I'm not sure what woke me up that night. I remember being sound asleep in
my bed after a night of patrolling with Buffy and suddenly I was jolted
awake. Everything I tried to do to get back to sleep didn't work.
Groaning, I looked at the clock. 3:30. I sat up in bed and yawned loudly.
Since it didn't do any good to try to go back to sleep, I decided to head
down to the kitchen and grab a midnight snack. Chances were I could have a
fairly entertaining conversation with my sleepwalking mother. Ironically
enough, she seemed to be more attentive when she was asleep then when she
was awake. At least, she knew who I was.
I padded silently into the kitchen, half-expecting to see mom sitting at the kitchen counter, eating leftover Chinese. When I saw my dad sitting at the table with his hand wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee, I jumped a little. It had been a long time since he and I had been alone in a room together. Truthfully, I had done that purposely. I hated the man. I couldn't help it. After all, he had never really loved me like a father was supposed to. It had been years since he had hit me though. Now that I could fight back, and overpower him, he didn't hit me anymore. Thank God for small favors.
Taking a deep breath, I walked the rest of the way in the kitchen. He half- nodded and grunted at my presence, probably the only acknowledgement I would get. I opened the refrigerator door, surveying whatever edible food we might have. Two-week-old turkey sandwich, something that looked like it might be alive, peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and ooh! Pizza! The perfect midnight snack.
I grabbed the pizza and a napkin, and sat down at the table with my father. I had barely begun chowing when he finally looked at me and spoke. "I'm sorry," he said softly.
I nearly choked. "What?"
He stared into his coffee mug again and sighed. "For the way I raised you. I did a piss-poor job of it. I'm sorry."
I didn't know how to respond. I mean, who would? The man who had beaten up on me for years was apologizing? "I uh-"
"It's ok. I don't expect you to forgive me. I've been the worst kind of role model to you. I tried being a father to you in the only way I knew how. My pop hit me as a kid and I grew up thinking that's ok. I hope to God that you don't turn out the same way I did. But from the looks of things, you're not going to. You're shaping up into a far better man than I ever was, or could be. I know it's nothing your mother and I have done. Hold onto whatever sense of integrity you have, Alexander. Whatever it is that gives you your strength, don't let go of it. If there's one piece of advice I can give you, it's that your family isn't always the most important thing in your life." He shook his head slowly and looked at me. "I don't know. Maybe you figured that out. But I just wanted to say I'm sorry. For everything."
I gulped down the last of my pizza and looked down at the linoleum floor that had suddenly become very interesting. "Dad, I don't know what to say. For years, I was terrified of you. I never wanted to come home after school, and I dreaded the nights you came home drunk. I never understood why Mom stayed with you. Until my sophomore year in high school, when I met Buffy, the only person I really could depend on was Willow. Well, Jesse too, but then he died, and Willow was all I had left. But over the last five or six years, I've found the most perfect friendship and love in my friends. And I have found purpose in my life. It's the most incredible feeling, to know why you're on this earth." And the worst part is that no one will ever know what I do on almost a nightly basis. I pushed my chair back slowly and stood up. I walked to the doorway and turned to face the man I had never really thought to call my father. "Dad? I forgive you."
He smiled tearily at me and I wiped a tear of my own from my eyes. Somehow, this felt like we were just beginning to be a real family. It was a nice feeling.
* * * *
When I woke up the next morning, I found my mom crying in her bedroom. "Ma!" I cried, running over to her. "What is it?"
"Your father," she sobbed in my arms, "was in a car accident last night. The police just called. They said the time of death was 1:00 am."
I let go of her abruptly. "What?" That was impossible. Unless my clock was way off, which I was sure that it wasn't, I had been talking to dad in the kitchen at 3:30 in the morning. Unless it was his ghost. It seemed impossible, but on the Hellmouth, anything was possible. I smiled softly down at my sobbing mother and took her into my arms again. "We're going to be fine, Ma. I'll take care of everything. And I think that wherever dad is, he's going to be ok too."
Even though we were minus one member of our pathetic version of a family, at that moment we actually bonded as mother and son. We were a family. The kind that I had always wanted.
I padded silently into the kitchen, half-expecting to see mom sitting at the kitchen counter, eating leftover Chinese. When I saw my dad sitting at the table with his hand wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee, I jumped a little. It had been a long time since he and I had been alone in a room together. Truthfully, I had done that purposely. I hated the man. I couldn't help it. After all, he had never really loved me like a father was supposed to. It had been years since he had hit me though. Now that I could fight back, and overpower him, he didn't hit me anymore. Thank God for small favors.
Taking a deep breath, I walked the rest of the way in the kitchen. He half- nodded and grunted at my presence, probably the only acknowledgement I would get. I opened the refrigerator door, surveying whatever edible food we might have. Two-week-old turkey sandwich, something that looked like it might be alive, peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and ooh! Pizza! The perfect midnight snack.
I grabbed the pizza and a napkin, and sat down at the table with my father. I had barely begun chowing when he finally looked at me and spoke. "I'm sorry," he said softly.
I nearly choked. "What?"
He stared into his coffee mug again and sighed. "For the way I raised you. I did a piss-poor job of it. I'm sorry."
I didn't know how to respond. I mean, who would? The man who had beaten up on me for years was apologizing? "I uh-"
"It's ok. I don't expect you to forgive me. I've been the worst kind of role model to you. I tried being a father to you in the only way I knew how. My pop hit me as a kid and I grew up thinking that's ok. I hope to God that you don't turn out the same way I did. But from the looks of things, you're not going to. You're shaping up into a far better man than I ever was, or could be. I know it's nothing your mother and I have done. Hold onto whatever sense of integrity you have, Alexander. Whatever it is that gives you your strength, don't let go of it. If there's one piece of advice I can give you, it's that your family isn't always the most important thing in your life." He shook his head slowly and looked at me. "I don't know. Maybe you figured that out. But I just wanted to say I'm sorry. For everything."
I gulped down the last of my pizza and looked down at the linoleum floor that had suddenly become very interesting. "Dad, I don't know what to say. For years, I was terrified of you. I never wanted to come home after school, and I dreaded the nights you came home drunk. I never understood why Mom stayed with you. Until my sophomore year in high school, when I met Buffy, the only person I really could depend on was Willow. Well, Jesse too, but then he died, and Willow was all I had left. But over the last five or six years, I've found the most perfect friendship and love in my friends. And I have found purpose in my life. It's the most incredible feeling, to know why you're on this earth." And the worst part is that no one will ever know what I do on almost a nightly basis. I pushed my chair back slowly and stood up. I walked to the doorway and turned to face the man I had never really thought to call my father. "Dad? I forgive you."
He smiled tearily at me and I wiped a tear of my own from my eyes. Somehow, this felt like we were just beginning to be a real family. It was a nice feeling.
* * * *
When I woke up the next morning, I found my mom crying in her bedroom. "Ma!" I cried, running over to her. "What is it?"
"Your father," she sobbed in my arms, "was in a car accident last night. The police just called. They said the time of death was 1:00 am."
I let go of her abruptly. "What?" That was impossible. Unless my clock was way off, which I was sure that it wasn't, I had been talking to dad in the kitchen at 3:30 in the morning. Unless it was his ghost. It seemed impossible, but on the Hellmouth, anything was possible. I smiled softly down at my sobbing mother and took her into my arms again. "We're going to be fine, Ma. I'll take care of everything. And I think that wherever dad is, he's going to be ok too."
Even though we were minus one member of our pathetic version of a family, at that moment we actually bonded as mother and son. We were a family. The kind that I had always wanted.