For Lo. Happy belated birthday. Ily bunches.
"It hurts to become."
Andrea Gibson
i.
When you're a baby, you really see him. Of course, you've seen him every day for your entire life, but he isn't so fuzzy and blurry anymore. "Da!" Your chubby little fists bang against the floor. "Da!"
"Did you hear that, Petunia? Little tyke knows me."
If you could process tone and emotion, you would hear the pride in his voice. Maybe you would even know that this is the only time you ever made him cry.
"Da!" You clap and giggle, bouncing happily as a stream of nonsense spill from your mouth.
ii.
You break your cousin's finger when you're four. It's an accident, and you don't mean to. Still, Harry cries and cries, and you're scared he's going to have to get it cut off.
Your dad finds you, and you just know you're going to be in trouble. They don't like Harry, but you've still done something bad. Even they can't pretend that this is okay.
But your dad doesn't go to Harry with open arms. Instead, he pulls you into a hug, rubbing your back gently. "Little tyke doesn't know his strength," he soothes.
And as Harry cries, you find yourself smiling because you know you are a special, important boy.
iii.
At ten, you steal your dad's cigar and light it. The smoke tastes funny, and it makes you cough.
Piers just rolls his eyes. "That's not how you do it," he says, snatching the cigar from you.
That's when your dad finds you. Panic grips your insides, and you point an accusing finger. "Piers did it!" you insist, and of course your father believes you.
In his eyes, you are his special, perfect boy, and you can do no wrong. As for Piers, everyone in the neighborhood knows that he's troubled.
Your dad buys you ice cream for your honesty, and he tells Piers' parents what happened. You aren't allowed to see your best friend for a week. When you see him again, you notice the bruises on his arms that have faded to a yellow-green.
But it isn't your fault. It can't be.
You aren't quite convinced.
iv.
When you're fourteen, the school calls you fat. Your mother frets over you, crying because it just isn't true. Maybe she's blind, because you are so painfully aware of your size.
"The bastards at that school wouldn't know fat if it ran through the halls and threw glitter at them," your father grumbles. "Don't tell your mother, but we're going out."
Out is a little pub with juicy burgers and crispy chips. You can't remember the last time you've had anything more filling than two bowls of salad instead of the recommended one.
Still, you hesitate because this isn't right. The school is concerned. You're not supposed to do this.
He sees your hesitation and shakes his head. "I know what's best," he says with so much conviction that you have to believe him.
If your dad says so, who are you to argue? You tuck in.
v.
When you're fifteen, your eyes really open. Those things have shown you what you really are.
You never meant to be a bully, never even realized that's what you've become. All you have done is exactly what you've been shown.
And who has shown you how to behave? Who has rewarded your cruelty and renamed it strength?
Your dad sits beside you. Maybe it's the first time you've truly seen him in all these years. He isn't the strong and invulnerable superhero you've always believed him to be. He's just a man, lackluster and maybe a little disappointing.
"Your mother says we have to keep the boy here," he tells you.
That isn't a bad thing. What would have happened if Harry hadn't been there? He had no reason to save you. God knows you have been nothing but hateful to him over all these years.
But he saved you, and you can never repay him for that. Letting him continue to live here seems like the very least you can do.
"Good." You climb to your feet and leave, not even caring if he sees you pull a cigarette from your pocket.
Maybe you're tired of being his special, perfect boy.
vi.
At seventeen, you don't know how to feel anymore. There's something about this little cabin in the woods that makes you feel both free and on edge.
You don't really try to talk to your dad these days. It isn't that you hate him, but you can't hide the resentment.
Fathers are supposed to prepare their sons for this world. What have you done? What have you become? He has guided you, but it isn't the right path, and now you are breaking yourself apart, trying so desperately to become something else, to unlearn the things he has given you to hold in your soul as gospel.
You break away. You break free.
But you can never stop loving your dad.
