Farther Down the Road: Love Is Something You Do
Summary: Jack Porter thanks his stepfather at his high school graduation assembly. Scene takes place approximately ten and a half years after the close of The Long Road Home.
Tommy Conlon had always thought the slow process of death really began at the age of forty. Until he hit it, and realized it wasn't so bad. He's forty-one now, and other than the forehead creases he's had since his middle twenties, and the sprinkling of gray in his beard stubble, he thinks he looks pretty good. He's still in good shape, thanks to the personal training he still offers at the gym and the Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu classes he teaches. Thanks to the love-hate relationship he's still got going with the heavy bag and the weights and the running.
He doesn't train mad crazy the way he used to; he doesn't need to. He's de-bulked some since he gave up fighting, though he's still got his biceps. His wife likes them.
He still can't even think the words "my wife" without smiling. Same deal with "my kids." Let other guys complain about how ungrateful and annoying their brats are; Tommy doesn't have to deal with that. His kids are great.
And the oldest one is about to be out of the house soon. Which, to be perfectly honest, Tommy has mixed feelings about. He's loved Jack practically since the minute he met the kid. Doesn't matter that Jack's not his biological son.
They'll have the summer, of course. But Jack will be doing training camp stuff in Philly, staying with his aunt and uncle and cousins, helping out at "Uncle" Frank's gym to earn a bit of spending money before school starts. He won't be home, and Tommy vacillates between being proud that the kid is going off to a good school and thinking that he's really going to miss having Jack around.
He sighs, and his wife reaches for his hand as they walk into the lobby of the high school gym. "Stop fidgeting," she whispers.
He shoots her a glare, and then thinks better of it because she looks nervous, too. "All right, Mama Bear," he says, and slings an arm around her waist. "You're just dreadin' losing your baby."
She socks him, medium hard, on the bicep, and doesn't say anything. By which he ascertains that she is, in fact, on the verge of being really emotional. So he's got to keep it together. It's their longterm arrangement: they can't both be wrecks at the same time. He sighs again. Looks like it's his turn to man up.
Well, this is the first fledgling to leave the nest. Hard on the mother. Jack will be fine, he's sure of it. Kelly, maybe, not-so-much. He'll have to remind her later that Jack's a capable kid, sensible, the kind of person who takes care of everybody including himself. No need to worry.
This is an awards assembly for graduating seniors. There's a certain amount of silliness that goes along with graduation, silliness that those graduating seem to find grave and serious, as well as things that do seem to matter. For example, Jack's parents were informed ahead of time that he had already been selected to the short list of nominees for Student of the Year. That's another thing Tommy has mixed feelings about, as an undistinguished high school graduate. He'd gotten out of high school in Tacoma with a high C average and absolutely no after-school activities; he'd been too busy working all the hours he could manage, trying to make enough to swing the rent and the electric bill. Sure, he could have been a better student if circumstances had allowed. They didn't allow. It is what it is, and it doesn't matter now.
Tommy's so proud of what Jack's done with his opportunities he can hardly sit still on the bleachers. Even when his own father joins them there, or maybe especially then. As a parent, Paddy Conlon was a failure. He was a good conditioning trainer, yeah. A dad? Absolute shit. Most of what Tommy knows about parenting he's figured out from doing the exact opposite of what his dad had done. Sure, they're getting along okay lately, and Pop is certainly an enthusiastic grandfather, but that doesn't mean Pop was a good father back then.
Let it go, he reminds himself. Just let it go. You're grown. That was then, this is now.
The same old usual crap goes on during the assembly: the acknowledgement of student government officers, the awarding of academic honors, yada yada blah blah blah. Toward the end of this, the principle finally announces that the school has nominated five students as candidates for Student of the Year.
They all sound like great kids. The principal mentions the activities they're involved in – athletic teams, academic teams, church youth groups, Scouts, student government. Bright, involved, potential-fulfilling kids.
But when the announcement is made, it's Jack. "John Tipton Porter," the principal announces, smiling, and there's a burst of frenzied applause and whistling in the student body. "In his time here at Taylor Allderdice, Jack has earned a GPA of 4.22, with accelerated classes at the magnet school, and he was named a semi-finalist for the National Merit Scholarship. Jack has participated in the concert band and the Academic Challenge Team, and served as a peer tutor for math. He's a three-sport athlete, running cross-country in the fall, swimming in the winter and playing on our state runner-up baseball team in the spring. He's an Eagle Scout, and this past year he captained not only the cross-country and baseball teams, but also the Social Studies ACT."
Kelly squeezes Tommy's hand, smiling. He squeezes back.
"In addition, on his own, Jack started and continues to run a summer program matching student volunteers with the YMCA daycare, giving high school students something constructive to do with their summers and allowing the YMCA to reduce their summer daycare costs and admit more children."
This might be the thing Tommy's proudest of, too. And it was all Jack, all his idea. They had thirty kids working down at the Y last summer. Amazing.
"He's a helpful person with high moral standards, and friends with everybody he meets. We're proud to announce that Jack will be attending the University of Pennsylvania next year, where he will play baseball and pursue his goal of becoming a psychiatrist." Another burst of applause, and even from this distance you can see how wide Jack's smile is in his pink-cheeked face, how he's both happy and a little embarrassed.
Playing baseball for UPenn in the Ivy League is probably not going to be a stepping-stone to Major League Baseball (in general? Ivy League athletics suck), but Tommy's still damn proud. Jack doesn't want to be a big-league ballplayer, he wants to be a psychiatrist and help people.
The principal steps away from the microphone and gestures for Jack to address it. "Jack, do you have a few words for us?"
This is a thing that would have scared Tommy utterly shitless at age 18, but Jack seems to have come prepared. But, then, that's Jack, he reflects. Bright and athletic and prepared - shades of his Uncle Brendan.
Jack starts out by thanking his teachers and school personnel, as well as his family, his Scout leaders and his youth group pastor, all very basic. And then he leans into the microphone from his 6'1" height and gets real. "I kinda jumped at the chance to say something today, because I might not get to say something to every person individually. It's just this: take care of each other." He shrugs his shoulders up a little, and although he's built like a young man, tall and lean and handsome in his contacts, Tommy can still see the eight-year-old in glasses in him. "It's easier than you think to make the world a better place. You just start with what's around you. You notice where things are broken or dirty or sad, and you do what you can."
He takes a deep breath. "I want to thank my mom, who has been there for me all my life, for teaching me to leave things a little bit better than you found them. She does that herself all the time. I love you, Mom." Jack grins, and Kelly smiles back but her eyes are wet. Tommy feels for the handkerchief he stuck in his pocket earlier today, expecting she'd need it, and hands it over.
And then Jack goes on. "And I want to thank my stepfather, who married my mom when I was eight, for giving me my life philosophy."
Tommy looks up, startled. Jack's got a life philosophy? And I had something to do with it?
Jack grins a little more. "He looks a little surprised right now, and I guess it's because I never said it out loud. He might have said this to me maybe once because he's not much of a talker, but he lives it out every day. Tommy taught me that love is something you do. It's that simple. Thanks, Tommy."
Jack goes on to encourage his fellow students to love people out loud, not just with words but actions, and the gym gets raucous with applause. Jack steps down, and the awards ceremony continues, and Tommy just sits there fighting back tears.
Out of Tommy's once-fucked-up life, something incredibly good has come. Who knew?