down to a child the age
of four. I brought in a blue afghan for
“the session” and told him to get on the
floor. In my hand was a baby tiger. I knew

he wasn’t the “teddy bear” sort. I asked him
about the beatings. He told me his father made
him strip naked and lay across the bed. His innocent
boy face buried deep in the pillow choking back tears and

praying to God he’d live through such dread. A very hard
wooden rod supplied the lashings, until welts were raised
like a soufflé’ does in the oven. I asked if he ever had
anything soft to hold. When he told me no I made him

hold the tiger. His face dipped low, like when the sun
goes down beyond the horizon. I was in the role of
the therapist, albeit I the patient. And as long as I live
I’ll never forget this session.