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“I don’t know what else to do, quite frankly,” Machato Perez shares with his sister.

“Have you thought about that alternative school? You know, the one where they focus on doing things physically? I think they do lots of wood working, garden work, you know, stuff like that.”

“I don’t know. I’m thinking of pulling him from school. It’s not like he’s college material,” Machato sighs, as he drives once more to pick his son up early from school.

“Whatever you do, brother, I’m sure it’ll work out,” his sister says.

Machato hates these moments. They create a dark desperation, the type he’d only known twice before; once when an armed burglar entered his apartment, and once when a shark rammed into his leg—too far off the beach for help if it had become serious.

They begin with dread. When the school calls, his breathing changes. He remembers his life as a weekend father with a boy full of promise and he wonders what happened. Regret storms in and leaves him feeling like he could have done more. He pictures the worst. What is it this time? A fight? Cursing the teacher? Stealing? Lighting a fire in the bathroom? Smoking on campus?

That’s how it began. The first year he had Tomas full-time as a parent, it was nothing but detentions, suspensions, and academic probations. There was a brief spell where Tomas seemed to try to listen to Machato. But it didn’t last. The second year was more of the same, but with less frequent episodes, so Machato thought they were through the rough patch, on the way to getting better. If only.

This year it’s been anxiety attacks, sparked by irrational worrying about family and friends. And now—suicidal thoughts. At fifteen? How? Why?

Machato’s hands tremble as he places his car in park. He prays for a few seconds, asking for strength to show compassion, concern. This is not what he wanted for his son. If only he could show the deep, loving understanding he believed he possessed. He usually didn’t. Instead, anger and frustration seemed to always steal his face in these moments. He takes a deep breath and steps out of the car.

The public school does all it can. Machato’s been nothing but grateful to them, for all the accommodations they’ve tried to implement. But they’ve done all they can do, he thinks, as he walks up to the heavy double doors.

The school secretary knows the story. She’s always kind. “Hello Mr. Perez. He’s with the school counselor. I’ll let her know you’re here.”

“Thank you.” He paces the open space facing the secretary, wondering if there is some way he could reach Tomas.

“Mr. Perez, you can go to the counselor’s office. She’s waiting for you.”

As he enters, Machato sees Tomas crumpled up in a chair in the corner of the counselor’s cramped office. He can feel both the usual anger and the love he felt when Tomas first came into the world.

“Thank you for coming so quickly, Mr. Perez,” the counselor says.

Machato nods his head and walks over to Tomas. He places his hand on his head. How in the world do I make him better? He wonders.

“Hey bud,” he hopes he sounds compassionate, “how you doing?”

“Not good,” Tomas says, looking down at his feet, his overly long curly hair falling on his face.

“You need to take him to the emergency room right away,” the counselor says.

Machato ignores these words, uninterested in accepting anything that he believes is unnecessary. His son doesn’t need an emergency room. He just needs to let it pass. Understand that these feelings are just a momentary flash of emotions that will pass. Talk it out and move on. They can do that at home, he thinks.

“Mr. Perez?”

“Yes, yes,” he answers, wondering what he could do differently.

“Tomas is thinking of hurting himself. You must take him to the emergency room. Mr. Perez?”

Machato looks at his son. Is this really what we need to do? He implores Tomas with his eyes. Tomas looks up at him.

“I want to go to the emergency room, dad.”

What could he do? Despite every cell in his body yearning for a different Tomas at that moment, hoping for a Tomas that would stand up and declare he’s well, he’ll be fine, will work out whatever’s troubling him with his old man, Machato relents.

Growing up, Machato was a highly emotional boy who learned very early on that no one cared a rat’s ass about his emotions. By the age of five, he was already accustomed to the harsh reality of being a child in his grandmother’s household. His family simply wanted children to be quiet, stay-out-of-the-way, little adults.

It wasn’t until after he was suicidal as an adult that Machato learned he didn’t know what healthy emotional relationships look like, the kind his son needs now. Professional counseling taught him about the emptiness and need he carried from childhood into adulthood. Things could have been different for him, had somebody in his family shown him.

He understood this before Tomas was born, understood it as Tomas grew. Despite the divorce, he did all he could to show his son what no one showed Machato. But it didn’t take.

Instead, Tomas is sitting here feeling the same way Machato felt so many years ago. All his dreams for a good relationship with Tomas swim across Machato’s mind. It was always a given that Tomas would be fine, free of the internal crap Machato carried around most his life.

Machato puts his hand on his son’s shoulders. “Come, we’ll go to the hospital.”

Machato watches as Tomas slowly picks up his school bag. At that moment, Tomas seems like a stranger to Machato.

He wanted things to be different for Tomas. He thought it had been enough, even if it was only on weekends, to give Tomas the strength to be ok in this shitty-ass world.

“Tomas, I understand how you’re feeling,” Machato begins, as they walk out. Tomas remains silent.

Machato also falls silent. They reach the car.

“Are you taking me to the emergency room, dad?”

“Of course, m'ijo” Machato sighs.