© CATE
Having a son is one of the best things that happened to Mac. Mikey, as he would call his seven-year-old son with Stella makes him proud with everything that he does. The little boy would be just tidying up Mac's desk and he'll be proud for all I care.
With parents like Mac and Stella, there was no surprise that Mikey and his four-year-old sister Ally are very smart. They love their children so much. And pretty sure that Mikey will become a CSI just like his father.
Every son is expected to follow his dad's footsteps. That is how the so-called dynasties are born. I had a former classmate in high school whose whole family are cardio-thoracic surgeons. Yep, that specific. One friend of mine came from a clan of lawyers running their own firm. She's fourth generation already, believe it or not.
Of course, there will be a son or daughter who'll break the cycle and become something else. I come from a family of NYPD officers. My grandfather once was the captain of the very squad I am in right now. Even one of my aunts was in the force. My father… well, let's just say that he's an NYDP legend.
There are three of us in the family. Two boys (Christopher and myself) and a girl (Margie). Christopher and Margie both became oriented with running a business and making it big in stocks. She's one of those who bet on grain and coffee beans. And he's his own boss. Being the middle child and the junior, I took it upon myself to follow in Dad's footsteps. I entered the force and was proud of it. I was the youngest everywhere I go. Dad was proud that I'm one of them now.
"I want you to enjoy being the city's hero and protector," he told me in one of his father-son pep talks months after my graduation from the police academy. "The people are relying on you, keeping them safe. That is what you do. Donnie, this is what you're destined to be. People will look up to you."
"Because I'm 6'2", Dad?" I joked. He was starting to mist up when he handed me my cap. He polished my badge and clipped it onto my pocket. "Thanks."
"Donnie, I am very proud of you, son," he said looking at me straight in the eye. We are almost of the same height but he's a burlier man. He placed his hand on my shoulder and continued, "Continue the Flack legacy in the force. You'll be doing something good. And people will remember you for it."
Up to this moment, I never forgot those words. For good reasons as well as for not so good ones. Everyday, I do some good – catching criminals, stopping crimes and all that. But I am remembered not for being a hero… but for being a son of the NYPD legend.
Every rookie that walks into my precinct would come up to my desk, shake my hand and usually say something like this: "It's an honor to be working with the son of the NYPD legend." Even my training officer introduces me as such. It's not that I'm not happy that my dad is somewhat famous; I just want to be known as my own person who did something. Not just the son of someone famous.
Having the exact same name as my father doesn't help either. Donald Flack. I remember meeting some higher ranked officials of the NYPD and upon hearing my name, they right away gave me special treatment because they owe my dad something or he did something for them.
So you think having connections in your job is good? No. It sucks.
"Daddy! I want a jelly donut before we go home," little Mikey exclaimed from his father's arms. "And a candy cane to hang on the tree." The holidays are fast approaching; even the crime lab is starting to look festive.
Mac pulled him to his lap. "Sure, little guy. And your sister's asking for a pink teddy bear. We'll drop by the toy store too."
"Sure, but I get my jelly donut!" Mikey jumped up and down. Mac leaned down to give his little boy a kiss on the forehead.
Jelly donuts. Those sticky and chewy pastries used to be my ultimate favorite. It's very cliché to associate donuts with police officers but there's some truth to that. My Dad used to bring home boxes of fresh donuts every Wednesday and Saturday. Topher, Margie and I would fight over the Bavarian-filled ones and the ones with the candy sprinkles. Margie would get the sprinkles all over her face. And big brother would quirt the filling on the carpet – yeah, Mom let us eat on the floor.
Dad would keep the jelly-filled donuts from the bunch and give them to me. Mom would tell him off about it saying that my other siblings would've wanted one of those too. But Dad would joke that I wouldn't stand a chance against Topher – him being four years older than me. I was a late bloomer, lanky and thin kid. Dad was always there to protect me. I guess you could say that I am… was his favorite.
Then a female voice broke me from my thoughts. "Missing someone, Don?" Stella said. She sat beside me and put her four-year-old girl on my lap.
"Hi Ally," I said, snuggling the little girl.
"Hiya, 'tective Flack!" she waved back after a giggle.
"How many times did I tell you to call me Don, little lady?" I laugh.
It was Stella's turn to giggle. "For formalities sake. She got that from Mac." I gave her a smile and Ally sucked on her thumb. "You didn't answer my question, Don."
"That obvious huh?" I sighed. "It's been a while, Stella. I thought the accident," the bomb blowing up the building and lodging itself on my stomach, "would finally get him over our falling out. I mean he got what he wants me to have… a medal for something I presumably did – save lives."
"Hewo!" Ally cried from my lap then jumped off. "You a hewo, 'tective Flack!"
Stella was smiling. I leaned down and collected her back in my arms, "Thank you, princess. And your Daddy's a big hewo, too." She gave me a big smile.
Just then, Mac and Mikey came out of the office, ready to go home. Ally scrambled over to her father's arms and put her head on his shoulder. I took the moment to look around the lab. Everyone was smiling for the little family. I smiled myself; we were once like that: Mom would make it a point that we pass by Dad's precinct on our way home from school. If Topher and I would have sports practice or Margie with her choir rehearsal and we'd be out late, Dad would instruct us to wait for him in his office so we could go home together. Back then, there weren't a lot of police officers going home or at least spending time with their whole family. We were the envy of Dad's colleagues.
"Don, it's going to be fine soon," Stella said before heading over to her family and leaving. Yeah, maybe she's right.
I hitched a ride with Danny on my way home. Usually, instead of the car radio, it's his talking that filled the cramped space. But this time, he was silent. Except, "So I noticed you were quiet back there. Sitting in one corner, just looking at Mac and his kids."
"Oh that was nothing," I brush off. I know Danny would never give up on this once he started. And I'm right.
"If I didn't know better, I would say you're remembering something… or someone," he said. "Remind you of something, didn't it?"
I give up. "That obvious huh?" He replied with an exaggerated 'yeah'. "You don't have to rub it in, Danny. And you're right. This job holds happy memories, too, y'know."
"What happened between you guys anyway?" he finally asked. Unlike Danny who would open up to just anybody about his life and problems, I have a hard time opening up. Trust is a major issue for me – another thing I got from dear old dad. There are only certain persons I open up to. One of them is Danny.
"My Dad and I … we, we had a falling out some years ago," I began. Danny just kept his eyes on the road. Thank goodness for New York traffic – we're in for a somewhat lengthy talk. "I just graduated from the police academy… first day on the job, he told me that he expects great things from me, like any father would. He said that I'm not just another badge in the squad. I was…"
"His son," he cut me off. "I understand."
I nodded. "But you know me, I want to do something on my own. I told myself that I left stereotypes back in high school. So anyway, on my very first day – Dad started introducing me to everyone he knows. Not as the rookie… but as my son. Or my boy, junior. The fact that he was the boss and everybody's afraid of him earned me a special treatment ticket. As much as I want to do my job well, no one wanted my hands to be dirty. I was stuck with taking notes, scouting an area, desk duty, hell, even buying the donuts."
Danny chuckled. Now he knows why I insist that I buy and he drives. Something out of habit, I guess. Plus, the people in the donut shops already know me so I get a baker's dozen whenever I buy a box. He didn't say anything though.
"You see, at first I thought having him as my Dad in this job was a good thing. I mean, I thought he'd be there if I need him. In a way, he was – but it did more harm than good in my career," I sighed. "Everything he did for and/or said about me hindered me from doing what he expected of me."
At last he talked, "Oh yeah, I remember when we were first introduced. My old training officer introduced you as something like this, 'That's the son of the NYPD legend, Donald Flack, Sr.' Of course, I know who your father is and I saw the resemblance."
"Yeah, and when you came over to introduce yourself, you were as polite as ever," I laughed out loud. Danny turned red as a beet and playfully punched my arm. "No but seriously, you were different than the others."
He stopped at a red light and answered, "I saw right through the NYPD legend attached to your name."
"Thank you," I whispered. Come to think of it, I never thanked him for that. He was one of the first ones to see me as my own person.
"Don't worry about it, man," he smiled. "Can't say I feel for you, though," he said rather glumly. I look at him and sigh. "It's not like I have any relationship with my father. I mean, he was there but Louie was…" I could hear the emotion in his voice.
"Dan, stop," I said. "I understand. And thank you, for listening." It never ceases to amaze me how Danny could easily show emotion to just anyone.
"No problem," he said, stopping in front of my apartment complex.
He drove off. I was feeling lighter now than a few hours ago. Talking with Danny is always worthwhile for me, even if sometimes he babbles about nonsense. Anyway, when I entered my small apartment, for some reason, my eyes went straight to the phone.
Do I miss him? Yes. Am I willing to patch things up with him?
I pick up the phone and dial a number I never knew I have memorized. After three rings… "Hello?"
"Hey Dad. It's me… Donnie."
10.17.2006