for him to use, and that I'll have to throw them in the wastebasket because they don't flush down the toilet.

And more mind-screaming.

Thankfully he didn't need my help for no nasty gooshy bowel movements were passed in the house that day. Amen.

The Thief Lives in Suburbia

The Thief Lives in Suburbia

Picket fences burned
With the fires of inferiority

Green grass ripped
By apathy left rewarded

Front door torn in two
From scarlet tears withheld

Invincible oak uprooted
Fertility now irrelevant.


Who has watched this deed unfold?
The one who harbors this home.

His key tainted by soiled choice
Truly, betrayal has reigned this night

Within this house
Whose walls ne’er stood.

Hearth of a whore
Fortress no more.

No more.
No more.