Well, when I was 11, Mom made us all do family counseling to correct my "social problems."

The therapist, Gail whose-last-name-escapes-me, was kinda tall, skinny, had two kids of her own and short curly brown hair. Basically, I went to see her on my own once every two weeks, and Mom and Dad had sessions that I didn't attend.

For me, there was something called "play therapy" which involved building landscapes in a box of wet sand using random plastic toys. I would build something random for fun and then Gail would ask me to "interpret it." I would then think, "uh... there was supposed to be a deeper meaning?" and make up something off the top of my head. She would take a picture of the sandbox and put it in my file. She also made me fill out these questionnaire things, which basically had questions like,

"On a scale of 1 to five, how would you rate your communication skills between yourself and your peers? Explain."

or whatever, and I'd answer and Gail would get a copy of the questionnaire and put it in my file.

We also spent a lot of time talking about my "feelings" and my "social abilities," which really means Gail would talk, try to get me to respond, and fail utterly because I'd gotten bored, been distracted, and tuned out the "conversation."

I had to go to a couple of sessions with Mom and Dad, too, which were mostly comprised of me fiddling with the sandbox and Gail, Mom, and Dad talking about my lack of interest in social gatherings and Mom worrying about how I didn't have enough friends. (I had plenty of friends, FYI. Three's company, that sort of thing.) I think they might've asked me some questions, but I basically figured out what they wanted to hear and gave them that so they'd leave me alone.

The overall gist of the almost-a-year of family counseling: The sandbox was the best part, although Gail was nice, I guess.

I don't know if this is standard, however. This is just my personal experience. 

A few years ago we went to family counsiling, but I don't know where they got  the word "family" from becaause basically the therapist took my parents into a room in her office, locked the door and talked in secret with them while my brother and I watched old movies. At the end of each session she gave me and my brother a little prize for being such good couch potatoes. I tried to listen in on their secret conversation one time but I couldn't hear anything.