Son

{ I never knew how to be a good father. I always figured it would come to me naturally; it seemed to me that the art of parenting was part of our physiological structure - much like love, you can't simply read about it in a book. Thinking back to my childhood when my father was still alive, while my memory is vague, I remember his charming smile. He wasn't around often because of work, but from what I can remember he was a very cheerful man and always managed to make me smile. My fondest memory was the day he taught me how to throw a curve ball. We were in the back yard all night it seemed - until I got it just right. Upon catching the last ball he jumped up and cheered and we ran toward each other. He grabbed me by the sides and lifted me up above his head and twirled me around in the air. After setting me down he took his right hand and rubbed the top of my head and told me how proud he was of me. While I didn't get to see him that often, he made a significant impact on me as a father. Above all though, he was always there for me. No matter where I was or how I felt, I could always get get a hold of him and he would always cheer me up. Even through the phone, I could always see his smile.

After loosing my wife to cancer a year ago, I could no longer maintain this timeless smile. I don't know if my son could notice or not, but it was something I worried about every day. Not only was my wife taken from me, but I was left to raise our son on my own, and the fear that I might fail grew with every thought. I read every book I could get my hands on - from single parenting to depression and living with loss. I even began to see a therapist. Even after months, none of it seemed to be helping. My son seemed to be coping just fine, but I honestly couldn't tell because my own depression. Although I was spending much more time with him, my head was filled with constant mourning and negativity I had a hard time seeing what was right in front of me. I followed my self-help books to a T, and I hoped to god my son was getting all he deserved. I made sure he ate well, did his homework, and got to bed on time - but I didn't know what he was thinking, and I can see now that I failed to ask.

Every night after tucking my son into bed, I would escape to my reclining chair in the living room and watch the old video tapes of my wedding. With a cuban cigar in my left hand and a cup of scotch in my right, I would drown myself in alcohol, smoke, and memories that are now painful to think about. I couldn't help myself. Every night would be the same. It was just me and my son now and for some reason that wasn't enough. Why wasn't it enough? Am I really that selfish a person to forever cling to the past and abandon my responsibilities as a father? I want to smile again, and I want my son to see me as I was before all of this happened. Why did this have to happen? I don't understand, and I will never understand. No one will ever be able to answer these questions. No one will ever be able to undo the past. Things became clear to me though on one of my more pathetic nights - the most important day of my life.

I woke up to a beep, after a second realizing it was my cell-phone which was in the kitchen. I was sprawled out on my basement floor in a sea of old pictures that were scattered around my body. I sat up and peeled a picture off my forehead which happened to be of my son and I on his fourth birthday. I carried this with me while I walked upstairs to the kitchen. I flipped open my phone, surprised to see that I had twenty-three missed calls, all from home. I also had one message from my son, which made me panic at first. He was sobbing and sniffling and barely managed to let a few words escape, "daddy, where are you?". I thought for a second and remembered that he was terrified of going into the basement at night. He must have looked all over the house. I rushed upstairs to his room and he wasn't there. My second guess was right - I found him curled up with in my bed with a cordless phone in his hands. I stood there for a minute, watching my son sleep. I had forgotten how precious he was to me. Tears flowing, I crawled into bed and wrapped my arms around him. "I'm sorry sport, I'm here. I'll always be here, I promise." }

- A short fiction by Jordan