10 - Hawaii

The next couple of years passed by with tedious monotony.

Every morning I would go down to the kitchen and have breakfast with Maria and our cook, Juanita (the highlight of my day), and they would teach me Spanish and the kitchen soon became our "Spanish only" zone.

When my father was home I would go to his office after school and poor him a drink (Macallan 18, three fingers, one ice cube) and report to him how my studies were going while he drank his drink, which could have been his first or twentieth drink for the day. I would stand to attention and advise him on my latest test scores, or how I was going on my assignments. Now I was a good student, intelligent (although many of my later Tony DiNozzo incarnations would hide this from all he met), studious, and hard working. I received straight As for all of my subjects except one… the only one my father was interested in… Maths! Now I am not saying I was bad at maths, I wasn't failing, in fact I averaged a B throughout my entire schooling, but this was equivalent to an F in my father's eyes. "You will never be accepted by Harvard Business School if you don't get your maths score up Junior!"

You see, I was going to Harvard. It wasn't something we ever discussed, and it wasn't something I ever questioned. As a child you just assume that your parents make all the decisions and that is just the way it was. I was going to go to Harvard to study Business and the sun will rise in the east again tomorrow. It was just the way it was.

So once again, I was not enough, and getting straight As in subjects like English (A+ in drama), science, history, music and sport didn't mean much because I was going to Harvard Business and I needed an A in maths.

After giving my (always disappointing) report to my father I would leave his office and retreat to my room (I had moved from my vampire lair to another room shortly after the funeral), and would proceed to study until I was called to dinner. We would then eat our meal together, my father filling the silence with snippets of his day and how the business was faring, "You will need to know this Junior if you are going to run the company one day," and advise if he would be going away for work. I would occasionally attempt conversation by discussing something I saw or heard from school, for which I would receive an absent minded "uh ha," or ask if we could see a movie or go to the city, for which I would receive a "don't have time this week, maybe when I get back from …"

After dinner and our riveting conversation he would retreat to his study and his bottles of alcoholic comfort, or go out to meet with a "business associate" and I would go in and watch TV, or go back to my room to complete my homework or any assignments that may be due.

Now a couple of times a year my father would take me on a holiday! Sounds exciting yes! It sounds less exciting when you realise that my "holiday" is a business trip he is forced to take me on because the staff have to be given annual leave at some stage. We would go to such exotic locations as Houston, Texas; Pasadena, California; Denver, Colorado (in summer so no skiing); etc.

So one night as I was heading up to bed I heard Julia remind my father that the staff was taking one of their annual leave breaks the following week and he had yet to make arrangements for my care. Of course my father had completely forgotten about the leave week and it was decided that I would just have to accompany him on his trip to … Hawaii (YES!). Finally, a holiday that I just might manage to actually enjoy.

So with an excitement I had never previously experienced on one of our "holidays" we set off for Maui, Hawaii. The flight was the best I have ever had, not because we flew first class (we always did that) but because they showed two movies I had never seen. First was 'Smokey & The Bandit' with Bert Reynolds and Sally field with fast cars and (heavily edited) fast women. But the second! The second had me almost in tears when they started it; 'The Spy Who Loved Me' with Roger Moore as the super spy and my personal hero Bond, James Bond (not as good as Connery but I would take it). Already this was turning out to be the BEST TRIP EVER!

It was late evening (our time) by the time we arrived at our resort hotel so we ordered some dinner from room service and we each retreated to our individual bedrooms in our suite and turned in for the night.

I knew my father had a three day conference to attend before he would be able to spend any "quality time" with me as promised so when I awoke to an empty suite the next morning I was not surprised. I ordered breakfast from the room service menu and then I was off exploring. The Hotel was right on the beach and offered surfing lessons, snorkelling and scuba diving, windsurfing. There were also 3 different swimming pools on the grounds, a games room with board games, pinball machines and some fancy electronic game call 'Space Invaders', but the queue for that was too long to waste time on. Away from the resort there was a movie theatre down the road, a record shop around the corner and a Pizza Hut across the road. I managed to befriend a few kids around my age and we pretty much hung out from dawn to dusk after which I would retreat back to my room with a pizza and watch one of the pay-per-view movies streamed into my room by the hotel. Did I mention this was the BEST HOLIDAY EVER!

So three days had passed and I hadn't set eyes on my father but I knew he would be busy with the breakfasts and dinners at the conference so I wasn't really missing him. I wasn't ever allowed in his room but I had heard him stumbling in last night and again in the bathroom this morning so I knew he was around. Assuming my father was having a well-earned sleep-in following his busy schedule, I decided to let him sleep and quietly slipped out of the room. Down stairs I met up with my new friends and decided I would return to the room for lunch and we could plan some activities we could do together.

After a quick dip in the pool and a couple of games of pinball I returned to our suite but my father must have already left so I went down to the hotel restaurant to see if I could catch him. Sadly he wasn't there so I continued on with entertaining myself and made sure I was back in my room to at least have dinner with him. However, once again he wasn't to be seen so when the time reached seven and there was still no old man I ordered room service (I was kind of getting over pizza) and settled in to watch Close Encounters of the Third Kind on the TV.

Again the next day and the day after my father was a ghost. I must admit by this time I was starting to get a bit pissed off. I mean I was having a blast (best holiday EVER and all) but he had promised some time together on our holiday and I had really been looking forward to spending some fun times together like we used to. So when I awoke on the forth day after the conference, our last before flying out the following morning, and there was once again no sign of my father I started to get worried. I decided it was time to break a rule and decided to go into my father's room. My hand was shaking when I reached out for the door handle, visions of my mother flashing before my eyes, and as I slowly pushed the door open I saw … nothing. The bed was made as it is every morning, the bathroom was clean and everything was neat and tidy.

That's when it hit me … everything was neat and tidy. Where was his paperwork that he usually had on his bedside table? Where was his brief case? Where were his toiletries? I ran over to his wardrobes and threw the doors open. Where were his fucking clothes? He was gone!

It's hard to explain how I felt at that moment it was a combination of fear and fury; loss and sadness; longing and abandonment; disbelief and defeat. Was something wrong that caused him to leave me? Was he protecting me from some nefarious plot to hurt me? Was he hurt, or in hospital?

Or worse, was I abandoned? Had he decided it was just too hard? Did he not love me anymore? Was I just not enough?

Or the worst option of all; was I just forgotten?

If he was protecting me then that meant he cared for me more than I would have thought. Or even if I was abandoned on purpose then that indicated that I was at least a conscious thought that crossed his mind. But if I was forgotten… then I just didn't even register. I didn't matter.

I was roused from these morose thoughts bounding through my head, still standing in front of the clean closet, by a knock at the door.

When I dragged myself to the door, tears threatening but being held at bay by the overwhelming fury I was feeling towards my father (if he could call himself that), I was greeted by the shocked, and relieved face of the hotel manager.

"Are you Anthony DiNozzo Jr?" he asked.

I responded with a curt, "My name is Tony," said through gritted teeth.

"Thank God, your father just phoned us frantically asking us to check on you."

"And where is my father?" I asked still through gritted teeth, dreading the answer but still holding out hope he was in hospital on his deathbed.

"Um, ah, well," he stumbled, "we called him this morning when we noticed that room service and movies were still being charged even though he had checked out early."

"Where is he!" I yelled.

"We called him at his home."

And there it was, the answer to my question. I wasn't abandoned.

I was forgotten.