When you’re a child and your father is loving and playful, then disappears for a while, and later comes back and acts as if nothing happened — and does this repeatedly — you learn that joy is fickle. When your mother emerges from her depression and suddenly seems interested in your days and acts the way you see other kids’ moms acting, you don’t dare feel joy because you know from experience that it will all go away. And it does. Every single time. Better to expect nothing too stable.
