The first part might be lighthearted, but believe me; I chose the title for a reason. I'm (not) sorry.

I try to laugh about it
Cover it all up with lies
I try and laugh about it
Hiding the tears in my eyes
Because boys don't cry
Boys don't cry

–The Cure

Tenzin had heard of children having to parent their fathers, but this was ridiculous.

He'd known Korrak since the boy was a toddler, and, looking back, even then it was evident that he'd grow to be a difficult-no, infuriating-no, no, exasperating-scratch that, an utterly and incorrigibly impossible teenager. While the young Avatar grew up and trained in the compound, Tenzin would fly over two times a year (later reduced to once a year when the Equalist threat began to grow), and each time he arrived he found Korrak to be nothing but amiable, happy-go-lucky and eager to learn. Of course, the letters he got from the White Lotus tended to emphasize his lack of success in airbending and spiritual matters, but they never mentioned much of his personal development beyond words like "headstrong", "impulsive" or in the best cases, "a bit of a rebel". Then again, Tenzin thought that no letter could have prepared him to have Korrak as his pupil.

Honestly, sometimes he wanted to strangle him.

His memory of having taken a non-aggression vow usually returned after a while of humming mantras and meditating, but the peace of mind they brought him could only last for so long. Korrak was a good lad; he really was, when he wasn't being so blatantly arrogant, slacking off, or trying to indulge in modernistic frivolities (he was supposed to learn a certain ancient, sacred and spiritual art called airbending, for Yue's sake!).

For the past three days Tenzin had said to himself that it was temporal, that Korrak would eventually come about to apologize and learn responsibility if he gave the boy some space. Listening to Pema had never failed him. He still asked Meelo to promise him not to be as difficult a teenager as Korrak was. The five-year old stared up at his father while picking his nose and promptly fart-bended himself away to play with his sisters.

Well, there went that ancient, sacred and spiritual art.

Giving Korrak his space couldn't be done without first having a peaceful conversation and making each other's stance clear; hopefully both of them would be in a mood good enough to recognize their shortcomings (well, for Korrak to do it; after all, what had Tenzin done wrong so far?). "Giving Korrak some space" probably did not mean "letting him sneak off to play a pro-bending match".

Oaths aside, Tenzin was going to tear the boy's ponytail off.

Now he kind of understood why Kya and Bumi used to laugh so much when he told them the naughtiest things he'd done as a boy. Compared to what he was seeing –goodness, it hurt to admit it– he was rather easy to laugh at. And even what Korrak had done wasn't that bad if you compared it to Bumi's escapades back in the day (shudder).

…

There wasn't that many perks to being a member of the council, unless you counted excessive media attention and migraines, but it did help Tenzin to get inside the arena without any fuss from the grizzled old janitor (whom he vaguely recognized as a former pro-bender whose poster Kya used to kiss goodnight) other than a snarky "better take an umbrella, ya never know when some sucker's gonna go for a swim".

This turned out to be prophetic regarding Tenzin's young pupil, who, for an elemental master, was giving one heck of a sorry performance. Not that Tenzin knew anything about pro-bending. Because he didn't. Honestly.

(Korrak was totally reminding him of that mudslug Gong the Goner from the Huzhang Hippo-Cows, though; he'd been the laughing stock of the tournament ten years before).

Tenzin walked up to the edge of the plank shortly before Korrak's head and shoulders emerged from the water, and if he hadn't been so irritated, he probably would have taken pride in how his simple presence made the boy so visibly ashamed of his behavior that he couldn't say anything more than a nervous;

"Oh… hey, Tenzin."

"Once again, you have flagrantly disobeyed my orders. You were to stay on the island!" A proper lecture could wait until they were back at the temple; he couldn't start a lecture in the middle of such a crowded place. "Let's go."

He had already taken a few steps towards the exit when Korrak spoke, this time in a much more decisive tone;

"No. I'm kind of in the middle of something."

Tenzin stopped; he didn't even bother breathing. It was time he stopped sticking to the rules and spoke his mind.

"I have tried my very best to get through to you by being gentle and patient," he said, turning around, "but clearly, the only thing you respond to is force! So I am ordering you to come back to the temple, right now!"

By then he was yelling, surprised by his own vehemence but too angry to care; why couldn't he just listen? Why couldn't they find a common ground? Why couldn't Korrak see that Tenzin was trying his best, that those ancient teachings were all he had ever known?

Why did everything he ever did have to go wrong?

It seemed that Korrak was in the same mood as his mentor, and didn't hold anything back.

"Why? So I can sit around and meditate about how bad I am at airbending? You know, I'm beginning to think there's a reason I haven't been able to learn it! Because, maybe, I don't even need it!" The venom in his words was a little surprising, especially considering how little effort Tenzin had seen him put into getting better.

(Later he'd realize that that was precisely Korrak's problem: he had to make an effort. Bending had always been easy as breathing for him; all he ever needed to do was perfect it. Now not only did he face being stuck in a single place and supervised around the clock –then why the hell did I leave the South Pole in the first place? A prisoner in the compound, a prisoner in Air Temple Island, where's the difference?! When are they going to let me do something on my own?!–, he was incapable of doing something that should've been easy. He was failing. He wasn't the Avatar the people deserved. He was frightened).

"What? That is a ludicrous suggestion! The Avatar needs to learn airbending! It's not optional!"

"No! This is what I need to learn," Korrak said, pointing at the playing field, "modern styles of fighting!"

"Being the Avatar isn't all about fighting, Korrak!" Tenzin tried to slightly lean towards him, almost put a hand on his shoulder, "When will you learn that?"

The boy turned around and put his helmet back on; "I have a match to finish."

Tenzin was left there with his hand held up awkwardly, no longer angry, but with a heavy sense of disappointment that wasn't entirely directed at Korrak.

As bad as he felt, standing there looking like an idiot wouldn't change anything, and Tenzin went back up the stairs towards the nearest exit with his head bent much lower than normal. He could vaguely hear the commentator blaring out the game's progress, cheerily lamenting the Avatar's poor situation and the probabilities of his debut being cut short by his inexperience. Tenzin sighed. He didn't want to think of all the ways he could have handled the situation better, because, looking back on it, there were too many shortcomings to admit. It was only a matter of time before…

"Hold the phone! Stop the presses! He's still in the game, folks! And he's moving like an entirely different player! All of a sudden, the Platypus Bears' strikes are only striking air!"

The key is to be like the leaf. Flow with the movement of the gates…

"How about that?"