I got a letter in the mail the other day from someone who wanted 
advice about their 13 year old son. I guess they knew I was a Probation Officer and had a lot of experience with adolescents and relationship problems. They were correct on both counts, for not only did I supervise juveniles, and even work at a juvenile detention facility (jail for kids); but I had a domestic violence caseload as well. I was reluctant to answer. I’m retired now, and the only hallucinations I want to share are my own, NOT, yours. But I’ll share this one anyway.
Dear Hansi,
Our 13 year old son Billy has been acting strangely of late. He no longer plays with the other neighborhood boys, but stays in his room all day listening to weird music and reading dirty magazines. One day I opened his door, and his room smelled like a forest fire. His eyes were bloodshot and glassy, and he didn’t make any sense whatsoever.. We found a small baggie of some green, leafy material; which Billy insisted was an herbal seasoning a friend gave him to spice up his food: he sometimes eats us out of house and home.
Worse yet Hansi, Billy has his hands down his pants at all hours of the day. When we confront him, Billy says he’s just re-arranging his underwear. Why that causes him to get so out of breath is beyond me. We’ve even gotten reports from school that Billy has been found hastily re-arranging his underwear in both the Boys bathroom and Gym locker room.
Is there a cause for concern here? What shall we do??
Signed…Confused in California.
Here’s what I replied:
Dear Confusued,
Being a parent is no easy task these days. I really think you don’t have too much to worry about; Billy sounds like an All American Boy to me. That burning smell in his room was probably just incense. He is no doubt exploring eastern religions, and that dazed and confused look on his face was just the result of being suddenly awakened from some deep state of meditation. I think you would be less worried if you took some of his spice, and sprinkled it on your salad some evening.
Regarding his “underwear re-arranging”, why he just playing with his Weewee. And if God has granted him the gift of having one, well it’s his duty to figure out how it works; life doesn’t come with an instruction manual. Before you go rushing off registering him as a sex offender, I think some simple behavior modification techniques would help with the problems at school. Billy just isn’t aware of social boundaries. My advice is to duct-tape a cardboard sign to his waist which reads “Don’t play with your Weewee”. That way he’ll be reminded of what’s appropriate, and what’s not. Even his peers at school will gladly join in by reminding Billy not to play with his Weewee.
Hope that was of help. I think you have nothing to worry about. I’ll address Billy’s torturing of small animals and setting fires, in another post.
Sincerely,
Hansi
Well…If you have any problems you want old Hansi to help you with, just leave an anonymous comment and I’ll get to work on it. Be sure to leave your address, so I know where to send my reply.
Hansi's Hallucinations 
Comments on: "Dear Hansi" (16)
Just a normal teenager then.
Herbal seasoning and eastern religions, I like that.
Bill
Ashton-under-Lyne, UK
Bill..It’s got to be the right herb, to season ya properly.
This is a true story about Hansi at his teen-age prime:
Our Dad and I were in the living-room one evening when the door bell rang. It was Ardeen, a cousin of our Dad’s whom we hadn’t seen in years. We asked him in and Dad told me to go get Hansi. Well, Hansi was in his room experimenting with “herbal seasonings” and eastern religion when I told him of our unexpected visitor. Hansi pulled himself together, came into the room and sat down on the couch. After a bit of small talk, during which Hansi was really trying to maintain, Dad asked Ardeen if he was still in the FBI. Ardeen answered: “Yes. In fact, I’ve just been promoted– I’m now head of the Narcotic Unit.” Jeezzz, you should have seen old Hansi blow, going limp like a wet wash cloth!!! Did Ardeen notice? We’ll never know.
Over 45 years later, Hansi doesn’t experiment with “herbal seasonings” anymore, he is now just “properly medicated”!!!
I remember that one. Talking about “shitting a brick”, that was the worst situation I can recall about getting loaded in the old bedroom. Damn I was baked! And then to having an FBI agent sitting in the front room with us. I don’t know what I did to get out of their; all I could think about was getting back to that bedroom and opening all the windows, and fast.
If you are trying to teach me a lesson, Dad, you are about 18 years too late.
Very nice hand, by the way.
Son….You are way beyond me teaching you any lessons 🙂 Thanks on the Hand drawing. A strange thing is happening with my drawing. Now that I’m blogging (writing) a lot; I’m finding myself ever more so on the Left side of the brain, instead of the right side, where I prefer to be when drawing. Because I’m writing narratives, I find that my drawing is becoming more narrative, and illustrative in nature. It’s becoming harder and harder to make the switch between the two sides of the brain. The good part is: that wanting to illustrate certain posts; like Dear Hansi, Raise Taxes and Nerf Guns etc, I’m presented with a challenge, and although I resent it at first, it’s kinda stimulating when it works out. Also been getting more into pen & ink, as you can tell. It’s cool, kinda like being one of the comic book greats like Wallace Wood, where they do everything in pencil first, then ink it later.
Hansi,
I sure wish I had access to your wisdom when my own sons were in high school.
Ralph….It’s not too late! If they haven’t done so already, those boys need to be cranking out grandchildren: ride their asses until they give ya at least two each. Grandchildren are God’s gift of a second chance for us parents. Unless of course, we screwed up so badly the first time around, that our kids don’t want anything to do with us, and insist that all custodial-type visits with their offspring be supervised.There’s nothing better than spoiling that grandchild of yours with extravagant gifts their parents can’t afford, getting them all hopped-up on sugar, and handing them back over to Mom and Dad.
No indication that grandchildren are coming. What are we doing wrong>
Ralph….Obviously you are not guilt-tripping them enough. It worked on us; it’ll work on them. Just another tried and true child rearing technique.
Aloha Hans! What a treat! Heidi turned me on to your Blog, and after a quick read through just now, I have to say, “What a treat!” Ha, ha… I shall be back for more.
Ron….I remember you; a guard or tackle on the LHS football team….good to hear from you. Good ol’ Sister Heidi is doing her part to help promote big brother Hansi in the Blog-o-sphere. Looks like your workin’ the web with some website design, and from Hawaii. Hope you are retired and enjoying life.
It’s nice to see that Heidi crops up in person, from time to time, to provide her spin on your youth. People no doubt wonder how a properly medicated old fart could ever have been a probation officer. First off, you better thank your lucky stars that testing for THC [that’s marijuana, for all you Puritans] was once costly and unfounded science. Further, they probably didn’t slap you into a lie detector in the olden days. Hell, they just had you trot down the hill and fetch the old oaken bucket. If you got back before sunset without spilling the contents, you were allowed to choose between being a probation officer, a psych technician, and a right-wing radio pundit. You choose wisely, Hansi. As for poor Billy, it’s time his parents ask the big question: Who’s paying for this? If Billy holds down a job and tosses coin into the family chest on his own accord, I say let him go herbal and play with Mr. Johnson all he wants.
Yes Geezerpuss….Those were the good old days,; when a bucket was made of oak, and not a to-do list you had to kick. As I recall….Your big ass probably wouldn’t have made it through a background check either.
I didn’t start down that road until I already got in trouble for doing something I wasn’t doing. Go figure.
Ah yes. the sin of omission.