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. |