This episode finally had a character on the show suffer the realization that I did dozens of episodes ago. Deb is all like, “Harry was probably a puke-filled toilet of a Dad.” Even if you take away the idea that Dexter is interpreting Harry’s code through a blood-soaked curtain, why the fuck would a Dad ever drub up such a thing? All I know is that if I ever have a sociopathic kid, I probably won’t default to teaching him the right people to kill. I’ll probably start with therapy. Throw in some mind-massaging medications. See where that goes. I don’t have to worry about that, though. Whatever sort of child rears up out of my scrotum isn’t going to be a serial killer. He’ll be a manic depressive and lord willing I’ll try the same methods I would if he were a sociopath. Worst comes to worse he’ll end up like me, masturbating and playing video games. It’s a solid existence, if not a valorous one.

Maybe Harry just didn’t want to accept that the crying little duder he dragged out of a blood-filled shipping container was broken. His raw love for Dexter overrode what was an obvious need to rock whatever sort of healthcare provider he had and get his son a serious set of cognitive behavior therapeutics.

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