Then he broke out in big, gasping sobs. He collapsed into the back of the truck on a pile of sweaters and jackets. I consoled him and asked if we could talk. He agreed and the older gent left us.
The client stared at me, hard in silence. And then he told me that his father had died. And he had never grieved. I gently explored this a bit. Then he changed his story and said he was a big screw-up and had been lying to me about being happy and OK. I helped him think that through and recognize that some of his progress was real and some of it--well, he might have been kidding himself about some of it. After exploring a bit of his options and plans, we agreed to call it a day.
"He once again looked at me in silence, piercing me with his eyes as if to see inside me for some reason."But I returned again to his obvious grief, I asked once more, what had caused him breakdown? He once again looked at me in silence, piercing me with his eyes as if to see inside me for some reason. Then he finally said, "My dad never gave me the sex talk. I miss him very much." I was so honored and amazed. We briefly talked about his fond memories of his father and how he carries him in his heart even now.
I will never cease to be surprised by street youth. Here you have a tough guy who's had sex, done drugs, lives on the street, and perhaps dealt with all sorts of things that I can't imagine. And he is brought to his knees about his internal feelings about how good he wants sex to be, how much he desires to be guided by his father, and how much he wants good things in his life. It's such a privilege to serve him and each and every one of them.