Reframing situations is our trick, our treat

Three parish priests, five psychiatrists, 17 psychotherapists, 37 social workers, and the FisherPaulsons are still the craziest people in the outer, outer, outer, outer Excelsior.

With each one of these professionals, we’ve gotten a trick or treat for how to cope with the modern family. These treats include: broadcast transitions; map out temperament; share power when able. Before Aidan even turned into a teenager, the professionals told us that he would always resist compromise.

The big trick comes when I complain that one of the boys has said, “I can’t believe you’re my adoptive father. What agency was dumb enough to license you?” The therapist will say, “Let’s reframe this, shall we? Your son must feel really loved by you if he feels safe enough to say things like this.”

So we reframe. The microwave that was set on fire is really just a chance to explore other cooking options. The failed math test is an opportunity for the family to spend quality time reviewing prime numbers. The fire alarm in the church was an exploration of response time for emergency service providers.

Nurse Vivian was not big on therapy, but she loved trickortreat. She did not believe in storebought costumes; this, for her, was the sartorial equivalent of Hamburger Helper. So she started around August, asking what I wanted to be for Halloween. When she got home from swing watch at Jamaica Hospital, she’d sit and sew that gypsy or pirate costume.

The funny thing was that I wasn’t really grateful. The other boys and girls wore flashy rayon costumes with plastic masks, and I thought that was better. But 40 years later, I still have that handmade green velvet leprechaun costume (although any hope for my fitting in it ended, oh, about 39 years ago). She even sewed a halfblack tuxedo/halfpink evening gown with spaghetti straps for me one year, and till his dying day, Hap attributed that costume to my lifestyle. Or half my lifestyle.

Not wanting to traumatize my own sons, each year I’ve asked them way in advance what they’d like to dress up as for Halloween. Zane was always low maintenance: whatever superhero film we watched that year. I’ve dressed the boys as Green Lantern and Flash, Batman and Robin, Iron Man and Hulk, Superman and Superboy, Captain America and Bucky Barnes, Black Panther and Ant Man.

But by last Halloween, Zane was gone across the desert and over the mountain. Aidan abandoned our motif and went instead for high concept. He asked for this dinosaur that included a batterypowered fan that blew it up and allowed him to make realistic dinosaur noises. (How did anyone know what a dinosaur really sounded like? Did they use 8track tapes?)

So $250 later we had the deluxe Tyrannosaurus rex. I left for work, and before I ever saw him in it, Aidan had managed to sell his costume to a sixthgrader. Maybe it was because I missed Zane, but it was the worst Halloween ever.

Thus, when gourd season came upon us this year, I asked, “Who do you want to be for Halloween? And by ‘want to be’ I do not mean purchasing another highend costume that you make a profit off of.” “Slenderman.” “Who’s Slenderman?” Eye roll. “From Minecraft.” Of course, I looked it up. This dude was creepy. The Slender Man was a creature of the internet, created by Eric Knudsen. He has no face and wears a black suit, and the stories feature him as stalking, abducting and otherwise traumatizing children.

Being a responsible parent, I countered, “OK, so do you want to be Spiderman or Doctor Strange?” “Slenderman,” he replied. This went on for weeks until my husband Brian went on tour. Aidan wanted a banana split from Mitchell’s for dinner and knew I wouldn’t budge unless he gave in on something big.

“Fine,” he said, “I’ll be Thanos.”

Before Aidan had finished his grasshopper pie, the deluxe version was ordered, complete with infinity gauntlet.

Brian flew home the next day, so that night I said, “We won! He’s getting a Thanos costume!” My fist raised, waiting for his bump. “OK, you didn’t want him to be a serial killer, so instead you went with the role model who is a mass murderer.”

“Brian, let’s reframe that, shall we? He’s gone from bogeyman of the World Wide Web to the one guy who could take out the Avengers. It demonstrates he has some ambition. And also Aidan compromised.”

Brian gave me a tepid fist bump, raised his wine glass and said, “To Aidan, Super Villain of the Year.”

“You didn’t want him to be a serial killer, so instead you went with the role model who is a mass murderer.”