Cat's In The Cradle

Harry Chapin

Vince Noir / Mum and Dad Noir

Family

Noses aren't shaped like that naturally. Noses are shaped like that when your father throws the book he was reading at you, and breaks your nose. Now Vince is off to college, never wanting to see that bastard again. But of course his mother just had to call him up, didn't she?

"Hello?"

"Hey Vince!"

"Alright Mum. How're things at home?"

"It's lonely without you. You always brightened up the place with your loud clothes. Not to mention Gary Numan and David Bowie not waking up the neighbours at every moment."

Vince smiled lightly. "How's Dad," he asked, trying to sound as casual as he could.

"He's actually very upset, Vince."

"Mum . . ."

"He is, honey, I swear to God and all things holy."

"When I left, he said to me, and I quote: 'Good. Get your faggoty ass out of my house as soon as possible.' I really doubt he's upset."

"He is, Vince!" She was starting to tear up.

"Don't cry, Mum. Come on."

"Then speak to him."

"No fucking way."

"Then I'll cry as much as I please."

Vince had always had a special bond with his mother. In a way, he helped raise her. He helped her grow up, majorly. She was the first person he came out to, and she was the only one he could tell his secrets to. He couldn't stand to see her cry.

"F-Fine. Just . . . fine."

Vince felt like he had been slapped across the face when he heard his father's voice stumble out: "Hello, son."

"Alright Dad."

They were in silence for about thirty seconds.

"How- How are your classes?"

"They're going good."

"And you're studying . . ."

"Hair design. Remember? That faggoty thing you always used to complain I took to long with?"

"I complained about the make-up," said his father, defensive all of a sudden.

"Well I had to wear it to cover up the scars and bruises, didn't I?"

His father felt guiltier than he ever had. "Vince, I didn't mean any of it."

"Bullshit."

"I'm serious. You learned to walk while I was on business. You learned to talk while I was away. I remember one of the first things you said to me: 'Daddy, when I grow up, I'll be just like you.' And I thought that would be a good thing. But then I realized I was a shit parent. Then when you were about ten, I got you a ball, and you wanted me to teach you how to throw it."

"I hated that fucking ball. I would have rather had a doll. But I wanted to learn how to throw so you would be proud of me. But you just said you were busy."

"I know, Vince, I know." He took a deep breath. "I really am proud of you, Vince."

"Sure."

"I am."

"I don't want you to be proud of me, Dad! If you were to ever be proud of me, that would mean I would have gone against everything I stand for!"

"I didn't mean anything I did to you, Vince! I didn't mean any of the abuse! I didn't mean to be away so much! I just had so much stress, and I had so much work, I was becoming a young business man, and we had you a bit too early. I'll admit that. But I don't regret it! I'm fine with you being . . . gay. I'm fine with it!"

"It doesn't sound like it."

"Vince . . ." His father sounded on the verge of tears, and it almost broke Vince's heart. Almost. "What can I do to prove myself?"

Vince laughed at that. "You really think that you can just say something to make up for twenty years of abuse?"

"I . . . I don't know what."

"Unbelievable." Vince pulled the phone away from his face, put his thumb of the bright green END CALL button, but hesitated.

His father's shaky voice made it apparent he was crying. He was never the best singer, but he did it anyway, on those occasions when Vince wouldn't sleep, and his father was in charge of getting him back to sleep. He would always sing, tiredly, Yellow Submarine, by the Beatles.

"And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon, little boy blue and the man in the moon. When you comin' home son? I don't know when, but we'll get together then, Dad. We're- We're gonna have a good time then."

Vince couldn't speak, he couldn't think, he couldn't breathe. He just collapsed in a fit of tears. The first step of getting over something is admitting you have a problem. It was never stated out loud, but you could assume from the two grown men crying.

Vince didn't know when he was going to see his father again, but when he did, he just hoped that his father was telling the truth.