“You know, your brother gets off on something at his dad’s house.”
“What are you talking about? Gets off on what?”
“I think his dad must be letting him do the porn thing or something. Tony’s a real sicko. The other day, he comes home from school and tells me that he had his hands down a girl’s pants in photography.”
“Why are you—”
“So, I told him, ‘yeah, well your teacher e-mailed me and said you were failing the class. So you better get your grades up.’”
Am I the only person who finds it slightly disturbing that a teenager is telling his mother about having his hands down a girl's pants, and her only concern is the kid’s grades? Never mind the fact that he’s not gonna live past high school, talk about a complete lack of emotional guidance.
She wonders why I never call. I wonder why I'm so screwed up.