A Father's Responsibility

Justin was twenty-two months old the first time he defied me. I still remember him glaring up at me, his pudgy little hands curled into fists, and his beautiful cherub face twisted with anger.

He'd said no to me before, but that was the first time he really meant it.

Jenn had taken him to a class at the local museum and they'd learned to make "stained glass" by drawing on tracing paper. I came home after a long day at work to find the front windows full of scribbles and when I told the boy to take them down, I got what I later called his "artist attitude."

I took his crayons away for a week, but after two days of non-stop sobbing and pleading, Jenn returned them. She never understood that it wasn't about having drawings cluttering up the windows - it was about learning discipline and obedience.

I remember the triumphant look Justin gave me after that, sitting at the little desk in his room with drawings scattered around him and the rainbow array of crayolas carefully lining the top of his desk. As I watched, he scooped the crayons into his lap, protecting them until I turned and left.

That was when I really understood. It would be up to me to keep the boy under control - Jenn was too soft hearted and too easily manipulated by those big blue eyes and wide smile. I would have to be the strong one, the tough one.

Sure, it was hard to be tough sometimes - no one likes to make their child cry - but Justin was very good at getting his way and his sweet manner and angelic looks too often hid devilish intent.

I insisted on a half-day preschool program for him as soon as he turned three; the routine and socializing with other children seemed to help a little with his  defiance. And later, when he started Kindergarten, he at least knew how to behave acceptably in public most of the time.

We had a few calm years, through first and second grade. Justin liked school and did well - I made sure of it. The only minor concern was his lack of interest in joining a little league sports team. Jenn had suggested we wait until third grade - to allow Justin a solid foundation in his academics before adding sports practices to his busy schedule of after school arts and science programs. I agreed, reluctantly.

It was a mistake I deeply regretted later.

Justin and I fought bitterly most of the summer leading up to his third grade year. I insisted he drop his art classes to participate in sports - he outright refused. He spent a week in his room without so much as a scrap of blank paper.

Only later did I find that he'd filled the margins of every one of his books.

He was to spend another week in his room erasing his scribbles, but Jenn intervened. The boy was freed, the drawings remained, and Justin never participated in team sports.

Partway through that year, we reached an uneasy truce that lasted into high school.

I was busy at work those days, struggling to work my way up in the company, putting in long hours in the office. Adding to my absence at home was attendance at all the right social events.

But I never forgot what was important - that it was my responsibility to raise the boy right. Sure Jenn handled the day to day stuff - like making sure the homework and chores got done. But I was the one that he answered to if there were anything less than A's on his report card, or if his manners were less than impeccable at a country club function.

I made damn sure he made me and Jenn proud.

High School didn't seem to be going that badly at first. Of course I was a division manager by then and my company was going through a merger so I had a few other things on my mind besides Justin's youthful tantrums.

Besides, I expected him to experiment a little with drinking and maybe even sex before he settled down to the serious business of preparing for college. I knew he was smart enough to be safe, so as long as it didn't interfere with his grades or cause the family any embarrassment, I wouldn't object.

If only I'd realized sooner what his idea of experimenting entailed.

I don't try and excuse my part in this; it was my responsibility to keep a tight reign on the boy and I failed. That's why I had to be so hard on Justin when I found out about... everything.

You see, I remember every time Justin defied me. I know this is just another of his attempts to test me. To push the limits. To see how I'll react. So I have to be strong, not give in to this current foolishness about that man and that lifestyle.

I have to put a stop to it now. For my son.

I wish I could tell Jenn about that phone call – about the things that pervert said. I don't know who he thought he was talking to, and I don't care. This Brian Kinney is not the kind of person who should be around my son. Justin's far too easily influenced. His little experiment with being queer could warp him for life.

I can't tell Jenn my plans, though; she's always been too easy on the boy. These days we don't talk much anyways, unless it's about Molly. When it's about Justin, we end up fighting. The rest of the time there just doesn't seem to be much to say to one another.

I certainly can't tell her where I'm going now - or how I followed Justin the other night. I tried to take care of Kinney, just to send him a little warning, but that type is too arrogant to change. All I accomplished was smashing up the front of my car.

No, this requires drastic action.

For the good of this family, I'm going to that filthy place and I'm going to make Justin come home.

And then I'm going to make him understand why he can't ever go back there or see that Kinney again.

No matter what it takes.

It's my responsibility... as a father.

end.