I don’t want to talk about it

After all, the boy is eight going on nine, and is a full-fledged little human being with sentient thoughts, and desires, and needs, and wants.

Does this mean I’m letting him fly the coop, that I think he’s ready to take life on his own, and that I don’t need to parent him?

Absolutely not. This is when he needs the most parenting, but the problem is I don’t know how to parent this one. How do you push your way in this time without ultimately alienating him, and pushing him into a corner where he doesn’t open up the next time something big comes along?

So far we’ve given him his space, and, eventually, he comes around and talks. He just needs to talk when he’s ready.

Unfortunately for my wife and me, that proverbial apple is not falling far from the tree. Great.

So what the heck is middle and high school going to be like? As long as he doesn’t go all goth on me, I’m fine. He is in the garage playing guitar right now. That’s a good outlet.

But as he knows — I’ve said it a hundred times — no one can help if we don’t know what’d bothering him.

Let’s hope that last power chord is his signal that he’s ready to talk.

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