Dear Goob,

We miss you, dude. Your brother does especially. Buck was disappointed that you couldn’t come through here on your way out west…you know, for his graduation.

I imagine going out west to be with those disturbed folks is like having a bad tooth. You know it’s there, you know something should be done about it, but right now your tongue keeps darting out and poking that bad tooth. It causes pain, and you know you should leave it alone until something can be done, but next thing you know, your tongue has poked that bad tooth again. And again.

I guess I really can’t understand why you’re out there, with the people who betrayed you and lied to you and about you. Yeah, LTS is your mom…but what a bitch she is, allowing the abuse to happen, and look what has become of your youngest brother she had by that guy from Guatemala…I would like to think that page on the internet for him, advertising for a homosexual relationship was put up by someone else…but somehow, I believe he did that.

You can’t rescue him. You can’t rescue your lady-friend you dragged with you (or was she part of dragging you out there???). And by God, you can’t rescue anyone else in that family. Your youngest brother MIGHT be saved…but you have to rescue yourself first. You have to yank that bad tooth out, the toxicity that is that whole group of deviant people out there.

You deserve better than that psychotic mess in Utah. I worry for you. So does Dad.

We still love you. We hate that you’ve made this decision to be there, but it’s your decision to make. Granted, we can’t offer the money they do…but we can offer a place to stay, a place to heal, a place for you to gain the confidence and self-respect you deserve. I really don’t think you’ll get that out there.

Please take care of yourself, Goob. Know that we are here for you, no matter what. We want what is best for you, not what’s best for us. We love you for you…

Please take care and be safe. I try to text you each night, ‘May the Lord bless you and keep you safe.’ Don’t know if you see it, or just ignore it. I wonder how long you’ll have that phone number…I imagine you are being encouraged to get rid of all things Alabama. But even when it doesn’t work anymore, I’ll still be saying that prayer for you. Always.

2 Responses to “Dear Goob,”

  1. Rita Says:

    It’s like my husband always says, being a step-parent is the hardest job in the world. He can only assume that from watching the tough row I have had to hoe for years. He got lucky, I didn’t bring any kids into the marriage.

  2. pam Says:

    Hugs and prayers for all of you.