Good to Me by LaTonya Mason Page B

you’re in the right place. What would you like to gain from
     therapy, Mr. Wright?”
    His smile was incongruent with his body language. “You tell me. You’re the therapist.”
    That was Emmitt up and down and she knew how to handle his type.
    She made direct eye contact with him. “In order for us to make significant gain here, Mr. Wright, the goals we set will have
     to be mutual. Why don’t you tell me what you would like to accomplish and I will help you identify how we can meet those goals.”
    He fidgeted in the chair and straightened his tie. “Uhm mum,” he cleared his throat. “I would like to…” he started, regaining
     his composure. “Find out why sistahs have problems with brothers such as myself. Why they can’t handle a fine, professional,
     and successful brotha like me. Every black woman I know—my mother, my sisters, and my wife—got their opinion about how I need
     to be living, what I need to be doing, and how I need to be doing it.”
    “Do you think that my race and gender will hinder us from working together?”
    “Your sex—” He smiled, or smirked. “Excuse me, your gender and race is why the courts recommended you to me. They think I
     should work with a black female.”
    That sounded like a Judge Fulton recommendation. She made a mental note to call her. “Okay, that’s one goal—to explore the
     resistance in your relationship with women who play a significant role in your life. I’d like for us to identify at least
     two more.”
    “You make it sound like that resistance is on my part. I told you, there is
nothing
wrong with me.”
    “You’re right, Mr. Wright, there is nothing
wrong
with you. But I think exploring your role with the women you’ve mentioned might help you understand why you keep making wrong
     decisions and finding yourself in the wrong type of situations. And by the looks of the court’s case summary,” she said, flipping
     through his chart, “a female was involved in each charge.”
    “Where did you go to school?”
    Charity looked pointedly at him. “We have about twenty more minutes in our session and it would benefit us best to use the
     time talking about you. Are you ready to proceed with your second goal?”
    “I was just wondering if you know what you know because you learned it from the books or from your own personal experience.
     You look to be about my age. I don’t know how you would be able to help me if you haven’t been through the same thing.”
    “Nineteen minutes and counting.”
    “Just what I thought, book sense.” He stood up and walked over to the window. “For a second goal, I would finally like to
     talk about a family secret. Something that happened between me and my sister Janice that my family doesn’t talk about.” He
     kept his back to her.
    Charity waited in silence.
    “Uhm mum,” he cleared his throat. “I’m not prepared to talk about that today but I would like to get there.”
    “Very good. Two down and one more to go.”
    He walked back toward Charity and seated himself. “And finally,” he said in the softest voice he’d used since he’d been there.
     “Since I see that you are a Bible reader, I would like to talk about how I can get back to where I used to be with the Lord.
     Are these three goals attainable?”
    She retrieved a piece of paper from the desk’s file cabinet drawer.
    “This is a treatment plan,” she slid it across the desk to him. “We’ll list the three goals that you have identified and I’ll
     work on the objectives, the ways in which we can meet these goals. We’ll meet twice a week for the first month, then once
     a week the next month, and eventually once a month until we terminate therapy. Does that sound workable for you?”
    He nodded.
    “Okay, when you return on Thursday, if you agree to the objectives, I’ll have you sign the plan and we’ll begin to work on
     them.”
    “I would like to meet three times a week.” He smiled.
    She kept on talking like