Well, it's not like therapy really helped my mom, either. She was kind of a mess. On about fifty different types of meds, and all that really did was make Dad happy enough to pretend things were normal.

[He sure is not helping with this boat rowing business either, huh? Nah, he's content to watch Connor labor at it and bitch about their families in soulful unison. That's when he adds, offhand:]

So I gave 'em all to my sister. She had more fun with 'em anyway.