Subconsciously, it's Anything but Traumatic.

Two days ago you said that you had something very important to tell us. You were very excited. Mom and Dad got very excited because they thought that you were finally not living in sin. You were not, in fact, not living in sin. But you told us that she was pregnant. Dad threw an empty cardboard box at your head. It hit you directly in the face. The impact set off a fit of rage comparable to a hyperactive thirteen year old boy having a temper tantrum. I could not help but laugh. Not outright, the way you would if you saw someone slip and fall on their ass, or if you heard a teenage girl on the bus speaking earnestly about, well, anything that teenage girls speak earnestly about. This was silent laughter, the sort you keep to yourself. That inward snicker that becomes your only defence against the unruly and the totalitarian. And then I realized that I've been doing it, without realizing, my entire life.