it's not a really that big of a deal. it's just a crappy childhood - lots of people have them. i mean, c'mon, it's not like being born without hands.

we called them "special nights". each of the four of us got an evening alone with him, to do something of our choosing - eat where and what we wanted, go bowling, whatever. i don't remember the exact schedule but it must have been like twice a month because every week doesn't seem quite right. i do know all the "special nights" were recorded in his careful lettering on that big calendar that hung behind the door to the upstairs, a testament to his promise to honor them.

so it was my special night and i went to find her to get some help with the safety pin that held my pants together. these were some of my best school pants that i had chosen for my special night. i had absolutely no concept until years later that safety pins were considered a temporary emergency repair. i thought after the button fell off that's how you repaired the pants. it's about par for the course that she had a sewing machine that could embroider monograms and i didn't have a clue about buttons.

i found her in the great room but it was weird that the crown prince was there, too, with him and with her and so all of us were there except the little boys and who the hell knows where they ever were, ever, ever. probably off playing with legos. so, i was fixing to ask her for help with the safety pin when he announced he was taking her, right then, immediately, now, to a residential treatment program. a spectacularly unsuccessful residential treatment program, i might add. i just stood there with the safety pin in my hand and watched him walk her out the door.

i swear to you - swear it on her very grave - that in all the months and years of special nights, that is the only one, the only only one i remember at all. no, i am not shitting you here.