Saturday, November 26, 10:30 AM. Amy.

Well that was depressing.

I just came across Trevor playing alone in his room. He was on the floor with his Legos playing “hunting with Daddy.” He had built a little deer, a little gun, a little forest, a little Trevor, and a little (much, much bigger) Brewer. He was play-acting a scene. “Come on, son, maybe there’s one over here.” “Can I shoot one?” “Yes you can. You’re a good shot.” “There’s one!” “Can you hit it?” “Pow-pow!” And so on. Little boy stuff. But there’s no mistaking what’s on Trevor’s mind.

Brewer doesn’t realize how much the kids need him and how much he starves them of direct, heart-to-heart attention. (They’re not alone in that, but this is about them, not me.) Garrett gets the lion’s share of his attention. Claire goes hungry sometimes, but she and he have a special bond and she has the emotional intelligence to involve him in her world. Trevor has no such emotional intelligence. He’s cool and detached like the other Wilcox men, apparently content to sit by himself and play with his toys, and probably doesn’t know what he’s feeling any more than Brewer does. He certainly doesn’t know how to ask for his daddy’s love.

I’ll talk to Brewer about it. Kelli often chided me for not just telling Brewer what my needs are. For some reason I have a hard time doing that. But I have no problem sticking up for my kids. He’ll respond. He doesn’t mean to leave them dangling, and he knows he has a tendency to do so.