A/N: The usual disclaimers. Thanks for sharing, Mr. Wolf.
FATHER'S DAY June 18, 2006"All right, Bobby –if you're sure."
Bobby heard a hint of disappointment in his partner's voice and could picture the pout overtaking her lips and the little wrinkle between her eyebrows. He almost smiled at the cute imagery, but it wasn't enough to make him change his mind. Alex had been inviting him to the big Father's Day party and bar-b-que at her parents' house for the past few years, but he always declined. For Bobby, "Father's Day" never conjured up feelings of celebration.
"I'm sure –b-but thanks, Alex," he said.
"Okay. Guess I'll see ya tomorrow, then," she said.
"Yup, see ya tomorrow," he replied and hung up the phone.
Bobby grabbed the remote and turned the volume on the TV up a notch. He took a sip of his Colombian Roast and looked at the coffee table in front of him, wondering why he did this to himself every year –this self inflicted torturous ritual—a forced trip down memory lane.
He had a choice. He could reach for the Sunday Times and spend a relaxing day by reading and doing the crossword puzzle, or he could reach for his childhood scrapbook and re-live the hurt.
Bobby wasn't sure what compelled him, but, as he'd done every Father's Day Sunday for the past nine years since William O. Goren had died, he reached for the tattered scrapbook and began leafing through the musty pages. Of course, Bobby realized that turning the first dozen or so pages was just a 'formality.' He knew the exact location in the book of what he was looking for. And finally, he reached it.
Bobby carefully removed the folded sheet of blue construction paper, smiling, at first, at the seven-year-old 'artwork' and handwriting that used to be his, then grieving for the seven-year-old broken heart that was his, too.
It didn't seem possible that he'd created this little home-made Father's Day card thirty nine years earlier –the disappointment and hurt certainly didn't seem that stale—it still cut to his heart like a fresh wound.
He looked at the cover and softly read aloud, "Happy Father's Day, Daddy!" Although the crayon had faded, he could still see the picture he had drawn; a picture of their house, and a tree and his dad's car parked out front.
Bobby carefully opened the card to re-read the words within, which he already knew by heart: "June 16, 1968. When I grow up I want to be just like you, Daddy. I Love You. Love, your son, Bobby."
He stared at the words for a few minutes, remembering back to that long-ago Sunday, when he awoke and rushed downstairs to kiss his father and proudly present him with his homemade greeting card, only to find his mother and older brother alone in the kitchen.
"Where's Daddy?" he remembered asking his Mom.
"Daddy…had to go out, honey," was the answer.
Bobby could still remember the tone of her voice as she answered –the regret and sadness—a mother's heart breaking for her little boy. And he still remembered the look on his brother's face. His brother, Bill, was a few years older and already wise to their father's ways.
Little Bobby had sat on the porch almost the entire day, waiting for his father's car to pull up out front –for his Dad to get home and 'celebrate' Father's Day with his family. He remembered the embarrassment he felt. He pretended not to notice the happy families passing by on their ways to and from church. He pretended to pay no attention to the kids next door playing catch with their dads, or the sounds of laughter and splashing as other dads frolicked in their backyard swimming pools; he tried to ignore the wonderful smells from the neighbors' Father's Day bar-b-ques.
Bobby let out remorseful sigh as he replaced the old, worn paper in the scrapbook and gently laid it on the coffee table.
Taking another sip from his mug, a thought occurred to him and he found himself speaking out loud, "You've ruined enough of my days, Dad. But not anymore –there's still one bar-b-que I can make.
He flipped open his cell phone and hit number 2 on his speed dial.
"Eames, I've changed my mind. Gimme half and hour to get ready, okay?"
On the other end of the line, Alex smiled. She was happy at the thought of spending the day with Bobby, but happier just to know that he wouldn't be sitting home alone moping on the holiday –she knew, all too well, how his mind worked.
"Great! I'll pick you up at noon."
X X X
As Bobby headed for the bathroom to take a shower, the sentiment written in the card resonated in his mind, "When I grow up I want to be just like you…"
He shook his head and laughed when it occurred to him: "Sometimes you're better off when your childhood wishes don't come true."
He enjoyed the rest of the day.
THE END.