Fatherhood
inspired in part by What Maisie Knew | Dad's Late Notes | & Fall
I. 1st Tardy
The children were dropped off after school by their Aunt. Owen was solo parenting while his wife was away on royal business. Normally self-assured and unaffected, Owen’s confidence was shattered by the prospect of managing his own offspring’s needs. Alone. By himself.
“What am I supposed to do with the kids?” He demanded, as his wife was packing. He threw up his hands trying to look as put-out as possible. As if his incompetence was a trump card to keep her from tending to her duties. As if picking a fight would keep her there.
She said something like, "you’re their father, you’ll figure it out," in a way that was maddeningly warm, sympathetic, reassuring. He made some weak counter argument. He hadn’t been mad, not really. He couldn’t have been mad anyways, not when she said things in that voice that could melt him. Not when she could laugh at him silently with just her eyes. Not when she could touch his chest and say, "you'll be just fine," and it would be true because of the way she said it. She had learned how to take him down over the years. The right look. The right touch. And he was out for the count. Not that he wouldn’t give her hell anyways, if only because that was just what he did.
What was he supposed to do with a saucy pre-teen and a 5 year old girl? Anita had her head down as she ran at a full sprint towards the door. Her little bookbag swaying back and forth behind her. He opened the door and Anita ran full force into him she clung to his legs hiding her face against him. She was sobbing? He braced himself on the door frame at the impact, looking confused. His son meanwhile was trying to pass by to go hide in his room.
“Hey now, Anita?” Owen scooped the girl up and moved out of the way. He brushed at hairs that stuck to her wet and puffy cheeks. She didn’t say anything but gazed at him with watery blue eyes that made his heart ache. “Hold it, Cain.” He turned and looked askance at his son. The boy stopped in his tracks, his own ears pinned back, but for different reason. Cain didn’t like confrontation. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and shrugged looking down at his feet.
“Did someone hurt you, baby?” He had been waiting for the day that she would come home to report the same bullying that Cain endured for his lynx features at school. Indeed Anita was his ‘baby,’ his youngest whose obvious, unfaltering affection for her father had won over the heart of the distant man.
Anita wiped her hand over her eyes. She shook her head no, which provided some measure of relief for her father. “I-I- got detention.” She hiccuped. “I couldn’t pla-play at recess.” She erupted into desperate gasping bawling.
He carried her to the couch. When she calmed down he perched her on his knee, and forced her to look him in the eye rather than hide her face. “Why? What did you do?” Whoops, that came out confrontational.
“I didn’t do anything!” She protested, which sent her back into a fit of sobs.
He was never good at handling tears. He felt maybe his intense gaze was upsetting the child further so Owen pulled the girl against his chest and smoothed her hair. “You can tell me. I won’t get mad.”
She pulled away, glaring at him through damp, clumped eye lashes. “I got a tardy this morning and I didn’t have a note.” Owen indeed dropped the kids off late at school. From struggling to style her hair--she wanted a braid but ended up with a sloppy ponytail--, to picking out an outfit--she wanted her princess dress from last Halloween which didn’t fit anymore and had to settle for a purple jumper--, to getting her things together for school--she had a permission slip that was difficult to locate among the crumpled papers in her bag--Owen just wasn’t able to get her ready in time. Cain, who was independent in those activities and had smirked all the while playing some hand held video game. Owen noticed a paper safety pinned to Anita’s dress. He pulled it off and unfolded a note from the dean explaining her punishment and a form for him to return acknowledging his receipt.
II. 2nd Tardy
Owen purposefully brought Anita to school late the next morning. She protested fearing more punishment and made him carry her into the building. He sent her to class with comforting words and a kiss to her forehead and went to the administrator’s office. The clerk accepted his note written in scrawling script on impressive letterhead. The sheet commanded attention with a creamy thickness accented by the gold and blood red embossed seals of the Covenant and his department on either side of the header.
Covenant of the Ten Nations
Department of the Special Recon Corps
Office of the Major General
Owen R. Hart
Dean Sadler:Department of the Special Recon Corps
Office of the Major General
Owen R. Hart
Please excuse Anita Hart’s tardy today. I apologize for any inconvenience. I spent an inordinate amount of time this morning comforting my traumatized and demoralized daughter whose first experience of injustice occurred at school. This process involved a lot of sobbing on her part, faltering explanations on my part, and a trip to the ice cream shop on 5th street. It is terribly complicated to explain to a 5 year old that the world is an unjust and cruel place to children who despite having very little personal autonomy are nevertheless punished for their parent’s scheduling issues.
It came to my attention yesterday afternoon, when Anita came home from school in a state of emotional distress that she was barred from participating in recess and forced to endure detention due to an unexcused tardy. You can imagine my bewilderment upon learning that a child would be so cruelly punished, as if she were independent in getting herself to school on time.
Enclosed you will find the documentation I was sent informing me of the sanctions taken against Anita for my tardiness. This note serves to acknowledge my receipt of such. However I refuse to endorse any documents which would effectively indicate my approval of this institution’s culture of injustice.
Cordially,
Owen R. Hart
His signature was the type with large first letters followed by an elegant scribble and a heavy dot for the middle initial. Owen was ushered into Mrs. Sadler’s office with no small amount of flattery and fanfare after the dean received the incendiary note from the displeased Major General. He was offered an array of beverages and pastries which he graciously refused.
“Mr. Hart, I apologize that our disciplinary actions upset Anita. We have policies put in place by the parental advisory board.” Dean Sadler was a greying woman. She adjusted frameless glasses over deep set mocha eyes, her withering hands folded neatly on her desk. Her professional decorum could rival the impression left by his letterhead. She wasn’t a woman who could be intimidated. Mrs. Sadler had been the dean of 1st through 5th year students with last names A through H for 20 years and had battled with strong willed, high ranking officers plenty in her day.
“I see. I hope to understand what the benefit is for punishing a 5 year old for being late, when it stands to reason that any tardiness would be out of their realm of control.”
“We have no way of verifying that a child dropped off by a parent or guardian wasn’t dropped off on time and simply willfully arrived to their class late. That’s why we require a note.”
It was all too reasonable for Owen. “Didn’t anyone ask Anita why she was late?”
“I did. She said her mother was out of town and that you dropped her off late.”
“And instead of taking measures to corroborate her story--calling me for example--you decide to punish her. This is the kind of thing that shows children that being truthful is useless and will train them to lie, mistrust authority, and be suspicious of those who are supposed to protect her.”
“Interesting theory.” The dean replied with a syrupy patronizing voice. She leaned forward gazing at him from above her glasses. It was a sympathetic, confidential look. “I understand your desire to protect your daughter. Perhaps this is about something else? Perhaps her excessive reaction to a simple detention has to do with something that’s going on at home. Your wife being ‘out of town’ may be stressful for her. Children can be quite perceptive to marital discord.”
“I refuse to indulge your inappropriate insinuations.” He spat this back at the woman, leaning forward to mirror her posture, his hands gripping the arms of his chair.
She smiled knowing she struck a nerve with the irascible man. Returning to her professional posture, shoulders squarely against her chair, hands folded, she began patiently, “We have policies--”
“No tolerance policies that are enforced mindlessly to no true benefit!” His vocal intensity increased.
“There is no need to raise your voice!” Her hand cut at the air as if to slice away his anger.
“I raise my voice when the situation calls for it!”
“I apologize that I cannot satisfy you. You must understand I cannot give special treatment to Anita because of your rank and ire, Major General.” That was the first time she addressed him so.
After this the conversation turned to Owen shouting about being accused of abusing his rank. The dean threatened to have him escorted from the premises by security. He settled down not wanting to embarrass himself by being thrown off school grounds, of all places. Plus, he feared that Julianna would not be happy if she found out he raised hell at Anita’s school and was forcibly removed from the dean’s office. He left the campus confused as to how the dean managed to trick him into agreeing to join the parental advisory board. He ran the conversation back through his mind:
“It would be quite an honor to have the Major General and his wife as members of the parental advisory board. A man of your political stature will have influence with the members in making new policy for the school.” How she managed flattery in a way that sounded so insulting was a rare gift, indeed.
“Okay…” How was he going to explain this to his wife? Better yet, how could he frame it to make himself not look like an idiot? I volunteered us for some PTO thing at Anita’s school. See? I take an interest. Like she’d believe that.
The dean clapped her hands. “Great! We have a fundraiser event this Friday evening. A little haunted walk. Proceeds are going to fund an electron microscope for the science lab.” She was shoving an orange flier at him. “You can bring the kids and meet the parent and faculty members of the board.”
III. Drowning
Owen's knock was unanswered so he entered his son's room. Cain was sprawled on his bed video game in his hands. Blue eyes flashed at the intruder and back to the game. Owen sat on the edge of Cain’s bed. “Anita was upset because she got detention.” Owen pulled the game from Cain’s fingers. He played nice and pressed the pause button for his son. Nobody was in trouble after all.
The boy didn’t protest, knowing he wouldn’t win a battle of wills with his father. “So?” He folded his arms over his chest and gave his father a haughty stare. That defiance had become much more evident of late. Cain was growing up. He was beginning to want his independence, his privacy, and less to do with his parents. Owen tried to understand. He had been raised along with his sister by an agent of the Covenant who took them in when they were orphaned. Their upbringing had been far from normal, and Owen hadn’t experienced the typical course into adolescence.
“So, why didn’t you get detention for being late?” Owen wondered why Cain hadn’t brought home similar paperwork telling of his detention.
“I did.” His ears flattened guiltily against his head. His tail wrapped around his leg, a thing he did to comfort himself. He assumed he would now be getting in trouble.
Owen was silent, searching the boy’s eyes for clues as to what he was feeling. “Why didn’t you tell me about it?” His voice was unnaturally soft. Did Cain still trust him? Had he taken too long warming up to parenting his first child? Had he made his son fear him?
The answers were yes, most likely, and sometimes.Cain shrugged and looked away when he admitted: “I don’t know. I like detention.”
Owen caught his son’s gaze again. “Why?”
Slate blue eyes mirrored one another, but Cain’s gaze turned misty. “I don’t have to talk to anybody in detention.” When he confessed this, Owen’s brows knit together. He closed his eyes momentarily, letting out a heavy breath. He wished his wife were here to help him. That’s when Cain snatched at his game and flopped on his belly so he wouldn’t have to watch the effect of his confession play out on his father's face. “Can you just ground me already? I forged your signature on the papers, too.”
It was clear to Owen that the attitude Cain copped was a defense mechanism. Cain was hurting, had opened up to admit it, but didn’t want to wrestle with his emotions any further. That was at least something Owen could understand. He wouldn’t force the matter. “You’re not grounded, son.” Was all he said.
Later Owen dialed Julianna’s cell but it went to voicemail. He waited listening to the greeting she left in a cheerful, chiming voice as he sunk to their bed. He left her the desperate message: “I’m drowning. I miss you.”
IV. Butcher
Luckily (or unluckily) for Owen, he wouldn’t have to explain their membership at the parental advisory board. Not after he ended up punching a faculty advisor at the haunted walk and was prohibited from attending any more events or meetings. The event took place in the woods behind the school. Owen arrived with an excited Cain and a wary Anita. He enjoyed Cain’s rare enthusiasm. As the boy got older, Owen was remiss as many parents are to watch the light of childhood fade away into the angsty teen years. For Cain it was especially hard, when he increasingly feared that the boy was depressed being that he was socially isolated, bullied, with a history of self-mutilation. But that crisp fall evening Cain with childish delight ran ahead to the entrance, windbreaker flapping behind him, and waved for his father and sister to hurry up.
Anita tugged at Owen’s hand and stared fearfully at the entrance, which was made of fake spider webbing and creepy looking ragged cloth. A sign read: “Enter if you dare” in red that was made to look like blood. A man dressed as a scarecrow accepted tickets at the entrance. Owen thought the whole thing was cheesy. Normally, Anita would have loved the event, she was an adventure seeking kind of child. But Owen had made the mistake of allowing the kids to watch a horror movie the evening prior which scared the shit out of Anita. She initially refused to go to bed, crying about ghosts.
Owen woke in the night with a vague feeling that someone needed him. He couldn't say why he felt that way. "Daddddddyyyyy!" Anita was definitely calling out for him. He threw the covers off and dashed into her room.
"What is it Anita? Are you alright?" He asked worried, scanning the room dimly lit by her butterfly nightlight.
"I'm thirsty. Can I have a glass of water?" She sat up and rubbed her eyes.
Owen's muscles slackened. He was almost angry, certainly annoyed. "Of course. Why didn't you go get it yourself?" Nevermind that the house was pitch black, nevermind he had allowed her to watch a horror movie that took placed in a darkened home with one of the victims being a young girl who was terrorized while her parents slept, and nevermind that the cups were well beyond the reach of a barely three and a half foot tall five year old.
"It’s dark and scary. Mommy always gets me water before bed." She whined.
"Right. Mom always gets the water." He echoed seeming to be storing the information for future reference. Owen turned to go fetch what the girl requested.
“Wait! Don’t leave me!” She reached her hands out to him. “I’m scared.” Now awake in the dim lighting, watching her father’s shadow move across the floor, Anita was terrified again.
Owen held out his hand. "Come on then." In the hall, she pressed her face to the back of his legs which impeded his walking. "What are you so scared of? This is your house. You come down this hallway all the time." He flipped the light switch to the stairs. "It’s just the same." Of course he would use practicality and reasoning to comfort the fears of a child traumatized by Hollywood horror.
The stairs emptied out into the hallway that led to his office and the other rooms downstairs. She followed cautiously looking around her with fearful eyes. She startled with a yelp and clasped his hand tighter. "What's that? I'm scared pick me up!" Owen obliged lifting the girl. She clung to his neck and struggled to make out the shadow moving in the dark of the family room.
"That's just Jingles." He clicked on a table side lamp. The golden retriever blinked at the sudden light and wagged it’s tail.
Despite showing Anita that all the shadows and shapes in the dark were familiar household items, she refused to go back to her bed. She begged him to let her sleep with him. He felt guilty for exposing her to a movie that was obviously too mature for her and let her to sleep with him. Anita turned out to be a fitful sleeper who kicked him several times in the night.
Once inside the haunted walk, it was clear that Anita was overwhelmed with fear. Owen was left trying to negotiate Cain’s obvious excitement for the experience and Anita’s strong desire and whining to go home. They rounded a corner near a giant oak tree. A man dressed as a creepy butcher with a mask, bloodied apron, and fake cleaver jumped out and surprised them. Cain shouted, eyes wide, tail fluffed out, but was quickly laughing. Anita shrieked and clung to her brother who tried to shoo her away. Owen himself was surprised and unthinkingly decked the man square in the face.
The man staggered and cussed. “What the hell is your problem Owen?!” He ripped off the mask. It was Owen’s friend and the combat and P.E. teacher: Kent, with a bloody nose. Kent laughed it off, but the episode was witnessed by a few other parents. Owen was given a stern talking to by the dean and informed that he would be unable to attend any campus events until he completed an anger management course.
V. Tattle Tale
When Julianna came home, Anita prattled happily to her mother about her misadventures with her father. “Daddy made me get detention and he let me have ice cream for breakfast and watch a rated R movie and punched a teacher and we ate macaroni from the pot and drawed a picture with me. I rode in Aunt Victoria’s car! I asked if I could have her lipstick and she said only if your parents say yes. I asked daddy if I could have Aunt Victoria’s lipstick and he said only if you say yes. So can I have her lipstick?”
Owen was horrified that all the good and bad came out, unfiltered, in a rambling list like that. He rubbed the back of his neck and forced a smile, trying to look innocent, but he looked guilty as ever.
When Cain was questioned about his experience, he glanced at his father, the hint of a smile on his face as if they shared a secret. “Dad puts cheese on broccoli.” Was all he offered.
Bitch, I'm limited edition.
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