Obviously I'm not connected in any way with Flashpoint, and I so don't own anything
I checked out the ctv.ca website, and there is all this information about the characters on Flashpoint, so I thought it might be interesting to use that to write about Parker's relationship with his son. I'm not sure if this will be a one chapter or two. Who knows? Please review.
Dean Parker
I remember him. Vaguely. I was 10 when we left. 10 when we moved to a new country. Texas was much different than Toronto. People spoke a whole lot different than they did in Toronto. It wasn't just that. Most people had a dad. I didn't.
I got that question the third day I went to my new school. The 'what does your dad do?'. I told them. My dad's a Sergeant with the Police Strategic Response Unit in Toronto. The next question was usually, 'what's he doing there?'. "Living his life", was always my response.
The years progressed slowly, and the good memories I had started to fade. Those good memories were replaced by anger. Lots of anger, mixed with a lot of hurt. My mom was always angry when she talked about him. Then, when I was 13, all mention of him stopped. I kept hoping that he would come to Texas and that we would be a family again. I waited and waited for him for so long. 3 long years and he never came. That's when I began to rethink my relationship with my dad.
I remember my first day of high school. Some boy asked me what my dad did for a living. I knew what to say: 'I have no Dad. He's dead to me'. That seemed to stop all the questions. I liked that part. Having to answer no questions meant that I could stop thinking about him. When I stopped thinking about him, the anger and hurt began to fade.
I remember that he drank. I vividly remember that part. There were never any bottles hanging around the house, just empty ones in the garbage can. A lot of empty bottles. Mom always cleaned up after him.
I remember that he was angry a lot of the time. Sometimes he was angry at me, even when I didn't do anything wrong. My mom said that it wasn't my fault. So if it wasn't my fault, then whose fault was it?
Mom said that he loved his work more than he loved us. What kind of man does that? Who likes negotiating more than a wife and son? I used to think that I wasn't good enough for him to love me. Maybe if I was extra good, he would love me more than his work.
When I was 14 the letters started to come. The first arrived on my birthday. My mom kept the first one for three days before she wrote, "return to sender", on the front and sent it back to wherever it came from. Was it so wrong of me to not remember the house address where I spent the first 10 years of my life?
I was always curious about the letters. What could he want now? Did I want to let him back in my life? Mom never asked me what I wanted. She just kept writing "return to sender" on the front of every letter that came and I just let her.
I lost count after the first 5 letters that came. They were spaced a couple of months apart. I was torn. My Mom said that he wouldn't change. He was incapable of change and that it was better that I didn't have him in my life. I wasn't so sure. My Mom went on dates, but there was never anyone that would become a stepdad to me.
So I did what every teenage boy does when he's not looking at porn on the internet, I searched for information about my dad on the internet. There was a video on the internet that someone took using their phone. I played it, and as I watched it I realized that this moment was the first time I had seen my Dad in over 7 years. He looked different. Less hair. Hope I don't lose my hair!
He was talking down some crazy lunatic holding a woman hostage in the middle of a square. He didn't look like the man I remembered. But, then again, I never saw my dad in action, doing what he loved.
Three days ago I went with my class to Quebec City. It was the grade 10 retreat. When we got our free afternoon, my plan was put into action. I told my best friend where I was going. I used my fake id, purchased a bus ticket and left. I knew it was wrong, but this was the only chance I got.
So when the bus got to Toronto, I got off and followed the mass of people heading north to the subway. I researched everything - how to get there. I picked up my phone and dialled the number I memorized in case I lost the paper I wrote it down on.
"Toronto Police, Station 5, how can I direct your call?"
"I'm wondering if Sergeant Gregory Parker is in today?"
"He's on duty, would you like to leave a message?"
I hang up. No I didn't want to leave a message. I didn't even know what to say. What kind of message do you leave for a person you've haven't seen for 7 years. 'Hey, do you still drunk and get angry?'
I stopped moving when I stood in front of the Station. I'm really here. I can't wimp out now. I've pulled to much crap to not go through with this.
The first few steps into the building are the hardest. So many cops. So many guns. So many people staring at me.
"Dean, Dean Parker?"
I look at the man. He's completely bald. I remember him, somewhat. He worked with my dad and had a son a few years younger than me. I nod my head. "You looking for your Dad, Dean?"
The girl with him just keeps looking at me. She's hot. The blonde guy beside her keeps looking at me like he's going to shoot me or something. I've had enough.
"This was a bad idea. I'm outta here."
"Wait." Ed says in that boss like voice I remember he has. "Sam…" he whispers to the guy beside him just loud enough for me to actually hear.
"On it, sir."
I didn't even see the girl move behind me as I make my move to leave the station.
"Get out of my way!" I feel boxed in. This feeling wasn't supposed to happen. It's too much. I want to run but my feet are frozen.
"I'm Jules. I work with your Dad." She smiles at me. Wow. She has a great smile. "They let girls on the team?"
"They do if they can shoot as well as them. So how did you get here? It doesn't look like you brought much with you." Jules asked.
I looked her over. She was a lot shorter than me. "The bus."
"Ed, Sergeant Parker is heading to the airport for Dallas," some woman behind the desk says.
"Dallas?" Was he headed to see me, I wonder?
"He got tired of getting his letters returned, Dean. He's going there to see you." Ed says. "Sally –"
"Already on it, sir. The airport won't let him get on the plane. Don't worry."
"Come on kid, let's go to the briefing room." Ed points in the direction I'm supposed to walk in like some little kid.
"I'm not a kid, man."
"You're right. But your Mom probably doesn't see it that way. You want to call her, or you want your Dad to?"
"I called her when I got off the bus." It's a total lie, and I think Ed can see right through me. "She doesn't want to speak to him," I feel compelled to add.
I watch as Ed nods his head. He probably believes that part.
We reach the briefing room. It's a lot smaller than I expected.
"Sit here and wait for him, Dean. I've got my two best snipers watching you so you don't skip out on us."
"I'm not going anywhere, man." Jules and Sam have parked themselves outside the briefing room.
"Good. I'll hold you to your word Dean."
45 minutes later, I watched as my Dad, Sergeant Greg Parker, walked into the briefing room.
