Tales of A Grandmother

by mcj

NOT MOVIE-VERSE It's Grandma's birthday and tonight she's leaving no story untold. STORY COMPLETE

11. CHAPTER 7 FIVE GRANDSON'S IN DAMAGE CON...

Author's Note - Thank you for the enthusiasm for the Tracy Grandsons telling their stories about Josie. Scott - a truly amazing man and a fine Grandson. Virgil? Well we know what Josie thinks but what does he think about Josie? mcj

CHAPTER 7

FIVE GRANDSON'S IN DAMAGE CONTROL

PART 2 - LUCY'S ARTIST SPEAKS

I'm pretending to look for music at the moment and that's taking the pressure off me a bit thank goodness. Grandma doesn't look too happy about things over there and I'm scared to death she's going to zero in on me because of it. She hates surprise parties almost as much as she hates the fact that Dad thinks she isn't astute enough to find out about them.

Naturally Grandma's known for ages but I'm worried sick that she will be unhappy with me for not confiding in her. She expects me to do that and I usually do everything Grandma expects.

You see, I've got a very good reason to worry if I upset my Grandma. Unfortunately for me, Grandma has a very big secret about me which she's never told Dad about and I know only too well that if I push her too far, one day she's going to let the "cat out of the bag." If that ever happens let me say right here and now; this "cat" is out of here! Even though I'm twenty six years old now, Dad will still kill me if he finds out

But Grandma, I did try to tell you about the surprise party. I tried to tell you last night when I was playing the piano after Dinner but let's face it; there's only so much hinting a man can do with Dad in the room. You know that. You saw how Dad looked at me when I said, "Finally coming in to party with me Grandma?"

He gave me that "look" of his which I recognised immediately and knew meant I had to keep quiet. Honest Grandma, I couldn't say anything further once he'd looked at me like that. I'm always watching out for the looks Dad gives me. You know that he gives them to me all the time.

It's hard for me sometimes. I hate it when Dad gets upset especially when I am who I am and he knows I can't really help it.

You see, my Dad has got one great big problem with me. A problem that bothers him a great deal and it's one I can't do a thing about.

I look too much like my Mother.

I act too much like my Mother.

My talents are too much like my Mother's.

My mannerisms are the same as my Mother's.

I remind Dad every minute of every day of my Mother.

And Grandma, whether we like it or not, Dad doesn't want to be reminded about my Mother. He wants to forget about her and he wants us to forget about her too. I know you don't agree with him and have always tried to persuade him otherwise, but he's certainly never going to forget much with me right there under his nose dredging up her memory is he?

No wonder Dad sighs all the time when I play the piano. I guess he remembers how well Mom used to play herself and the fact that she taught me to play when I was a little boy.

No wonder he sighs miserably when I run my hands through my hair when I'm trying to learn a new piano piece or paint the scenery from the balcony. I know Mom did that too but it's truly only force of habit for me. I don't do it intentionally to drag up her memory. I only know she did it Grandma because you asked me to stop doing it one night when Dad became cross with me for what I thought was no reason.

Grandma, as I said to you that night; "I don't think about it. I just do it"

And my Dad hates the fact that I do and hates the memories of Mom that it stirs up when I do it. So I really try hard not to do it.

To tell you the truth I can't ever picture Mom running her hands through her curly hair when she concentrated on something. I do remember my Mom's curls though. They were chestnut in colour; thick and long and beautiful. I loved them. They looked so pretty falling about her face; they always smelled like Lavender and had a reddish tinge about them in the light.

I can understand why Dad gets so upset I suppose. He used to love her curls too. He used to wind them idly around his fingers when they sat together on the couch in the evenings. He'd stare at her lovingly as he did it. He often ran his hands through them when they went outside and stood together out on the porch in the dark as they tried to steal a few moments alone. I used to watch Dad from the window. He would tuck the curls behind her ear and then place his index finger under her chin to tilt it to his. He would tell her she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen and how much he loved her. Then he would kiss her and run his hands through her hair over and over again. Mom's beautiful hair certainly did a lot for Dad. I'm sure Scott's already filled you in on the nights Dad sent us to bed early. Those nights always seemed to start off with Dad running his hands through Mom's curls outside on the porch.

As for me, I used to bury my head in them when Mom held me and I always felt safe smelling that lavender. Grandma says it used to be a sight; my head lost in a sea of chestnut and my fat little fingers grasping it. She also says there is a photograph Dad took of Mom amd me like that. I've never seen it. Dad keeps all the photographs except one locked away.

But it was the smell of Lavender I loved. Lavender still makes me feel safe and still makes me think of Mom. It makes Dad think of her too. That's why he got rid of Mom's lavender in the garden when she died.

I don't feel too safe at the moment however. Grandma's frowning and looking in my direction. Stop looking at me like that Grandma! This whole thing's Dad's doing not mine!

Speaking of Dad, he's still so devastated about Mom that he can't even look at me without getting himself caught up in knots. He looks at my face and into my eyes and at the colour of my hair and when he does I see him swallow and his eyes well up or grow contemplative. When that happens I know what he's thinking. He's thinking about Mom and he's missing Mom and he's quite frankly wishing I didn't look quite so much like her right at that particular moment. Then he turns away or buries himself in paperwork and doesn't speak to anyone for hours.

I know when he turns away Grandma; he's not turning away from me. You keep reminding me of that and I'm really glad you do. Without your reassurance all these years I don't know how I could have coped with my Father's reaction to me. Without you there to keep Dad on track and in perspective, I don't know how he could have coped with his reactions to me either.

That's why I'm glad you're having this party.

Dad has asked me to play the piano for you tonight; and he never does that. He even asked me to compose something special for you which surprised, but nevertheless completely delighted me. Usually Dad tells me to keep my pieces to myself as you and I well know. I've still got that beautiful ballad I wrote for Mom amongst the music I'm sorting at the moment and I really wish I could sing it for him. The words are the words I know he has in his heart for Mom. They would make him cry but he really needs to cry. The words make me cry when I think about them but they make me feel better about what happened to Mom. I know he'd feel better too if he heard them.

Maybe...just maybe... if he's off his guard tonight I could risk singing it.

No. Dad's never off his guard when it comes to his feelings for Mom. I don't want to risk ruining the party. I'd better forget that idea. It's not worth it.

I think you'll like the piece I've written for you though Grandma. I thought of how wonderful you have been to us since Mom died and the things you've done for me as I've grown up and decided you deserved to have a song of gratitude and love written for you. You caught me fine tuning the music for it last night when we talked and somehow I know you know that piece is intended for you.

But you're lucky Grandma, at one point when I was thinking about what to write, I thought of all the dreadful, sneaky, under-handed and terrible things you've done to your poor defenceless Grandsons over the years and actually considered writing a song about your wicked ways. My brothers would have loved it but Dad wouldn't have got the gist of it I'm afraid. He doesn't know half of the outrageous things you've done to us to keep us on track and it's best he doesn't I suppose.

Grandma I know you've been talking about me and my life as some sort of "pay-back" for what has been planned for tonight. I really don't mind if you've talked about me, my singing, my art, my music or my college days or my even life here in International Rescue although that's supposed to be a secret you know.

What I am worried about is that you've finally decided to "let the cat out of the bag" and I'm now left with no option other than to defend myself to the people you've told.

However Grandma I swear if you tell Dad about me in that car, I'll tell him and everyone else in this house about the secret I've kept about you...and no one, not even you knows I know about it!

Two can play at your game Grandma. ````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````

THE LONG AWAITED SECOND SON

Grandma tells me I made a big impact on the Tracy family when I arrived. We all know that Grandmas always say that type of thing to their grandchildren to make them feel special especially when they are one of five, but my Grandma says she means it.

When I asked her what I had done to earn such a reputation she said that my arrival had finally put my Grandfather in his place. Apparently my Grandpa had been absolutely flabbergasted to hear that my mother had decided to call his second grandson "Virgil" and he had ranted and raved to Grandma that he was going to sort Mom out and have my name changed to something more suitable for a Tracy baby. Grant Tracy was not afraid of offending anyone Grandma said but she dared him to try and confront Mom.



"That soon sorted him out. " Grandma grinned. "He'd normally tell anyone off who displeased him. Anyone except that mother of yours that is." she said.

"She was one in a million that girl. She had him well and truly bluffed as it was; supporting your Father in his career," she told me. "But as for changing your name, he wasn't game enough to say anything. Not once she looked at him with that determined face of hers and said how much she liked the name Virgil. The look on your Grandfather's face was priceless. He had finally met his match and didn't have a clue what to say. At least your Grandfather was astute; I'll hand him that! He could see that look of your Mothers' and knew damned well she was daring him to say he didn't like your name. In the end he was carrying on like he was the one who suggested it. I laughed my head off. Yes Virgil you made an impact all right."

I nodded at the observation about Mom. Grandpa was a smart man. No one argued with Mom.

But as far as my Father was concerned, I was supposed to have graced this world a good twelve months earlier than I did. I took from that cryptic comment, made again of course by Grandma, that my Father was keener to produce a second son than my mother. I'm sure Mom had her reasons because Mom always had a reason for everything and as I said before, no one argued with her. Grandma said Mom's reason was pure and simple. She could be mighty stubborn when she wanted.

I recall Dad used to say she was stubborn all right and I guess he should know more than anyone. Even I still picture how stubborn she could be. I 'member, sorry recall, when Dad tried to get Mom to agree to buy this great red Ferrari he really, really wanted.

Dad, Scott and I fell in love with that car when we all were out together supposedly looking for new Offices for Dad. Dad wanted Offices near the Airport "for convenience" he said, but by the way he drove intentionally past every sports car showroom along the route we knew he was looking for cars not offices.

I must have been four because Mom was expecting Gordon at the time and she only wanted to go home, have a hot drink and lie down. She didn't want to test drive a sexy looking Ferrari when she was six months pregnant and as she put it "as sexless as it came." I didn't know what that meant but I did know that there was absolutely nothing Dad could say or do to convince her that we should test drive the car of his dreams, let alone consider buying it.

"We don't need a sports car Jeff." I recall her saying. "You're being ridiculous."

I still see Dad frowning and folding his arms. He told her he wasn't being ridiculous. She was just being stubborn and difficult because it suited her. He had worked hard to afford the finer things in life and what was wrong with him now having them? He then made the huge mistake of saying; "You're not thinking straight Lucy. You never do when you're pregnant."

Boy I also still see Mom after he said that. She folded her arms and reminded him in no uncertain terms that she was indeed thinking straight, it was his fault she was in the condition she was in and if she had her way she wouldn't be in it, we didn't need the car and she wasn't changing her mind.

She also reminded him the couch would be a pretty uncomfortable place to spend a cold January evening in Boston if he wasn't careful.

"Unless of course the couch is one of those finer things in life you are looking for Jeff," she had snapped.

So I can imagine that if Mom said no to Dad as strongly as she did that day about the Ferrari, he wouldn't get his way easily if he wanted more Tracy babies either.

Grandma said I sure got that right and wouldn't elaborate any further.

Despite this I was told I was a very long awaited and very much loved baby when I finally did arrive. That has always been reassuring to know because one of my clearest childhood memories was hearing Dad yelling at the top of his voice at Mom six months after Gordon was born about not wanting yet another baby and Mom crying her eyes out and saying how sorry she was about the mistake. That mistake turned out to be my youngest brother Alan and all I can say is Dad had every right to be mad Mom. Alan was one hell of a mistake!

Grandma said Dad had a soft spot for me because I looked so much like my Mom and given how much Dad was smitten with Mom in my memory it must have been one heck of a soft spot.

I guess Grandma's told you about the relationship I developed with both my Dad and my Mom as a little boy. I loved my Father but I worshipped the ground my mother walked on. She was the first thing I looked for in the morning and the last thing I looked for at night. She was always there if I needed a lap to sit on, particularly as Dad's lap was always full of no other than my big and extremely bossy brother Scott.

Scott liked to think he was Dad's favourite and he didn't like it at all when Dad gave me any attention. When Dad did play with me for a while Scott made sure it wasn't for too long.

"You belong to Mommy, "he used to say in no uncertain terms even when he was eight years old. "Daddy belongs to me."

Well I didn't mind most of the time but I did miss playing catch with Dad when Scott said I couldn't play. He never said I couldn't in front of Dad though but I knew I'd better not say so if I knew what was good for me. Dad never thought to ask me thinking I didn't like to play. He put it down to me being artistic like Mom.

But not Grandma. Grandma knew I wanted to play little boy's games especially with my Dad. She was right onto Scott from the moment she arrived for a visit and made very sure that I was included in each and every game of catch when she was around. She always made sure I got the chance to sit on Dad's lap too by pulling Scott onto her own.

"Come over here to Grandma and read to me." she would say. He'd happily take his first grade reader over to her ready to show off. He'd begin to read fluently out of it until he saw me being bounced about by Dad and giggling loudly.

"I don't want to read anymore Grandma." he'd snap and close the book.

"Yes you do young man." Grandma would say.

"No I don't." he'd retort.

"Well you can go to bed then." Mom would say. Mom always seemed to find a new found strength when Grandma was in the house and again, no one, not even Scott, argued with Mom.

"Only if Daddy takes me." Scott would demand.

"Daddy's busy with Virgil." Mom would say firmly. "I'll take you since you can't be agreeable around Grandma."

"Sorry Grandma. I'll read to you some more then." he'd sulk before glaring at me and folding his arms defensively.

"I thought you might." Grandma would grin winking at Mom. Mom's eyes would crinkle in the corners as she laughed at Grandma's devious ways. Grandma says she often thinks about Mom when I laugh. She says my eyes crinkle in the corners too.



Scott hated Grandma's subtle tactics but knew better than to challenge them after a while. He simply never won with her and gave up trying. I always looked forward to Grandma's visits if only for that reason.

But when the games with Dad were done and he had kissed me and rubbed his unshaven face against my cheek to make me giggle again, it was Mom and her gentle tenderness that I wanted. As bedtime drew near it was Mom's lap I sat on. Mom would stroke my hair and hug me tight. I would fall asleep in her arms feeling warm and safe.

Dad'd then remove me and I knew why.

Despite how tough Scott acted around me, he still wanted his share of the mothering when it came down to it. "Daddy" might have belonged to him but "Mommy" belonged to him too at the end of the day. So in order for him to climb onto Mom's lap for her to caress his curls and hold him close, I had to be carried down the hall and tucked into bed by Dad.

"I love you Daddy." I'd whisper only half awake as he turned to switch off the lamp.

Dad would smile. "Daddy loves you too son." he'd reply.

That was our "real" Dad back then, the Dad who worked hard but who laughed a lot and took the time to play. The Dad who told us he loved us and showed us every chance he could. You know I miss our "real" Dad almost as much as I miss my mother.

He was so different when Mom was alive.

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TALENTS SURFACE

I have always been grateful for the artistic gifts that I have. Grandma says they are a blessing and she wished Scott had been given some of them as well.

I know what she means about him having no gifts. You should hear his singing! We've all heard how terrible that is! But if I joke about that Grandma gets all solemn and says she wasn't referring to his singing. She was wishing he'd been given at least one of my other gifts.

The gift of my art. The gift of my music.

Grandma has some crazy idea that if Scott could paint he'd be able to relieve himself of all the stress and emotion she says is pent up inside him. If Scott even tried to do that he'd paint everything black, that's how uptight he gets! He'd actually get a better result throwing the paint tins at the canvas now that I think about it. He could let off a bit steam that way if painting's what she thinks he needs. Seriously Grandma, I love Scott and despite the fact that he can almost fly jets upside down and do the impossible in Thunderbird One he cannot draw a straight line. And he definitely was not born to paint.

As for the musical side of things! Can you really see my big brother trying to relax behind a piano at the end of a harrowing rescue? The ivory would be missing off the keys! Could you ever realistically ever see him writing music from his heart? Take a moment to think Grandma. This is Scott we're talking about! He's so like Dad that if he even tried to write how he felt in his heart, he'd still have a blank piece of paper at the end of the century.

Its unfortunate Scott can't express himself in the ways that I can. I'm lucky I can play a sad song on my piano when I'm feeling down about something or a happy piece when I'm feeling good. I'm lucky I can paint what I see in my head or what is in front of me because it helps me convey my emotions if the music doesn't help. I'm lucky I can sing and write songs when I've got something on my mind and need to get it out of me.

I'm not like Scott who pretends there's nothing wrong. I'm not like John who bottles everything up inside. I'm not like Gordon who makes a joke of everything. I'm definitely not like Alan who just explodes like a nuclear bomb every chance he gets.

I guess that's another reason why I'm a thorn in Dad's side. I cope with things just like Mom did. Art and music. Singing is another area I dabble in and love.

Grandma says Mom taught me to sing as a result of Scott being his usual uncooperative self. Scott would never let Dad tend to me if Mom was busy and Mom had needed to sing to me instead to keep peace in the house. Whilst I appreciate the fact that I grew and developed my talents because of it, I wondered then and still do now why Dad and Mom just didn't give Scott a good old-fashioned slap to his hind-parts and tell him to settle down.

Grandma also said that she could always tell if Mom was happy or unhappy when she visited by the tunes she played on the piano. Grandma was right. Mom played the saddest music ever during those last few months before she died. I only came to realise recently that this was about the time Dad's business was in trouble and she was unhappy about the unplanned baby.

Mom loved painting too and I used to sit nearby and watch her paint scenes of where she used to live in England. She'd tell me to close my eyes and picture a house or picture a dog or whatever she was painting at the time. She said if you can see strongly something in your mind, you can always recall it and if you can recall it you can paint it.

"And my sweet little Virgil," she'd say. "if you paint it, it's always there and you don't need to recall it."

So you see, I tried to picture things in my head like she did but it took me a while sometimes to recall them. I had to look at things for quite a long time sometimes to get the level of detail I needed to paint what I was seeing.

I guess I was only four then but all of a sudden I was getting into a mighty lot trouble for being rude. I didn't know what being rude meant but Mom said staring at people for ages and upsetting them was what it meant and I'd better stop doing it right now. If I didn't stop Dad was going to have something to say about it.

"Darling stop it!" she'd snap when I looked at her intently with a view of drawing her.

"What mommy?" I'd ask with real confusion. "I'm just looking at how pretty you are."

Recalling the intricacies of her special beauty was extremely hard for a four year old. How did you draw those beautiful curls, pixie nose, deep brown eyes, wide mouth and high cheekbones if you didn't try to memorise them?

"I don't want you staring at me Virgil," she said firmly. "It's not natural."

"But Mommy..." I'd begin.

"Virgil. I mean it. No more staring."

As I said no one argued with Mom but I know I freaked Grandma out when she came to visit with the way I was back then.

As you know I adored Grandma and loved her visits. I decided when the car pulled up in the driveway that I was going to draw her and give her the picture to take home with her when she left at the end of the week.

I knew what Grandma looked like from the pictures we had on the sideboard but I didn't think I got the right impression of her from the pictures. For one thing, in the pictures she didn't smile very much and not only that her hair looked different. In real life her smile was bigger and brighter and merrier than any other smile I knew and her hair was long and pretty even though she rarely left it out. I knew I had to look at her in person if I wanted to paint her and I'd need to look for quite some time.

"Hello young Virgil." she said holding her arms out to me. "Come here and give Grandma Josie that extra special hug she's been wanting."

I loved Grandma more than anything and happily threw myself into those warm outstretched arms. After a while she held me at arms length and said.

"My word you've grown since the last time I saw you young man. You must be almost as tall as your big brother by now."

I looked at her, my eyes memorising her expression. She was lying because her eyes told me. She knew I was a good six inches smaller than Scott.

"And you're turning out every bit as handsome." she added but this time her eyes weren't lying. She had to have meant that.

I continued to smile at her. I liked being called handsome. It made me feel I was like my Dad and nobody usually said that. Everyone always said how much like Mom I was. Being handsome was a good thing I knew because Mom always said Dad was handsome just before she kissed him out on the porch. When she said that to him, her voice was kind of funny... breathless and sounding like she wanted something from him. But then... we know where they ended up after being on the porch don't we Scott?

Still, it pleased me to hear Grandma say that I was handsome too. I wanted to be like Dad more than anything even though I didn't look like him.

I wanted to paint Grandma after lunch so I continued to look at her intensely. She had a dimple on her chin I noticed and her right eyebrow was a little longer than the left. She also had the prettiest dark blue eyes. They were eyes like my Dad's. Next thing I knew Mom was scolding me in a very cross English accent.

"Virgil! I'm telling you right now to stop staring at Grandma."

I was startled from my thoughts by the frustration and irritation in her voice. All of a sudden I couldn't recall anything. Was Grandma's left eyebrow longer or was it the right one?

Grandma looked at me uneasily. You always knew when Grandma wasn't too sure how to take things. She'd close one eye and frown. It was always her left eye. She had it closed now.

"I'm sorry Mrs. Tracy." Mom said. "He's like this all the time now. I don't know what's gotten in to him. I think Scott must have hit him over the head or something."

Now that was offensive Mom! Scott hadn't hit me. If he'd tried, I'd have hit him back. I was only staring because I wanted to paint Grandma and she was one mighty interesting subject.

In the end Grandma started laughing and telling Mom to forget it. Children have phases she said even though it was one heck of a strange phase. But Mom wasn't laughing and her expression made her easy to 'member...err sorry recall. I looked at her cross face and memorised everything in only a few seconds. I decided I'd paint her that day instead of Grandma.

I spent all afternoon drawing in my room. Grandma and Mom had gone out in

the garden and were enjoying a glass of wine together. Dad was sitting with a glass of his own reading an Engineering book. Our Dad never read ordinary books. He always read Engineering books or financial journals. It was his Engineering book that he put down when I came out into the garden to show him my painting.

I asked him if he knew who I had painted as I stood there next to him with my eyes transfixed on his face. He held the paper in his hands and studied it carefully.

Dad always got nervous when we kids showed him our artwork. I can understand why in Scott's case. Scott's artwork was a tragedy; little more than a half-hearted attempt at a few smudges on a page. What can a Father say to that? Son try the Piano? Well we've been down that path with Scott already!

"Aww who needs to paint when they could be riding their bike?" he'd mock when the subject of art was brought up and our paintings were compared. The fact that mine were better clearly irked him. "Anyway who cares about stupid art in the first place!"

But my artwork was from within me and I cared. This first effort of painting my Mom was from within me and I hoped Dad would recognise her.

He did but he didn't sound too convincing when he said.

"It's mommy, looking mighty mad by the look of it."

Dad's eyes searched mine. "Err...that's right isn't it Virgil?" he added.

"What do you mean its Mommy looking mighty mad?" Mom asked with surprise craning her neck suspiciously.

Dad turned the picture around for Mom and Grandma to see. They both looked astonished. Originally Mom didn't believe I'd done it myself and implied Scott had helped me with it. That was a total insult too given what Scott could do or should I say couldn't do. After I insisted I had done it all myself she and Dad exchanged glances. I guessed that the glances meant it was good.

Grandma on the other hand had that calculating look she always gets on her face. The look you know means you have a destiny in that direction.

She gave that look to each of us when our talents surfaced; to Scott when he said he would fly like Dad, to me with this first rudimentary painting of Mom, to Johnny looking at the stars, to Gordon winning his school pool race. She never gave Alan the look. Womanising and fast cars never particularly impressed Grandma. Sorry Al!

Still my talent was recognised that day and Grandma has continued to be a big supporter of my art ever since. To be honest with you it worries me a little that she knows I paint pictures of Mom and store them in the attic. I often panic what will happen if she asks me to show them to Dad.

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A BEWILDERED LITTLE BOY

I have a lot of things trapped inside me that I don't talk about, things that hurt in my stomach and put a lump in my throat if I think about them. One of those things is the death of my mother and the death of my Father as I knew him in my early life.

I'm twenty-six now and I've been around a while and in International Rescue have encountered some pretty harrowing times. But nothing was more harrowing for me than losing both Mom and my happy childhood in the one day.

One minute Mom was all right. She was sitting next to me teaching me to play a new tune on the piano. Then she was frowning and rubbing her back. Then Dad was taking her to the hospital to have our new baby brother. Then Grandma was putting us all in the car to take us to the hospital. Then Dad was crying and telling us that we had to say goodbye to Mom because she was going to heaven. I didn't understand why she wasn't all right any more.

I didn't want Mom to go to heaven and started to cry.

I cried harder when she tried to talk to me and couldn't say very much. I still recall her whispering to me to love Dad for her because I was the one most like her. I still hear the the last words I said to my mother.

"Please 'member me in heaven mommy."

And I smelled the lavender in her hair as I was allowed to hug her one last time.

Umm...excuse me... Sorry... It's still bit raw even after twenty-one years that's all.

I cried alone on my bed in the week that followed Mom's death and Grandma did everything she could to try to make me feel better. She kept trying to get me to eat; Grandma's cure for everything.

Grandma was being very brave and tried not to show she was upset. She spent the days leading up to the funeral cooking and cleaning and making telephone calls for Dad. Dad couldn't do anything. He was an absolute mess. All he did was cry after Mom in his room.

Scott was braver than I was about it. He cried a bit but tried to keep up his "tough kid" image as best he could by biting his lip or going outside to ride his bike. He didn't think we noticed his eyes were all swollen and red when he came back in the house. However the night before Mom's funeral I heard him practicing the reading he was doing at the service in his room. He read the words slowly and carefully. Then there was silence. Then the sound of sobs which wrenched from his heart.

"Please come back Mommy." came the words he muffled into his bed quilt so that no one would hear him. "I don't want you to leave Daddy and me alone. I love you."

The funeral was the most horrible experience of my life and I shrivel inside every time I think about it. I cried myself into a state of silent exhaustion that afternoon. Dad hugged Scott close to him and held John in his arms. The three of them cried hard together at the church and harder at the cemetery. I waited for Dad to call me over to him and hug me too.

But he didn't and I've never forgotten it. He left me to stand next to Grandma by myself. Grandma took my hand and squeezed it tight. She's never forgotten Dad did that to me either.

In the weeks that followed Dad took a lot of time to try to comfort my brothers.

Scott anxiously followed him everywhere; terrified he was going to die too. Dad found the time to reassure him and make him feel better. Scott hugged him and Dad hugged him back.

Johnny kept asking where Mom was over and over and that upset Dad. He took the time to sit John on his lap, hold him close and then tried to explain what happened to Mom in a way he understood. John fell asleep on Dad's lap and Dad buried his face in his blonde head and cried.

The only word Gordon knew clearly was "Mom" and he cried in his cot calling for her over and over again. Dad made the time to pick him up and clasp him to his chest. He tried to teach him to say "Dad" through his tears. My red haired baby brother simply grinned at him and continued to babble for "Mom."

He didn't know how to care for a newborn baby by himself but he still got up in the middle of night and fed and rocked Alan the way he thought Mom would have done it. When Alan finally went to sleep he took the time to sit alone in Mom's rocking chair to stroke his little head and face just like Mom used to do.

But despite the fact that I loved my Dad more than anything in the world and just as much as my brothers, he didn't want to find the time to comfort me. He looked at me when I deliberately put myself where he could see me, desperately hoping it was my turn to be held, and his eyes would fill up. He would start to cry and walk away. It shattered me.

I didn't understand why my Dad didn't love me any more. I didn't make Mom go away.

Did I?

I didn't say anything to anyone after that and I didn't cry any more either. I decided I would try to play the piano again and pretend Mom was still there beside me. If Dad didn't love me anymore, maybe I could imagine Mom still did and then this big lump I had in my throat might go away for a while.

I tried to play the piece she was teaching me the day she died. I stumbled with a few of the notes but surprisingly recalled most of it. I was just starting to feel better about things when Dad wrenched me from the piano stool and slammed down the piano lid so loudly Grandma came in from the kitchen to see what had happened.

"I won't have any more of that rubbish in this house." he said and his voice was a mixture of anger and anguish. "Do you understand me Virgil?"

I stood there in front of him still in shock but trying not to cry. I looked up at him with my brown eyes brimming and nodded my head in silence.

"Now go to your room. I don't want to see your face until suppertime." he snapped in a tone I had never heard him use before.

Those few words said it all. "Your face." He didn't want to look at my face, as it was the face of my mother.

As I obeyed him I saw Grandma glaring at Dad. She didn't say anything which was surprising, but I didn't care what anyone said or did. I was devastated. I'd lost everything now. My Mom was gone, my Dad didn't love me and I wasn't allowed to play the piano anymore either.

You see I find all of this most unsettling as I think about it and unlike Scott I need to talk about it in greater depth in order to deal with it. There I go again, looking at the greater depth of everything. I'll always be first and fore mostly an Artist no matter what. It beats me how I ended up happy as a Pilot.

Luckily I had Grandma. She was really good to me back then, a confused five year old who didn't understand what he had done to his Father. The night Dad banned the piano I woke up and went downstairs in the darkness. I sat back on the piano stool alone and folded my hands in my lap. I shut my eyes and tried to picture Mom's arms around me. I missed her so much and no one seemed to care that I was hurting as much as everyone else was. It was there that Grandma found me. It was there I broke down and confided in her that I thought my Daddy didn't love me anymore.

Grandma took me into bed with her and lay down and motioned me into her arms. I looked up at her face in the night-light as she smoothed my hair with her fingers. She assured me over and over again that Dad did love me. "Daddy just has a problem dealing with things at the moment." she said reassuringly. "Don't cry little one. You can't help looking like your mommy."

Grandma didn't smell like lavender but it didn't matter to me that night. I fell asleep feeling as much reassurance as if I were holding Mom's curls in my hand and nestling my head in her neck. I believed so much in my Grandma. I still do.

Well Grandma I look at things now and say this. Dad still has the problem with my looks doesn't he? Even after all these years.

I had a terrible void in my life not being allowed to pay the piano. I loved music very much and simply wanted to hear it again and be happy. So I made my own happiness by humming little tunes I knew. I wasn't brave enough to try to sing anything in case Dad heard me but humming was enough to begin with. I soon started to think up my own tunes and lay on my bed thinking of words that suited them. I had lots of ideas but I had one very big insurmountable problem.

I couldn't write fast enough to get the words down on paper. I was only in the first grade.

I asked Grandma if she would write the words down for me and she agreed to do so. After a while to my surprise and hers I found I had written several sweet little songs which showed the depth of my feelings for my Mother. When Dad was outside or away on business Grandma would ask me to sing them for her and at the end of one of those simple little songs I would notice her eyes were filled with tears.

"That's beautiful sweetie," she'd say. "Your Mother would have liked that one."

"I wish Daddy would let me sing it for him." I recall saying. "He loved Mommy nearly as much as I did."

"I know sweetie but I don't think its wise." she'd reply. "Maybe you'll be able to one day."

Well that day still hasn't come has it Grandma?

Another thing that might be allowed back in the house one day...in our dreams hey Grandma... are the photographs of Mom.

We used to have a lot of beautiful photos in our home. Mom kept photos everywhere; photos of Dad in his Air Force Uniform; photos of Dad walking on the moon; photos of Grandpa and Grandma together; photos of each of us. Those photos are still in the places Mom put them.

But there are no photos of Mom.

Well I lie. There's one.

It is a photo taken of her in Kansas two days after she moved to America to be with Dad. Grandma says the photo was taken the first day Dad brought Mom to meet her on the farm and she knew right then and there that she was going to be Dad's wife. She also added some funny comment which I didn't understand. "Just as well too after what went on during that visit."

You know I've thought about that comment over the years but surely Dad wouldn't do that with Mom at Grandma's house would he?

Dad kept that special photo in his study when Mom was alive and I gathered it held some special memory for him because he spent most of his time in the study. It's the only photograph of Mom in the house now and has been for over twenty years. He keeps it in his personal suite these days.

Everything else was put away the day after Mom died and forbidden to be looked at. It was the same day Dad worked for hours in Mom's garden pulling out her lavender bushes. I sat on the stairs and watched him. I cried my eyes out. He was doing the same. That night the smell of lavender lingered in our back yard. The next day it had gone. Just like Mom.

The photographs disappearing made me a mighty anxious five year old as the days after the funeral moved into weeks. I was a visual child and needed to look at faces otherwise I'd forget them. With no photographs to stare at, I realised that I had already started to forget what Mom looked like.

I recalled Mom's words about painting things.

If you can see strongly something in your mind, you can always recall it and if you can recall it you can paint it. And if you paint it, it's always there and you don't need to recall it."

I decided I would need to paint my own memories of her so I had something to look at. I begged Grandma to get me the picture Dad kept of Mom in his bedroom. She wouldn't do it. She told me I had to ask Dad for it myself.

Fresh from being forbidden to play the piano I didn't want to risk Dad taking away my painting too. Grandma sensed that and agreed to give me the photograph and explain things to Dad.

The rest is history. If you want to see history, please come up to the attic with me later. I've got heaps of artwork up there I'd love to show you. Paintings of how I think Mom would look now, paintings of how I think she would have looked at my College graduation; paintings of Dad and her together. A painting of Dad which I did last year, placing the hundred red roses he places on her grave each year on March 13. Speaking of March 13, I also have a painting I did recently of Mom holding Alan as a baby. There are no photos of the two of them together that I know of and I thought I'd give him that as a gift when he's older. He might appreciate it when he starts thinking about family instead of chasing women ... well one woman in particular anyway.

I used my talents in those sad years to help me grieve and to heal and eventually Dad healed enough to tolerate me playing the piano again...with restrictions. That's why I can't risk playing that ballad tonight. His pain may have healed a little but is still too raw for me to play something as beautiful as that. He won't hear of music or songs written for Mom or songs that remind him of her, even after twenty-one years.

But through it all the sadness that enveloped our lives back then Grandma watched over me and made sure my talents weren't lost. She christened me "Lucy's Artist" a secret endearment only the two of us share. It's hardly as significant as being dubbed "Da Vinci" but I treasure being called Lucy's Artist more than anyone realises.

Because that's what I am.

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THE ARTISTIC TEENAGER

My brother Scott has always been a hard act to follow. He was difficult to be around when I was small but after Mom died we seemed to be drawn to each other; united in our unexpressed grief. We became very close. I looked up to him and relied on him and to a certain extent he relied on me to hold him up when the responsibility of being the eldest brother got the better of him. That's still the case today.

But despite that he has always been a hard act to follow and of all of my brothers I feel I got to experience this more than anyone. I was the brother coming in behind him and the expectation was always on me to perform too.

By the time I got to High School Scott had given the Tracy name one hell of a reputation.

He had excelled academically, he was involved in sports, he'd worked his way through most of the girls in his class and was simply dripping with good looks, charm and confidence.

"Now young Virgil." Grandma said to me as I nervously prepared myself to face the inevitable comparisons to my brother on my first day of High School, "Don't you be letting any comments from unthinking individuals wipe that smile off your face this time. You hear me?"

Grandma had good reason to say that. When I'd started Junior High I'd come home devastated when nearly everyone I met that day had felt the need to something to say about my lack of resemblance to my eldest brother.

"You can't possibly be Scott Tracy's brother." was the general message and then worse.

"Are you adopted or something?"

My first day of High School was exactly the same but I paid attention to Grandma's words and didn't let what was said and intimated get me down.

Despite feeling highly inadequate around Scott, I managed to find my feet after a few months. I made friends without difficulty and was easy to get along with. I may not have excelled like Scott but I still surpassed everyone in my class in academic achievement. I wasn't the shining star of the football team like he was but I played a mean game nevertheless. I wasn't dripping with his good looks, charm and confidence but I did have attributes of my own; attributes that gave me a definite advantage when it came to attracting girls.

I was a Tracy son and stood as the tallest in my class. I sported Dad's distinctive build and Tracy smile. But I was also an Evans son with my chestnut colouring and deep brown eyes. This set me apart from my brother and believe it or not, my different appearance finally started to work in my favour. I had the advantage of my art and my music as well. It seemed to the girls in my class I was a bit of a mystery...an enigma...artistic and interesting and definitely worthy of their attention.

Unlike my brother, my attention was magnetically drawn to the gifted ones. I enjoyed the company of girls who could paint, play music or dance. I spent many an enjoyable hour after school in theatre group painting theatrical sets with sometimes up to five girls at my beck and call. I loved playing the piano for the live performances too. Boy was it hard to take having Mary-Jane Carpenter sitting next to me at the piano during the performance. No one knew just how "difficult" it was for me to endure her bending forward in that low cut black dress to turn the pages of my music. But the artist in me said I "simply had to put up with it." The artist in me also said to memorise it and you already know how I memorised things. I simply had to stare!

Unfortunately, the "Grandma" in my Grandma, sitting up in the balcony watching the performance noticed me noticing Mary-Jane Carpenter.

"You did enough lookin' at that little girl to paint her from memory for the next ten years young man." she admonished me over supper. "Tracy sons don't pay attention to young ladies who flaunt themselves like that let me make that quite clear."

Was Grandma kidding? I was nearly sixteen years old and I was paying attention to everything.

Mary-Jane Carpenter didn't realise it but her sitting next to me like that started me on my ultimate quest for manhood.

The female form fascinated me, purely from an artistic perspective of course. I began to sketch. But it was Dad who found those sketches not Grandma.

"What's this then?" he growled at me one night after being up in the attic trying to find some of his old astronomy chartings for John. I saw the paper in his hand and panicked. I thought he'd found one of my pictures of Mom which had been hidden ever so carefully behind the old furniture.

I looked up at him and tried to think of something to say, some excuse as to why I hid paintings of Mom up in the attic. I saw him avert his eyes from me and look at the picture.

"I don't find this acceptable Virgil," he snapped and I became frozen with fear as to which picture of Mom he didn't find acceptable and why.

"I'm sorry Dad." I mumbled thinking I needed to explain about Mom. "I just have this need to paint her that's all."

"Well I'd suggest that you paint her with some clothes on in future." he retorted throwing down the painting in front of me. You have no idea how "relieved" I was when I saw it was only the sketch of a naked Mary-Jane Carpenter.

"You're lucky your Grandmother didn't find this that's all I'll say," he added. "Now get rid of it and use your talents properly or I won't let you use them at all. Is that clear?"

"Yes Sir." I swallowed.

Well he'd made things clear all right and in one night managed to stop that phase of my artistic development well and truly in its tracks.

Not long after the fright I got thinking Dad had discovered my paintings, I met Mary-Jane Carpenter's friend Susan. She was a very talented ballet dancer who lived and went to school on the other side of Boston. She and Mary-Jane took ballet class together on our side of town and as fate so has it, I was destined to meet her.

One Saturday afternoon while I was running an errand for Grandma I bumped into them outside the ballet studio. I still blush when I think how I reacted to meeting that girl. I suppose you've guessed it. I started staring at her. Let me say who wouldn't stare at someone who looked like that.

What a face. Blue eyes set in a dreamy complexion. Blonde hair pulled back into a tight bun; a leotard that clung tightly to every curve in her body. Tights that covered long lithe legs that went on forever. She was sixteen years old, a Dancer and my type of girl.

Well my Saturdays were all of a sudden completely taken up. I offered to play the piano for the dance class. Susie's ballet Teacher was delighted at the generosity of that "lovely young man" who willingly gave up his time to play for her class. I was willing all right. Very willing.

It soon became a ritual for Susie to be dropped off at our house each Saturday morning so she could do some "last minute" practice to my playing before she went to class.

Grandma was dismayed at what Susie was wearing or should I say "wasn't wearing" when she arrived for those practices. She would stand on the porch and knock on the door wearing the tiniest of gym shorts and the tightest of gym tops. Grandma would answer the door and nearly fall over with the shock of it every single time. Susie certainly left nothing to the imagination.

"That gym top's got some mighty strong elastic that's all I can say!" Grandma exclaimed matter-of-factly and without blinking an eye as she walked through the lounge room while Susie was dancing her routine to my playing. "And it's being stretched to the limit!" she added.

I was mortified at the comment and luckily Susie was too busy concentrating on her dance moves to hear her.

Grandma was so forthright when she didn't approve of something it became downright embarrassing sometimes. She liked Susie but she didn't approve of how uninhibited she was around me. I certainly approved. I was willing to play music from Swan Lake over and over whilst watching her every move until my eyes and other parts of me could take no more. This was my adolescent paradise and at that point I could never thank my mother enough for teaching me how to play the piano!

My uneducated, culture-starved brothers complained vehemently about being subjected to the music of Swan Lake every Saturday morning to the point that the moment they saw Susie's Dad pull up in the car, all four of them would leave by the nearest exit. Dad even started playing golf on a Saturday so he didn't have to be there. You know I might find that piece of music later and play it at the party just to see if any of them recognise it. Most likely not. There's not a musical bone in their bodies and that includes Dad too.

Speaking of making music, I was ready to make it with Susie any time she wanted and I was soon to be given my chance.

Having said that, I would like to say I wish I hadn't have been given that chance. My life would be so much better and easier to bear if Dad had said no to me when I asked him if I could go to a campfire with Susie one Saturday evening. Dad usually said no to anything like that but because it was to be a fully supervised activity, he agreed I could go. It happened to coincide with his plans to call in at his Office to work on some new deal he was putting together. As it was only another half an hour out of his way, he offered to drive me there and return later to collect me.

Unbeknown to me Grandma was later appointed to collect me. What did you ask Grandma to do it for Dad? Surely the problems at the office weren't that bad that you couldn't have spared an hour instead of sending Grandma?

Well I'd better come clean and tell you what happened that night because Grandma will have told you anyway and I'd hate you to only hear her rendition of things. I don't mind if you know what happened as long as it's what really happened and no one tells my Father.

Dad dropped me at the campsite. It was a beautiful night for a campfire with hardly a cloud in the sky. As I got out of the car I could smell the smoke and the aroma of food being cooked on the barbecue. It looked like things had started.

"Be back out here at eleven thirty Virgil." he instructed me as I got out of the car. "Now you behave yourself with that girl son. What's her name again?"

"Susie Sir." I replied.

"Is that the one I let in last Saturday?" he asked. "The one ... err… the Dancer?"

"Yes Sir. That's her."



"Mmm." he frowned. "Like I said, I expect you'll behave yourself then Virgil."

He looked at me directly and I knew he was making a point. He drove off behind the wheel of his dark blue Audi. I watched him go, checked my watch and then went to find Susie.

She found me.

"Hey there Virge." she smiled and took my hand. "Glad you could make it."

I looked at her pretty face and smiled back. "I'm glad I could too. Thanks for inviting me."

"Hungry?" she asked.

"Yeah, I'm famished." I replied and the two of us went and filled our plates with the variety of delicious food on offer.

The evening progressed and we all sat around the campfire, nearly forty of us, all having a wonderful time. I'd led a couple of songs including that corny song Grandma used to sing; "Ten Green Bottles." When I'd finished doing that and came to sit back down, Susie linked her arm in mine in the darkness.



"You have a great voice Virgil." she enthused. "You're so talented at everything."

"You think so?" I smiled looking into her eyes.

"Yeah I do." she replied snuggling into me. "No-one else could sing that song quite like you. It makes me wonder what other sorts of talents you're hiding."

That comment went straight over my head. I was too busy putting an arm around her as Dad had done to Mom. I also thought I might try doing what Dad used to do out on the porch with Mom. I ran my hand through Susie's silky blonde hair several times. The touch of it was magic. Suddenly I had one strange and mighty pleasurable feeling growing inside of me.

I steadied myself. No wonder Dad ran his hands through Mom's hair over and over if this was how it made him feel.

"Forget what you're thinking Virgil Ivan Tracy." I recall saying to myself and remembering the "talk" Dad and I had three years before. "You didn't come "equipped" for anything like this to happen tonight."

To tell you the truth I used to walk around "equipped", that is of course until I forgot to empty my pockets once before Grandma washed my clothes. She made such a fuss to Dad about finding the offending object that you'd swear I was leading some sort of immoral and decadent life by having it in my possession. I kept telling Grandma I was sixteen years old now and nearly a man. She told me in no uncertain way that I'd be one mighty sorry "man" who wouldn't make it to seventeen if I thought about using what she'd found in my pocket for its intended purpose.

Consequently the only things I had in my pocket that night were my handkerchief and enough money for a bus fare home; two things Grandma always insisted we had whenever we left the house.

It wasn't helping that Susie had lifted her head and all I could see was her inviting red lips parting in readiness for mine. I froze. I knew I couldn't be caught kissing her even in the darkness. This was a supervised campfire and Dad had warned me to behave myself. It occurred to me right at that moment that it was just as well it was dark .I'm sure how I was feeling about Susie would have been pretty obvious to everyone in the daylight.

Susie must have read my mind when I failed to deliver the anticipated kiss.

"You wanna go somewhere private?" she whispered.

Of course I did but my Father's words boomed in my head like a heartbeat.

"Protect yourself. Protect yourself. Protect yourself."

I looked at my watch and saw the time was still only ten-thirty. I still had an hour before Dad would be back to collect me and I knew he would not arrive until exactly eleven-thirty. Dad was a military man and if he said eleven thirty; he meant eleven thirty.

Feeling I had an adequate time buffer, I nodded as I convinced myself that if we were alone I would only indulge in a kiss or two and probably fool around a bit without getting into too much trouble. As long as things didn't get out of hand I wouldn't have to worry about protecting myself.

The two of us stole away from the fire and headed to the car park. She had the keys to her mother's car in her pocket which made me realise she was fully intending this to happen from the beginning. I only wish she would have indicated to me what her plans were for the evening. I could have been prepared then.

The two of us climbed into the back seat together.

I had just broken survival rule number one. "Never get into a car with a girl unless you look around the car-park to check if anyone you know is parked there." If I had checked, Grandma's car would have been clearly visible.

No sooner had she gotten into the back seat of the car than she started removing her clothing. That completely threw me. I quickly understood Susie had more than just plans for me. She had "plans".

"Umm... Susie... I can't..." I breathed as I looked at her in a state of undress I had only ever imagined. Things were now beginning to escalate out of control.

"Why not?" she asked.

"I...I didn't bring anything." I replied shamefacedly.

"You don't need anything," she'd said. "I've got an implant."

I was totally confused then. Dad hadn't told me about what girls used when we'd "talked." He didn't care. All he cared about was that I used something.

Well I'm the sensible son, even when faced with a near naked sixteen-year old girl I'd been hankering after for nearly six months. I decided I'd better make sure what this implant thing was for my own sake.

"What does an implant do?" I asked feeling rather embarrassed at my lack of education.

She pulled me to her. "The same thing as what you forgot to bring stupid. Now are you gonna do this with me or not?"

Well if she said it was OK I guessed it was and looking at what I was looking at, I was starting to think I didn't care if it wasn't. This sensible son was momentarily losing his sense of "sensible."

I started to undress and in doing so broke survival rule number two. "Never remove your clothing without looking around to check if anyone you know is standing there." If I would have, I would have seen Grandma standing right next to the car.

The rest of the act is history and I'm not going to elaborate on it other than to say I enjoyed it much more than what happened afterwards. What happened afterwards still gives me that sickening feeling whenever I think about it.

Have you ever experienced the sickening feeling I'm referring to? It's a feeling that makes your stomach fall to the ground or lower. A feeling you get when a tidal wave is coming straight for you. A feeling you get when your whole body is freezing up with fear. A feeling like you're going to faint? A feeling that takes at least ten minutes to recover from and even when you do recover you feel totally drained. That's the type of sickening feeling I'm talking about.

Well that's the feeling I got when a tapping on the window of the car revealed none other than my Grandmother with a face that could turn any tidal wave around and send it back screaming the other way. There I was still locked together with Susie and there she was outside the window looking straight at me. Did my body freeze up? Did my stomach drop? Did I think I was going to faint? What do you think?

"Virgil Tracy you get yourself decent and out of that car!" she yelled and stormed off across the car park.

I looked at Susie who was terribly embarrassed. At least she was only embarrassed. I sat there with my eyes wider than saucers, my heart beating at an alarming rate and totally panic-stricken.

My whole life was now effectively over and I knew it. All I could think of were Grandma's words that I wouldn't make it to seventeen if she ever caught me doing anything like this. Forget about lethal injections, electric chairs, hanging or any other capital punishment that could be inflicted. I was about to experience the worst capital punishment known to man.

Grandma.

Then my stomach turned further. What if she told Dad? I didn't even want to think about what Dad would do if he found out about this.

"Oh no." I remembered thinking. "Just kill me now. Strike the car with lightening and get it over with."

I pulled on my clothes and so did Susie. The two of us sat in the back seat in silence.

"I have to be getting back to the fire," she said after a while. "Gee Virgil I hope things go OK with your Grandma."

I didn't say anything. What was I supposed to say? Thanks for the pleasurable few minutes but it's a pity I'm about to die for them now?"

"I'll let you know how the implant works out," she added as she got out of the car.

What did she mean by that? Those things worked didn't they?

"Protect yourself." My Father's words again came to my mind.

Oh God! I'm sure my first time with a girl was not meant to turn out like this had.

Well it was time to face the music. Funny I liken facing Grandma to facing the music. More like facing the firing squad.

I walked across the car park with my head down and hands in my pockets. What was Grandma going to do to me?

I got into Grandma's car and after a few minutes of deathly silence found the courage to raise my eyes to hers. They were normally indigo in colour and sparkled in the light. At the moment they were fixed on me and almost black. There was certainly no sparkling to be seen anywhere.

"Well?" she thundered and I noticed she had both hands gripping the steering wheel. "What have you got to say for yourself?"

"I'm sorry you had to see me like that ma'am." I said quietly.

"Sorry? What you did just now in front of me was downright disrespectful! I'll give you sorry young man."

She grabbed my arm and off she went. It was like an express train leaving a Station...destination hell. She went from no speed to maximum in only a few seconds. Twenty-five minutes I was forced to sit there as that express train went for broke. I never knew there were so many reasons not to have sex with a girl but Grandma knew each and every one of them. By the end I vowed I was never going to go near a girl again. They were nothing but trouble and I was certainly finding that out now.

Then she asked me what I'd do if Susie ended up pregnant. I told her Susie had said she was protected with an implant but I uneasily recalled her words back in the car. "I'll let you know how the implant works out."

Grandma then totally floored me about believing in girls who said they were protecting themselves. She told me that girls made mistakes and my own mother had been living proof of that, not once but twice. I sat there stunned as she told me there should only have been three Tracy babies in our family, not five. She told me everything about how Gordon and Alan came to be conceived whether I wanted to know about it or not. After Grandma was finished I knew Gordon was the result of a failed implant and Alan was the result of Mom forgetting to take her contraceptive pills regularly after having Gordon.

I was totally and utterly terrified now. What if Susie's implant failed like Mom's? I was too young to be a Father. Why hadn't I listened to Dad? Forget that...what was I going to tell Dad?

"Your Daddy will be mighty displeased if he ever finds out about this Virgil Tracy. He wouldn't approve of you boys doing this sort of thing at your age in the first place. Being with young ladies in the backs of cars is bad enough but if he finds out you didn't protect yourself after him giving you direct instructions to do so, you'll be the one needing the protecting and don't expect me to offer to help you out."

I begged Grandma not to tell him. Dad would kill me for not using any protection...absolutely kill me. Grandma never committed herself one way or the other to not telling him but if I look like not doing what she wants, even now, she'll give me that look that threatens me without any words being said.

To this day I'm waiting for something to come out in Dad's hearing about Susie and I still don't know how I would explain myself to him.

By the way and just for the record, Susie's implant did work but not without a week of worry and stress when she told me she was late. I was so relieved when it turned out to be a false alarm.

I can certainly assure you that this sensible second son is now extremely sensible in that department each and every time.

As for Grandma and how she dealt with me that night, I really would like to see her write a book on the two hundred and thirteen reasons for a sixteen year old Tracy son not to have sex in a car-park.

That's how many reasons she gave me that night in the car and I recall each and every one of them.

You're a legend in dealing with teenagers Grandma; there's no doubt about that.

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COLLEGE AND DISAPPOINTMENT

A few months before I finished High School Dad summoned me to his room one night with a message he wanted to talk to me. When Grandma gave me the message all of my brothers looked at me uneasily. None of us were ever summoned to Dad's bedroom unless we were in for a caning of some description. I swallowed and thought Grandma must have told Dad about Susie.

As it turned out Dad was sitting on the balcony of his room sipping a cognac. He motioned me to sit down beside him and said to stop looking so worried. He wanted to speak to me about College.

I had been thinking about what I was going to do in College. My heart said to study art, literature and music. My head said Dad wouldn't agree to that. My head had been right.

"You are extremely talented son," he acknowledged. "But the talents your mother gave you aren't going to get you far in life or feed your family."

I didn't agree with him but I knew better than to argue with military man, career man, businessman and billionaire Jeff Tracy. How could I argue? Dad had done it all.

Dad wanted me to go to College in Denver and I agreed to look at the courses being offered there. He told me he had already done the looking and assured me I would be more than happy in Denver. There were theatrical and musical groups available to me in my spare time so that my artistic needs could be satisfied. In essence he was telling me he had decided my future for me.

"I expect you to excel Virgil," he said forthrightly. "A Denver education doesn't come cheap."

"No Sir." I acknowledged. "I am aware of the expense."

"And," he said quietly looking out onto the horizon. "I believe your Mother would have wanted you to go to College somewhere where you could continue with your music."

I sat in the chair quietly not knowing what to say. He didn't talk about Mom and this was the first time he had mentioned her to me in over twelve years.

The silence was dreadful with Dad struggling to bring himself to look at me. I felt like I had become five years old again and I heard Grandma's words. "You can't help looking like Mommy."

"Virgil."

"Yes Sir?" I asked.

"It's been very difficult for me since your mother died." he said, his eyes still on the horizon.

I looked at him, my face a mixture of shock and surprise. He'd never acknowledged anything had been difficult for him. Dad never acknowledged weakness.

I remained silent. He finally turned to fix his eyes on me. I saw his eyes flinch as they met mine. I knew then the difficulty he was referring to was me. As per the normal ritual I averted my eyes first.

"I know Sir. I'm sorry Sir." I replied feeling the need to apologise yet again for resembling my mother.

I knew he wanted to talk to me about my Mom but he somehow couldn't bring himself to do it. I could see the inner struggle he was experiencing as he sat there. The Daddy who laughed and loved me so completely was trying to resurface but could not. His emotional health had been destroyed. My father who could speak with so much authority at conferences and whose sheer power of presence sucked the air from a room when he entered it, could not do something as basic as talk to me about my mother. After a few more minutes he gave up trying. He shook his head at his inability to deal with things and rose from his chair.

"Well Denver it is then. You'd best be off to bed. Good night son."

"Good night Dad." I said sadly. I lingered at the door in silence for a few moments, hoping he might say something further.

He did not.

"Dad", I still hear myself saying in my heart "I'm nearly eighteen years old now. Please finally forgive me for the way I look and the way I make you feel. Please let me play the music I've written for Mom and let me sing her songs for you. Please make me feel I can show you my paintings of her. They are so beautiful. Dad I miss her as much as you do. Please talk about her to me. Please be my "Daddy" again."

When I talked to Grandma about how I was feeling she nodded sympathetically.

"Time is not healing him Virgil and I don't know what else to do sweetie."

I settled in well in College and enjoyed my course. As Dad had said there were theatrical groups on campus and plenty of scope for my music. I was cautious about too much on campus involvement in these activities, as I knew Dad had this fear I would "defect" to the Arts.

I elected to play my music on Friday evenings at a small bar frequented by the College students. It didn't pay very much but I had a free reign on what I could play, and everyone loved my extensive repertoire. It was here in this bar that I finally got to play and sing the songs I had written for my mother with complete freedom. I recall the first time I ever sang one of those songs; the whole bar fell into silence. I became worried until a voice behind me said.

"That was beautiful. Did you write it for someone special?"

I turned around to look in the direction of the voice. A very pretty young girl stood there. She had the deepest brown eyes I had ever seen.

"Uh..yeah." I stammered as my eyes did their usual staring at the subject. "I wrote it a long time ago for my Mom."

"You know it's rude to stare," she said matter-of-factly, causing me to redden and apologise instantly.

"I'm sorry. My Mother used to say that too." I admitted. I stood up and extended my hand. "Virgil's my name. Virgil Tracy."

She extended hers and nodded at me. "Virgil's an unusual name. I'm Katelyn Ross. I sing here sometimes."

"I'm glad to know you Katelyn." I acknowledged and smiled. "Won't you sit down?"

I offered to buy her a drink in my break and in the course of the long conversation that followed, I found myself inexplicably drawn to this direct, self-confident attractive young woman.

She asked me about my mother, and although I had only known her for a few hours, I found myself opening up to her about everything. She asked me about my art and my music and then queried why I wasn't studying these subjects in College.

"It's obvious that your future is in the arts Virgil," she said confidently. "Why waste your time on something else?"

I shook my head and told her what my Father thought about the arts and her immediate reaction was to sniff with disapproval.

"Only you can live your life Virgil and I'd be following my heart if I were you."

I couldn't put my finger on it but there was something about Katelyn and her manner that made her special to me and she did become very special during my time in College.

We sang duets together. I accompanied her solo performances. We stayed back after the bar was closed, talking for hours and long into the night. We had candlelight suppers together and wrote new music. We sang together as I walked her home in the small hours of the morning. She became the centre of my world.

I knew I had fallen in love with her.

One summer night as I stood preparing to say goodnight to Katelyn on the footpath outside her Unit, I pictured Dad standing with Mom out on the porch of our Boston home. Where we stood there was no porch but I was looking at her like Dad used to look at Mom and she was looking at me like Mom used to look at Dad.

I saw Dad tuck Mom's curls behind her ear. Katelyn didn't have any curls but she did have the prettiest long brown hair falling loosely around her face. I found myself bringing my hand forward almost as if the behaviour had been learned from my watching all those years ago. I tucked the hair behind her ear. She had a quizzical look on her face as I did it. I smiled at her with reassurance.

Almost woodenly I raised my hand to her chin and tilted it to mine just as Dad had done to Mom.

"You are so beautiful." I heard myself saying. "Katelyn... I love you."

I found myself with my arms around her and our lips touching. I raised one hand to run my hand through her hair as the kiss continued. My hand moved faster than my Father's had but I guessed Dad was pretty experienced in loving Mom and was able to keep himself more under control than I could.

"Virgil." she said and her voice had that funny sound to it Mom's used to have. "You are such a wonderful, attractive man. I love you too."

Our lips met again. In my mind, and given the tone of her voice, I wondered if Katelyn expected me to suggest what Dad used to suggest to Mom after the kissing went on for a while on the porch. I'd only ever heard Dad say it once. Dare I suggest it to Katelyn?

"Katelyn..." I began and faltered.

"What Virgil?" she asked.

Well it had worked for Dad. I took a deep breath and looked at her.

"Katie... Let's continue this "discussion" upstairs."

I waited for her to react, not daring to breathe. Katelyn wasn't saying anything. I took comfort in the fact that Mom didn't reply to Dad for a few moments either the night I heard him say that.

Katelyn finally smiled at me and took my hand.

"Virgil, I thought you'd never get around to asking me," she whispered.

The same words Mom had said to Dad except for one thing Mom had added.

"We'll have to put the boys to bed first Jeff."

As I walked upstairs with Katelyn I wondered if one day she'd say that to me too about our children. I hoped so. She seemed so right for me.

As I made love to her for the first time I came to understand I had learnt much more from my Father than I ever thought or gave him credit for. I held Katelyn in my arms against my bare chest in the same way I had seen Dad hold Mom when they'd left the door open in their hurry to get on with things. I whispered similar words of love to Katelyn as what Dad had whispered to Mom after their lovemaking was over. I knew those words well. Scott and I shared a bedroom right next to theirs and we heard it all in our time and heard it often.

Mom may have taught me how to paint and how to play the piano but Dad, through his tenderness and passion for my mother had taught me how to love a woman. Nothing was surer than that.

There were many more nights like that one with Katelyn and each and every time I held her naked in my arms my love for her deepened. I had found my soul mate. I knew Katelyn Ross was destined to become my wife.

My time at College was coming to an end and with that in mind I accepted an offer to appear in the College's theatrical performance. I had been careful about over-involvement until now, knowing how Dad would react but decided that surely he wouldn't mind if I participated fully this one time.

Little did I know that Dad went straight into a panic attack when Grandma told him what I was doing. He was on the telephone to me within half an hour of me telling Grandma about the play.

"Now you listen here, I expect to be attending a graduation in two months Virgil." he said in his Jeff Tracy get straight to the point language. "If you're thinking about that not happening I'll be flying out there this evening to straighten the matter out with you."

I pictured Katelyn saying I should ignore my Father and do what I wanted. I actually laughed to myself with amusement. Was she kidding?

I tried to make Dad understand that I was only doing this as a cultural outlet for myself. I assured him over and over again I would graduate as he wanted. With that he seemed to settle down. He asked me about the performance. Obviously he'd flown off the handle so fast Grandma hadn't been able to tell him about it. He wanted to know when it was; what was I doing in it and what it was actually about. I told him I had made the sets, written the music and was actually appearing in the performance to play the piano, to sing and to act.

"It sounds good then," he said trying to appear as if he was warming to the idea. I knew Dad hated the Arts but I was grateful for him pretending he was interested.

"Would you like to fly out to see it Sir?" I asked. "Maybe you could bring Grandma and the kids too. It'd be good to see you all for the week-end."

By the kids I meant Gordon and Alan who were now the only two left at home and I did miss them a great deal.

"Mmm." he frowned. "I'll most likely be unable to come with my work commitments but I'll check with Grandma and get back to you about her and the boys."

Next thing I knew Grandma was back on the telephone saying that all four of them would definitely be there. "Your Father can manage to take a night off I'm sure." she said and her voice was still bristling. I knew what that meant. She'd gone off at Dad for not showing an interest in something she had detected meant a lot to me. A talk with Gordon later in the evening confirmed it.

"Shouldda heard Grandma go off Virg." he joked as I listened with amusement. "Whoa did she ever give it to Dad. She told him in no uncertain terms that he was going to watch you and there wasn't any discussion to be had."

I nodded. Typical Grandma dealing with my typical Dad.

Still, I was happy my family were going to be present and I eagerly awaited the performance. However there were a few things I was worried about.

The Director of the play had especially requested the opening song. It was the one I had written for Mom and he had heard me play it in the Bar.

"It suits the theme," he said. "There's a passion in it that's too good not to include."

I thought long and hard. It had been four years since Dad had last spoken to me about Mom and I guessed a lot had changed. He'd moved from Boston to New York in that time and had become even more engrossed in his business. Surely he had begun to get over Mom by now. I agreed to sing it.

The second thing I worried about was my appearance on stage. I had to wear a dress. I didn't know what Dad would think about that but he should understand it was only acting. I hoped he would anyway.

"You'll need long hair," the Director commanded. "The only wig I've got is that curly one in wardrobe. Wear that Virgil. It's not that medieval looking but it's only for the duration of the song."

I nodded. "Yes Sir."

And so the performance began. I didn't get to see Dad, Grandma or the kids before the show but Dad had sent a message to me in the dressing room to say they would all meet me for some supper afterwards.

The show began, but not until I had sought out Dad, Grandma, Gordon and Alan in the audience. Gordon and Alan had both grown into young men since I'd seen them but their faces were still full of expectation and excitement at coming to Denver to see me perform. I took my seat at the piano and played Mom's song. My clear voice rang out through the theatre and the emotion of the song truly took me over. When it was finished there was silence.

Then; thunderous applause. I noticed my Father did not clap and neither did Grandma. She had a worried look on her face. Dad's was a face of stone. Nervously I left the stage to prepare for the scene in the medieval dress.

I hurriedly pulled on the dress and dresser placed the wig over my hair and pinned it in place.

"You know Virgil, it's a pity you're a man," he said. "You're one hell of a knock out as a woman you know."

If only I'd have taken the time to think about what he'd said and looked ay myself in the mirror before I took to the stage. If I hadn't treated that comment as some sort of lame joke I could have saved myself a lot of grief that night. As the curtain went back I saw the eyes of my Father widen and grow angry. I didn't know why he was looking at me like he was. Was it the fact I was in a dress? The look on his face instilled so much fear into me that I almost forgot the lines of the song I was about to sing.

Half way through the song he stood up and swore like I had never heard him swear before. Everyone in the theatre must have heard him. He walked out on me.

He walked away from me just as he had walked away from me when Mom died. Little did I understand at that dreadful moment he was walking away for the same reason.

I looked exactly like my Mother.

The curly wig had made me the spitting image of her and he thought I was mocking him. First the song, then the wig. Once again I had caused him more pain than he cared to bear.

That performance was the longest two hours of my life and despite several curtain calls and the wonderful accolades I received, I simply didn't care. The approval of my Father was everything to me and my involvement in the arts coupled with my appearance obviously stopped him giving that approval.

I sat in front of the mirror removing the theatrical make-up and looked at myself feeling the same pain my Father was no doubt feeling wherever he had gone. My brown eyes, crinkled in the corners, were the same size and shape as hers. I honestly couldn't change that. My nose was impish. I couldn't change that either. Even the tears that ran down either side of it stopped in the same place her tears did. The same tiny unusual ridges she had on her face. I had them too. Angrily I brushed the tears away. My mouth trembled but it was the same mouth as hers. I couldn't change that any more than I could change the fact that my chin had the Evans dimple in it, and that my hair had the Evans colouring. I couldn't change the startling resemblance I bore to my mother. If anything changed it had to be me.

Dad was so proud of Scott because Scott was like him. Scott couldn't paint, he couldn't sing, he couldn't play the piano and he couldn't act other than to get his own way. But Dad didn't care that Scott couldn't do those things. Scott could fly and lead and command like he could. Scott was Dad's idea of a Tracy son should be like; not someone like me.

I knew I had to give up the things I loved. I had to be like my eldest brother. Scott's clear message to me as a child "You belong to Mommy. Daddy belongs to me." was never more obvious to me than that terrible night. The line had been drawn in the sand years before and I had been too stupid to realise it. Well I realised it now.

I went to find Grandma and the kids but to my dismay only Grandma waited for me. She kissed me and told me how much she had enjoyed the performance and how much everyone was talking about my extensive talent. Every word she spoke only served to hurt me more.

I asked after my brothers but she told me she had sent them back to her room. She added warily that she did not want them seeing Dad until he'd calmed down.

She saw my face fall and suggested we go for a drink instead of supper. I took her to the bar where I played on Friday evenings and as she sipped her Scotch she held my hand and told me why my Father had walked out on me. At least he hadn't thought I was gay, my first real fear. Instead he thought worse of me, that I would mock him with my Mother's memory. I broke down and cried that he would even think I would consider doing something so callous and unthinking to him. Grandma tried to comfort me.

"Darling, I've never seen you this upset before," she said in a worried voice. "Please calm down. Your Father will get over it."

Eventually I pulled myself together and swallowed the beer I was drinking. I told her I intended to give the Arts away and concentrate on becoming a Pilot like my brother.

"Pray tell me why?" she asked disapprovingly.

"Because Grandma, if I want my Father to approve of me as he approves of Scott, I have to be the type of son he wants."

Grandma was not happy on hearing me say such a thing. The grip she had on my hand tightened as it always did when I was in trouble over something.

"What do you mean the type of son he wants? You're his son the way you are. Virgil Tracy, your mother nurtured those talents in you from a baby and do you know why? I'll tell you why. She did it because she recognised you had her talents and she didn't want them lost. She was right to do that. They have given you a gentleness that is attractive to women and they compliment the Tracy masculinity that anyone with eyes and half a brain can see you also possess. You are a fine young man. Who's to say the type of man your brother Scott has become is any more of a man than what you are? Why are you backing down to your Father to be like your brother? Your mother never backed down to your Father if she believed it was wrong to do so."

I sat silently with my head down.

"I know I said your mother was stubborn and she certainly was when it suited her. I can tell you now Virgil, this is one time when it would have suited her. If you back down to please your Daddy and give up your music don't let me ever hear you say you are like your mother. You are nothing like her if that's how you think."

"Please Grandma." I whispered. "You don't know how I feel."

"No I don't. " she snapped. "But I know how your mother would be feeling if she was sitting here listening to you say that."

With that I fell silent again. Katelyn had arrived and was coming over to the table. I tried not to show how I was feeling but intuitive as ever she knew instantly. I introduced her to Grandma. They immediately got on well and chatted happily. When Katelyn finally left to sing, Grandma turned to me.

"You love that little girl don't you?" she asked directly.

I reddened. I hadn't told Grandma we were together. Grandma sniffed.

"You know how I know Virgil Tracy?"

I shook my head. I still didn't know how she knew half the things she did.

"You'd have to be in love with someone who's exactly the same as your mother was. Pretty, direct, clever and not afraid of speaking her mind. Virgil, your Mother stood up to my Grant and told him she backed your Daddy's decision to be an Astronaut. She also told him in no uncertain terms she was calling you Virgil. That was a brave thing to do in this family. If I'm right and I usually am, your little Katelyn won't hear of you being a pilot. She'll want you to follow your heart and I want you to do that too. "

I said nothing further.

Grandma was right.

But I didn't care. Scott's words rang in my head.

"Daddy belongs to me."

Visions of Dad throwing the ball to Scott, teaching Scott to fly, admiring Scott in his Air Force uniform. Visions of Dad avoiding me at every opportunity.

The hell Dad belonged to Scott. He was my Father too.

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INTERNATIONAL RESCUE

The decision I made to become a pilot after College certainly surprised but as I expected, pleased my Father.

After the dreadful night of the theatrical performance Dad flew out of Denver without speaking to me. He did not contact me at all and with the holiday season approaching it made things very difficult. I returned home dutifully for Christmas but it was a tense and upsetting time in the house.

Grandma had tried to reason with Dad for nearly a whole week after I arrived and eventually on Christmas Eve he came around to understanding that I wasn't mocking him by singing the song I'd written for Mom or wearing the wig that made me look like her. He agreed to forget about it for the sake of the season but he hardly spoke a word to me, preferring to spend hours talking to Scott about the Air Force and Johnny about his Laser and Communication studies.

Grandma asked me to play the piano and lead some Christmas Carols for her on Christmas Day. Normally I loved doing that but still feeling Dad's anger and knowing his disapproval of my music, I declined and told her I didn't play anymore. Grandma got upset then too. Christmas Day that year was awful and I felt like it was entirely my fault.

I was pleased to return to Denver where I commenced training for my Pilot's licence. Once I had obtained it, I quietly went to work for a private company. It wasn't easy living "quietly" when people identify you as the son of billionaire Jeff Tracy. Many people asked me why I didn't work for my Father in Tracy Industries New York. I offered them no reply. I didn't have to explain myself to anyone.

I became very independent but I was lonely and missed my family. I was also very unhappy. I missed my music and I missed my art. And above all, I missed Katelyn.

Katelyn had been indignant that I had chosen to become a pilot when she knew first hand of my deep and passionate love for the Arts. I recall the huge argument we had after I returned from my horrible family Christmas in New York and resigned from playing at the Bar. I told Katelyn I was resigning because my Father could no longer tolerate my devotion to the Arts.

"If you were serious about developing your talent you would stand up to your Father," she flashed. "You would tell him you want to play music and paint and sing. Doing what you're doing might pay the bills and give you some small amount of financial security Virgil but that means nothing if you're not happy."

I had no answer to that. She was right but I was a Tracy son. The Tracy sons were expected to have the same way of thinking as the Tracy man who had fathered them.

"Katelyn. You want and expect financial security from me don't you?" I argued.

She didn't reply so I replied for her.

"Of course you do."

She glared at me and folded her arms.

"Don't tell me what I expect Virgil Tracy."

I looked at her with her arms folded. She looked so much like Mom did the day Dad wanted to buy the Ferrari I knew Grandma was right about her personality mirroring my mother's.

"Katie." I said carefully. "You might think you're happy being involved with someone who plays a piano or who can paint a picture but the truth is if that someone can't pay the rent down the track, you and I aren't going to be happy."

"I don't care about money. I don't love you because your Father is a billionaire," she pointed out. "I didn't even know your family had money until you told me."

"Katelyn this is not only about money..." I began.

She interrupted me.

"No it isn't only about money." she snapped. " It's about being true to yourself. I gave myself to you because I love the man you are. That's being true to yourself. The man you are plays music like no-one else I've ever heard, sings like angel and paints pictures that are so real I can almost reach out and touch them. The man you are makes love like an artist," she added quietly. "And when I'm in the arms of that artist I don't give a damn how the rent gets paid. Virgil all I care about is you and how you make me feel."

This was so difficult. My Dad's way of thinking was completely opposite to hers.

"Katie... I have to have a job that pays well." I said almost pleadingly. "Please understand."

She swung away from me.

"The man I love is an artist but if you want to be a Pilot so that your Father will approve of you Virgil Tracy, go right ahead. Just don't kid yourself into believing I'm the reason you're doing it."

I tried to turn her back to me but she wouldn't budge. Lord she was stubborn!

"Supporting me is the last thing you're really thinking about," she said. "Pleasing your Father is what counts to you. So go and please him. Leave me out of it."

She turned on her heel and left the bar leaving me reeling with the harsh reality of her words. God she was like Mom used to be and I found that so attractive. Yet there I was letting her slip through my fingers.

Sadly things were never the same after that. We went from regular evenings of total intimacy as partners to the occasional meal or walk in the park as friends. During those times she asked how I was doing as a pilot. I replied I was doing fine. I asked how her singing was coming along. She replied it was coming along fine. She asked how I was coping without indulging in my passion for art and music. I said I was doing fine. She looked at me and said straight out that I was lying.

She somehow knew I still painted her; knew I wrote songs I wanted her to sing and knew I still went to music stores and tinkered on the pianos.

I denied it and the fact that I was now lying to her proved one thing to both of us. The only thing that wasn't fine anymore was "us".

My dream of kissing Katelyn on the porch in years to come, hearing her tell me she had to put our sons to bed before we continued our "discussions" upstairs was obviously only ever going to be a dream. We were drifting apart and it was becoming obvious to us both.

The sad part for me is that Katelyn Ross certainly would have been Mrs Virgil Tracy if I had followed my heart. We would have set up a modest home together, filled that home with love, music and art and raised a family. We probably wouldn't have had much but with what we already had together, what else was there? Money was the only missing ingredient and Dad was living proof that all the money in the world didn't bring happiness.

But I didn't follow my heart. I sought the approval of my Father.

I lost that beautiful girl who was so like my Mom and I've regretted losing Katelyn to this very day.

Not long after Katelyn and I agreed we should go our separate ways after nearly four years together, I got the call from Dad.

He told me of his plans for International Rescue and asked me if I would consider working for him as a Pilot.

I was silent on the end of the line. Was I the only son he was asking?

"Your older brother is leaving the Air Force," he said almost on cue, as if he thought this would somehow figure in my answer. "And I've asked John to resign from NASA. Your younger brothers have both agreed to work for me as well. "

So he was asking me last. The least favourite son. Somehow it didn't even offend me anymore.

Dad knew I would agree anyway the moment he mentioned Scott was leaving the Air Force. After all these years I finally realised Dad had known of our silent competitiveness all along.

I was to pilot the anchor machine Thunderbird Two. It would require me to be present for the majority of rescues. In my spare time Dad said he wanted me to work for Tracy Industries designing Aircraft alongside Scott.

"Son, you'll have plenty of time to dabble in your art and music again," he said as if he thought that would compensate me. "That should please you a great deal."

I found it hard to restrain a sarcastic, painful laugh.

"Sir, I don't play the piano anymore." I said. "And I don't paint. I simply fly planes."

"Well that will change son. Your Mother would not have wanted you to give those things up."

Who could figure out my Father? Not me that's for sure.

His last question to me tore my heart apart.

"I also need to ask you one other thing Virgil," he said apprehensively.

"Yes Dad?" I replied prepared to listen.

"Are you...involved with anyone?" he asked carefully.

Obviously he had security concerns and it seemed close or on-going relationships weren't going to be welcomed on Tracy Island.

I bit my lip.

My eyes once again saw the beautiful brown-eyed girl with the long brown hair and magic smile who I had wanted to make my wife. I heard her voice saying she wanted me to be true to myself and continue to play my music and keep painting my pictures.

I had lost this treasure in my life because my Father did not approve of my music and my art and I didn't have the courage to stand up to him. Now he was telling me he did approve of those things. Why did he have to approve of them now...when it was too late?

My eyes filled with tears. Katie and I would have had such talented, beautiful children and those children were never going to happen.



"No Sir." I said quietly and with extreme difficulty. "I have no involvements."

"Good son." he said. "I don't need complications like that in the Organisation."

I shook my head as the call ended and I went and poured myself the biggest scotch I could find.

No Dad, I would never dream of complicating things for you. I didn't make a fuss when you didn't hold me when Mom died. I never complained when you walked away from me because my appearance caused you pain. I never argued when you decided I had to go to College in Denver. I never stood up and expressed my disappointment when you walked out on me in the Theatre. I never blamed you for losing the girl I loved and wanted for my wife. I never showed you anything but complete love and respect.

And you still couldn't look at me and love me for who I am.

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Well here I am in the centre of the party and feeling most insecure. Grandma's finished laying into Dad and now she's giving a piece of her mind to Scott. He's looking mighty sheepish at the moment too, a change from his usual self-confident attitude.

I look about to see what her next move might be. Gordon and John are starting another game of pool so they're safe. I haven't got a clue where my baby brother is but I can probably guess he's "otherwise occupied" because Miss Kyrano is conveniently missing at the moment too.

Dad's leaning on the piano downing a double whiskey trying to recover from the dressing down Grandma has just given him.

"Virgil." he is saying to me.

I look straight ahead. I don't want to see his eyes fill with sadness because of how I look. I'm wearing brown tonight too, a colour Mom always wore with tremendous effect. One look at me and he'll be reminded of that fact. I don't want him to think about Mom. Not tonight when it's supposed to be a happy occasion for Grandma.

"Yes Sir." I reply.

" Look at me when I'm talking to you son." he says in his stern voice.

I raise my eyes to my Father's. His eyes do not leave mine and for the first time they are not flinching. My Father has such beautiful eyes; just like Grandma's. I've never had the chance to notice that before.

"Don't forget I want you to sing that song I asked you to write for your Grandmother later," he reminds me.

"No Dad. I won't forget." I answer carefully. "It's ready. Just give me the cue."

"I'd also like to hear some of your other work at some time during the evening." he continues albeit with difficulty.

"My other work Sir?" I ask. What does he mean? He is making me nervous with comments like that.

"Your Grandmother tells me you have a song in that huge pile of music of yours you think I might like to hear."

I blink in disbelief. Surely he doesn't mean the ballad I wrote for Mom?

I'm reddening and stammering.

"I have...er...one or two tunes that you might like Sir." I admit.

He puts his hand on my shoulder and squeezes it affectionately.

"I believe there are quite a few more than one or two. But there's one in particular Grandma says. She says you'll know the one."

"I do Sir." I reply. "It's one I wrote for...mother."

He's nodding. "Good. I'll look forward to hearing it then."

"Kyrano." he adds. "Virgil's looking a bit pale over here. I think he needs a brandy. Can you fetch him one?"

Kyrano has nodded and is on his way to the Bar on my behalf.

Well Dad, you've just shocked me within an inch of my life.

He's turning back to me.

"Oh...by the way son."

"Yes Dad." I reply.

"I want to see the paintings later too," he says quietly. "All of them."

All colour has now left my face as I stare at him.

"I believe your mother told you many times it was rude to stare Virgil." he points out. "Didn't you ever pay attention to her son?"

Silence. That must have been hard for him to say.

"Kyrano." he adds. "You'd better make that brandy a double."

He looks at me again for a brief second before going over to watch Gordon and Johnny's pool game.

I sit with my hands on the piano and watch Grandma still talking to Scott. She's laughing. He's laughing. He's hugging her. She's hugging him.

I'm just sitting here. I'm astounded. Too astounded to play anything.

Grandma is looking at me. She'd obviously been watching Dad speak to me from her place across the room. Now she's on her way over here. I don't care if she is annoyed at me anymore for not saying anything about the party. I simply look at her and smile.

"Thank you Grandma." I say with tears of gratitude in my eyes.

"What ever for child?" she asks looking intently at me with those totally "innocent" eyes of hers.

"You know what for Grandma." I whisper.

"Well have you ever known anyone to deny a little old lady her heartfelt wishes on her seventy fifth birthday?" she winks.

"No ma'am. Not even Dad by the looks of things." I reply.

"That's right and you won't deny me them either. For my birthday I want to hear the music you have written for your Mother and I want your Father and brothers to hear it too. I don't care if we all cry our eyes out. If we do it'll be a long time coming. I also want your Daddy to see your art-work and have him face up to the fact that you, my young Virgil, are the most precious gift his little Lucy ever gave him."

I blush.

"No Grandma." I say. "I'm one of five she gave him."

She's shaking her head.

" That may be so but you were a long time in the making young man. When your mother finally got around to agreeing to giving your Father his long awaited second son she gave him that bit extra to thank him for waiting. She gave him the gift of herself. That gift is you child."

I feel the tears well in my eyes and gladly take the brandy Kyrano has offered me.

My own special gift is standing in front of me.

She is five feet two inches tall, feisty, out-spoken, determined and strong-willed. She has merry dark blue eyes, one eyebrow longer than the other and beautiful long silver hair she keeps tied up in a bun. Her glasses frame her face. The gift I have made sure I got to sit on my Daddy's lap when I was small, held me when no-one else would, disciplined me when I needed it, offered me advice even if I didn't want to take it. My gift tells me like it is and expects courtesy in return. She loves me and gives me good advice. She has now given me the greatest gift of all. The chance to reveal to my Father who I really am.

My gift is my Grandma and believe me when I say how much I love her.

"Grandma." I say and motion her to sit beside me.

"What are you wantin'?" she asks suspiciously as she sits beside me with another Scotch in her hand. That's five you've had now Grandma!

"Watch this." I say and motion her to watch Dad and my brothers.

My hands poise over the keys and out of nowhere and without music in front of me I start to play. It takes a few minutes for the tune to be recognised. Grandma recognises it first and starts to laugh out loud.

Scott has put down his drink and is now glaring at me and moaning loudly. John and Gordon are moaning too and covering their ears. Dad looks over his shoulder at the two of us and is shaking his head. Even he knows what it is. I'm sure if Alan is within earshot he'll be moaning too.

"Oh no Virg. Not Swan Lake. Please play something else!" they all chorus and burst into fits of laughter. I stop playing and hug my Grandma as I laugh too.

As I embrace her and she embraces me she whispers the words I really need to hear.

"Your Father still doesn't know about that night at the campfire Virgil Ivan Tracy and now I've got him this far with you, I think it's best we leave it that way!"

I smile and then say something I've practiced saying all day. The word "remember".

"I'll remember you said that to me Grandma. Believe you me!"

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Author's Note - I love this Chapter. It's my favourite to date.

NEXT CHAPTER - CHAPTER SEVEN- PART THREE

FIVE GRANDSONS IN DAMAGE CONTROL - DEFENCE FROM THE STARMAN

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