A door opened across the day room and through it came Sam Papa, followed
by at least a dozen adolescent patients. Sam had been leading group therapy. He
was scowling, and making a beeline for the exit. They must have given him a tough time. Just as he was about to open the door, this little kid started shouting at him. He couldn’t have been more than five feet tall, and he had blond hair and a big nose. He was obviously continuing a confrontation he’d had with Sam; then he hurled his greatest insult. “Papa, you can suck my dick.”
Sam stopped in his tracks. He froze, and so did everyone else. Then he turned around, looking furious. Slowly and deliberately, he crossed the room toward the little guy, who was now cowering. Sam was intentionally intimidating the bejesus out of the kid. I thought he was scared that Sam would hit him. I didn’t know what Sam was going to do, but I did know he wouldn’t hit a patient.
Sam grabbed the boy by the lapels of his shirt and as he did, he went down on one knee. Finally they were nose to nose. He looked him in the eye “If I thought for one moment that it would do anything for your mental health, I would get down on my knees, right here, and suck your little weenie.” With that, Sam let the boy go and walked off the unit.
After Sam locked the door behind him the silence was deafening. No one moved. Then—I couldn’t hold back any longer—I started laughing. That triggered laughter throughout the day room. The boy who’d been the focus of Sam’s wit first thought that we were laughing at him. Then, realizing that the moment had passed, he started laughing with us. It was probably the best thing that could have happened to him. Laughing at himself was healthy. I looked at Charlie and I caught him looking out of the corner of his eye at me. I was glad I was staying.
Excerpt from Bedlam, 2008.
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