20 years later, Max goes to therapy.

Once you become a parent, there are often moments when you slap yourself on the head and say out loud, "so that's why Mom did that!" I think it actually takes becoming a parent to make those realizations, and that the childless among us are more likely to end up on a therapist's couch dissecting all the ways their parents did them wrong.

So what would Max say to his therapist?

Max: My mother is so crazy that she once took away all the toilet paper and hid it from me. If anyone had to go to the bathroom, they had to ask her for a toilet paper ration. I know my parents didn't have much money, but... rationing toilet paper? And now, every time I go shopping, I feel compelled to buy enormous quantities of the stuff. It's in the bathroom cabinet, the garden shed, under my bed, and the trunk of my car. But I still need more!

What really happened: Every time I put a new roll of t.p. in the bathroom, as soon as Max notices he will unroll every last bit of it and flush the evidence down the toilet just so he can get the tube to play with. Toilet paper isn't hugely expensive when used appropriately, but going through 2-3 rolls a day really adds up.

Max: My mother is the most sadistic person I've ever heard of. When I was little I loved to look out my bedroom window and watch the birds in the tree just outside. One day she came in and just slammed it shut, and told me if she caught me near the window again she'd take it away. I was too little to know you can't actually take a window away. But I still can't believe it, how can you deny a window to a child? I wish I could say that I know why the caged bird sings...

What really happened: Max's room is on the second floor. He had opened his window all the way, pried off the screen, and was leaning out and yelling at the neighbors in their yard. Telling Max "you will fall to your death," isn't enough, nor is a spanking or other disciplinary action. He will do it again and again until either he falls to his death or the fear of God is put into him. A sad kid is better than a dead kid.

Max: My mom never let me play with the neighbor kids. I'd see them from the windows, out there riding their bikes and chasing the ice cream truck, all the sorts of things kids are supposed to do. But I wasn't allowed near them. I only wanted a friend!

What really happened: Let me tell you about the neighbor kids. Their favorite words are "f*ckweasel," "f*ckstick," and "b*tch." Coincidentally, those are also the nicknames their parents have chosen for them. They're allowed to roam in the street with no supervision. A couple weeks ago the police were called on the 3 year old, because he'd been throwing rocks at passing cars, as he does every afternoon, and managed to break a window that time. No, I don't let Max play with them. Guilty as charged.

Max: We lived less than two blocks from a park, but Mom never took us. We only had our tiny back yard, about ten square feet of dirt to play in.

What really happened: I used to take them to the park almost every day when we first moved here, despite its lack of play equipment. The grass was green, the sky was blue, and there's a decent basketball hoop. I never saw any other families there though, just shady characters in hooded jackets bending over the picnic tables or squatting under the trees. One day I saw what they were actually doing while they were squatting under the trees and I decided I didn't want my kids to see that too.

Max: One day I discovered the flap in my underwear and thought it was really neat. It became my new favorite game to get Mom to look, and when she did I'd pull my penis out. At first she thought it was funny, but when I added a trench coat to my repertoire she just freaked out. Is it any wonder I have self esteem issues?

What really happened: Do I really need to explain this one?

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