I rearranged some chairs, moved an end table,
and created a play area in the center of the room.
Removing paper, pencils, crayons, hand puppets,
and a portable playhouse from my carrying case, I
placed them on the table. Then I went to fetch the
Moody children.
They were waiting in the law
Carlton Conley, and the children, who
dressed as if for church.’
. The three year old, April, wore a white taffeta
dress and white patent leather sandals over lace-hemmed
socks. Her blond hair had been ribboned
and braided. She nestled sleepily in her mother’s
lap, worrying a knee scab and sucking her thumb.
Her brother’d been costumed in a white western
shirt, brown corduroy pants with the cuffs turned
up, a snap-on tie and black oxfords. His face had
been scrubbed, his dark hair slicked down in an
unsuccessful attempt to make it behave. He looked
as miserable in the getup as any nine year old
could. When he saw me he turned away.
“Now, Ricky, don’t be rude to the doctor,” admonished
his mother. “Say hello, nice and polite.
Hello, Doctor.”
‘.’Hello, Mrs. Moody.”
The boy shoved his hands in his pockets and
scowled.
Conley got up from his seat next to her and shook
my hand, grinning awkwardly. The judge had been
right. Except for being significantly taller, he looked
strikingly like the man he’d replaced.
“Doctor,” he said weakly.
“Hello, Mr. Conley.’.’
April stirred, opened her eyes, and smiled at me.
She’d been the easy one during the-evaluation, an
expressive, happy child. Because she was a girl her
father had chosen to ignore her and she’d been
spared his destructive love. Ricky was the favorRe;
he’d suffered for it.
“Hi, April.”
158 Joaat/um Kel/ermaa
She batted her lashes lowered her face, and giggled,
a natural coquette.
“Remember the toys we played with last time?”
She nodded and giggled again.
“I have them here. Would you like to play with
them again?”
She looked at her mother, requesting permission.
“Go ‘head, honey.”
The little girl climbed down and took my hand.
“I’ll see you in a while, Bicky,” I said to the
sullen boy.
I spent twenty minutes with April mostly observing
as she manipulated the miniature inhabitants
of the playhouse. Her play was organized and
structured and relatively untroubled. Though she
enacted several episodes of parental conflict, she
was able to resolve them by having the father leave
and the family live happily ever after. For the most
part, hope and determination emanated from the
scenarios she constructed.
I drew her out about the situation at home and
found that she had an age-appropriate understanding
of what was going on. Daddy was angry at’
mommy, mommy was angry at daddy, so they
weren’t going to live with each other anymore. She
knew it wasn’t her fault or Ricky’s and she liked
Carlton.
Everything was .consistent with what I’d learned
during the initial evaluation. At that time she’d
expressed little anxiety over her father’s absence
and had seemed to be growing attached to Conley.
When I questioned her abott him now her face lit
up.
“Carlton’s so nice, Docka Alek. He take me to da
zoo. We saw da diraffe. An da
widened with wonder, the rnemor
-She went on sin ‘grog his praises and I
Judge Severe’s cynical prophecy would be proved
wrong. I’d treated countless girls who’d suffered
tortured relationships with their fathers or no relationship
at all, and had witnessed the psychic damage
they’d incurred, grievously handicapped in the
relationship game. This little sweetheart deserved
better.
When I’d observed long enough to convince my-serf
she was functioning reasonably well, I took her
back. She stood on tippy toes and reached out tooth-
pick arms. ! bent ami she kissed my cheek.
“Bye, Docka Alek.”
“Bye, honey. If you ever want to talk to me, tell
your mommy. She’ll help yon call.”
She said okay and crawled back to the pillowy
sanctuary of her mother’s thighs.
Ricky’d moved to a far corner where he stood
alone, staring out the window. I walked over to him,
put my hand on his shoulder, and spoke softly so
only he could hear: “I know you’re really madabout