Train Wreck

When BellaDonna ordered my son Trey, her husband of 17+ interminable years, to leave the family residence, we were delighted. Even though our contact with her - and the grandboys, of course - had been minimal (2 and 1/2 days once a year at a campground on the Russian River) for several years, any encounter was too much time spent in proximity to BD. With Trey living separately, we envisioned long lazy visits, maybe some camping, maybe some travel,sharing books, sharing stories with the boys. Maybe we'd have a chance to go to their basketball and baseball games. Maybe we'd get to hang out some during school holidays. Well, guess again.
And, of course, in retrospect it should be no surprise that the name of BD's new game is "Parental Alienation". For those of you still living in the mid-twentieth century, it is not a board game. Yet. It's not even very hard to play, as long as you start first and never falter in your resolve to emotionally decimate your opponent.
BD has always been unflagging, whatever she determines she should do. Shortly before the marriage (very California, on a bluff above the ocean, nine tons of lace and seed pearls, a cousin who lugged her harp through the succulents)BD's mother held a roast for her and invited me.
Not disposed to watch TV, I was unsure what it meant to be roasted, in other than culinary terms. Some helpful friend provided a definition which included references to the Rat Pack, you know, when Peter Lawford and Dean Martin. . . Not very illuminating. I did get the impression that whoever was the target would probably get mortally embarrassed. After some indecision, I called BD to see if she was comfortable with the plan. It was supposed to be a surprise, she told me, dismissively. I went anyway.
We had punch made out of fizzy wine and orange sherbet. There were gifts - underwear and stuff. Her best friend and her matron of honor had made a video, which featured the two of them chugging margaritas and telling really nasty stories about BD, including things she'd said about/thought/done to Trey and how clueless he was about female connivance. I left, feeling distinctly humor-impaired.
Four years ago, Thespia and Pippa were visiting during the annual Russian River excursion. BD took Thespia off for a spa day and confided her deep dissatisfaction with Trey. She said the grandboys, Hale and Hardy, were afraid of their father and she was taking Hale, the older, to therapy to relieve his anxiety. No fear was evident in the couple of days we milled around each other. Neither boy had any hesitation about climbing up their father to dive off his shoulders or hopping into a canoe with him and rocking it until it capsized, or pulling him around on an inflatable raft or flopping down beside him to snooze on a warm towel. The only discordant notes occurred when BD wanted one of the boys to perform and he didn't hop to it.
Trey left the house a year and a half ago. He and BD counseled for six months, hashing out a parenting agreement. The plan was that the boys would spend alternate weekends with their father until the end of the summer. With the start of the school year, the time share would become almost equal. Throughout the summer, the boys moved back and forth between their parents' respective houses.
On the Tuesday when the new schedule was to commence, BD called Trey to say that the boys didn't want any changes in the time share. Trey asked to speak with the boys. Hale then told his father that he didn't want to spend any nights at Trey's house. He didn't really even want to come there for visits. He refused to discuss the matter and became practically catatonic when pressed to do so, hiding under his bed covers and clutching his mother's hand.
Since then, Hale has barely spoken to Trey. BD provides no information about Trey's school or friends or sports or development, even though there is a court order in effect that requires her to do so. Hale blames his father for the demise of the family and will not forgive him. Each time it looks like there might be some softening, BD stokes the boiler with more misinformation and rewritten history. It really is scarey, standing here on the rumbling tracks.