Durango

We made it to Durango with the Boy, which is kind of a surprise, to be honest. The Boy got back from Ski Camp Saturday, which of course, was awesome. He learned new rail tricks and we saw video of some impressive double jumps.

So naturally, he was pissed that he had to leave for wilderness therapy the next day.

"I'm not going," he said.

Okay...

"If you wanted me to get out of bed, why didn't you send me to Ski Camp for four weeks?" he said. "Or I could have gotten a job waxing ski or working in the kitchen at the camp."

And then he slunk back into his bed with his phone. We brought both lunch and dinner into his room when he refused to come downstairs to eat. 

I don't even remember all of what happened Saturday, but it was awful. Most of the kids who go to wilderness therapy are brought in by the brute squad -- the parents call up a transport service and agents come to your home, take the kid with them, and fly them across the country to wilderness. I called the brute squad and had them on back up in case things went sideways and we couldn't get the Boy on the plane. 

All of this costs a crap ton of money, too, but that is and isn't the point. When you kid hasn't gone to school for five months, money doesn't seem relevant. Like the old MasterCard commerical:

    The education consultant to find the right program for your kid: $$$

    Eight to twelve weeks in wilderness therapy: $$$$$$

    The Goon Squad to bring him there: $$$

    Residential therapy programs, boarding school, whatever: $$$$$$

    Your kid having a fulfilling life and not living on your couch smoking weed until you die: Priceless

It all is coming out of the college fund, because at this rate, without all of this support, he wouldn't make it there anyway.

Sunday morning, he laid and bed and said he wasn't going. I sat with him for a half an hour. Jack had brought the Boy breakfast, but he didn't eat it.

"Can I go next week?" he asked.

"Is going next week going to make it better?" I asked. "Besides, the sooner you go, the sooner you can come back."

"Let me eat my muffin in peace," he said. I left, and went downstairs. I watched the porch to make sure he didn't climb out his window and down the tree to escape. I heard the door slam. I heard the Boy yell. I saw the latte Jack made for the Boy fly out the window. 

Then he came downstairs, took a shower, and we left for the airport.