“You can’t save us,” I said, “you can’t stop the process. That’s why we’re going into psychiatry: we’re trying to save ourselves.” “From what?” “FROM BEING JERKS WHO’D LOOK UP TO SOMEONE LIKE YOU!” screamed the Runt. “What?” asked the Leggo shakily, “what are you saying?” I felt that he was trying to understand, and I knew he couldn’t but that he was crying inside because we’d pushed the button that had him hearing the tapes of all his failings, as father and son, and I said as kindly as possible, “What we’re saying is that the real problem this year hasn’t been the gomers, it’s been that we didn’t have anyone to look up to.”