Mayor Rob Ford: Suffer the chldren

Addicts are wily folk.
In public, they are charmers, snakeoil salesmen, shape shifters, attracters of attention.
Behind closed doors, they fall apart and decimate their families and relationships.
Many of us who grew up in families gripped by addiction would rather see our mothers/fathers/spouses use rather than risk the consequences of seeing them live sober.
We cower in closets. We mask our pain with headphones.
For children and spouses of people who are alcoholics or drug addicts, sober is a chilling exercise.
I was thinking about this when I saw Rob Ford retire to his mom's house in the wake of allegations that he was caught, by a Smartphone, smoking crack, peeing on buildings and walking among the good people of Toronto as a drooling idiot.
Oh, my God, is it possible that there was an intervention afoot?
Of course not, as Louis C.K. would say. Of course not, they've always enabled his antics before.
But maybe.
As a weird writer, survivor of parental alcoholism, I couldn't help but notice Rob Ford's daughter's silhouette in the plexiglass of their house as myriad media menaced the man in his own driveway.
Imagine what those children have to go through.
Bad enough to be a child of an addict, hidden in the shadows.
Imagine being those children, hidden behind the plexiglass.
In this entire mess, nobody has taken time to worry about his wife, his children.
He is our Michael Jackson and those kids are Paris, Prince and Blanket.


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