The Apology

“Sorry, Dad.”

He glances at his son and almost says what? His face a picture of puzzlement, more so as he sees the big grin on Gerrie’s face. A grin that has no business accompanying an apology. Then it hits him. And it hits him hard.

“Oh!” he cries, “you smelly beggar! Oh wow! Where did that come from!?”

He opens the car window beside him, and then decides it would be a good idea to open the window next to the stink-bomb boy beside him. A boy who is looking very pleased with himself as he offers an explanation or an excuse. His father doesn’t care, it’s funny. It’s just what they both needed, “must’ve been that cornetto, Dad.”

“That’ll do it,” he says, before choking on the second wave of foul stench that boys of a certain age seem capable of brewing. Their internal workings a dire chemistry set. At least his feet don’t smell, he thinks. They don’t as yet. But it may come to that. He’s already using deodorant and has his first bottle of aftershave. Not that he’s shaving. That eventuality is probably still a couple of years off. He’ll likely start early, eager to be that bit older. Not exactly wishing his life away, but rushing the last of his childhood all the same.

The cabin of the car is cold now. He risks closing the window by his son, but doesn’t rush closing his side. There may be more where that rancid cloud came from. 

Five minutes later, he closes the window and lets the warm air from the car’s blowers do their job. Neither of them are nesh. The cold isn’t a problem for them. 

“How are you feeling?” asks Gerrie.

His dad nods as though this is the right way around. As though it’s perfectly natural for the boy to ask this, when the complete opposite is true. He is regularly impressed with his lad. He’s thoughtful and caring. He hopes this isn’t too much too soon, and he hopes that no one will ever come into his son’s life and exploit his good nature. They will. As sure as eggs is eggs. There’s no spotting the users and abusers. The broken, envious ones who want to use all the good up in the world in a sad and grotty act of continual vengeance. Gerrie will have his heart broken and he’ll take all the responsibility for it. No preventing that. A case of being here for him as best he can. And helping him pick up the pieces of his life and put them back where they belong. His place is to be an example and a reminder. The values they share count for a lot. Trick is to find others who have those values. Or most of them at least. Then you live alongside each other and establish the truth of each other. Do you talk a good game only? Or will you walk the hard walk when life makes things difficult and tests you?

This is a test now. All of it. There is pain here and it carries with it lessons. Work through the pain. Learn the lesson. And grow. Grow bigger than the pain. The pain doesn’t exactly go away. But you can diminish it. You can scale yourself up, so you’re more than that sad and destructive feeling. 

It’s the blame and the shame that’s the killer. They lock the pain in. Sometimes forever and ever. Amen. He’s carried his fair share of pain. The guilt hemmed it in and he was stuck there with it. He’s made mistakes. His boy is the polar opposite of that. His son was never a mistake. And his boy deserves better than a selfish man who cares more for his self-inflicted injuries than the biggest responsibility he has in this world. They both deserve better than that.

“How am I feeling?” he asks. Buying himself a little time. Saying words that are not an answer so he can use them as a benchmark for what will follow.

“Yes,” confirms Gerrie, “about… you know.”

And of course he knows. But also he doesn’t. Nothing happens in a vacuum. It’s not a good idea to compartmentalise. Context is important, even if it is fashionable these days to disregard it. He blames The Screen for that. All that counts is what’s on The Screen. A few disjointed words. Sound bites. There’s more to life than that.

“I’m…” what is he? There’s a part of him which doesn’t want to do this. But that’s not the point. He doesn’t count. He’s secondary. Besides, this is the right thing to do. He’s Gerrie’s Dad, and there are things that he has to do in that capacity. His wayward wants are not relevant, however hard they may scream in his ear and pull at his hand to drag him away from where he needs to be, “I’m a bit nervous, I suppose.” He glances at Gerrie, he can feel his eyes on him, “it’s different isn’t it?”

And it is. It’s as different as it can be. The way they came to this difference isn’t something any of them would choose. This wasn’t a choice for any of them. It was one of life’s inevitabilities wrapped up in the mild confusion of unknowableness. What will be will be whether we like it or not. Our attribution of the value of like is arbitrary and really quite silly. We have these habits and they make our lives harder. Our opinion on whether something is likeable or good never changes a thing, other than adding to our burden.

They share a comfortable silence. The radio is on, but at a low volume. Often, they will chatter away about anything and everything. There will be frivolity and there will be a philosophical seriousness that is quite rare between parent and child. Their conversations can go almost anywhere and there is a playfulness to them, even when the subject is heavy. Nothing has ever been off limits. Until now.

This silence of theirs is a communion. They are both thinking about the same thing. They can do this with each other. There isn’t anywhere else they can be like this. Solitude has its own strictures. The company of others is noisy. Here they allow themselves time to think and to move towards a time when they will talk. That willhappen. He knows that. Now is not the time though. He hopes he will not be an impediment to what is required. Denial is also a terrible weapon that self-inflicts further wounds. Denial is a convincing lie factory. A bad choice that prevents healing, not only in the individual, but also all those the individual infects.

He thinks about his nature. A social animal, so in need of connection, and yet equipped with powerful and insidious weapons that so readily destroy connection. They are both hurt right now. But he knows he remains open to his son. And his son is doing OK. His biggest worry is what awaits him at the end of this road. He knows it is not a mistake. But he could so easily make it into one. Or go along with a series of actions that create a mess. 

Don’t react, he reminds himself. And then, hot on the heels of this, Gerrie is all that counts. Don’t make it about you.

He’s always done his best to focus on Gerrie. That made what was needed far more obvious and easier to do. Making it about him would be idiotic. He’s aware that he’s managing himself as best he can. Making allowances for his flaws. Not quite sure whether a real man would be more straightforward and steadfast. He reminds himself that everyone is winging it. That what we see does not afford us even a glimpse of what is really at play. Only honesty and openness allows us that insight. He’s as open as he can be with Gerrie. One day he’ll work out how he really feels right now and talk about his inner turmoil. Of how he nearly bottled it, especially as the house loomed up and reality came home to roost.

He knocks on the door and then eases Gerrie forward. There is necessity here. It will work best if Gerrie is framed in the doorway and he lurks behind his son. He’s all too aware of the cowardice inherent in this. Using his son as a human shield.

The door opens and there are shrieks of welcome. There is no theatre here – they are all pleased to see the boy. He can see this as they all light up. He wants to breakdown and cry as Gerrie matches that light and enthusiasm. He’s not quite sure why he threatens to break apart right now. All he has is this feeling of inadequacy. He’s an impostor and he could quite easily walk away in this moment. Suddenly, he returns to that option. Surely this is their time. Only, Gerrie had asked him to be here. He was clear about that. And they all agreed. 

Stepping over the threshold is a trial. His feet are encased in invisible concrete boots. There is a palpable difference in atmosphere here. Not quite alien, but sufficiently different to require him to acclimatise. 

He’s offered a drink and agrees with a simple yes. He has to focus on the options provided. He is bewildered. Asks for a beer. The word comes most easily to his lips. Then he is being hugged by Gerrie’s Nana. The physical contact comes from nowhere. It disarms him.

“Thank you,” she breaths the words out and then she is sobbing against him. He holds her until the sobs subside. 

As they part, he does his best to smile, “no need to thank me.” He tells her. 

She looks at him uncertainly through tear-filled eyes.

“This is a time for family,” he says, “we’ll do what we always did…” Now his eyes fill with tears as the enormity of the situation hits him with another wave. They can’t do what they always did. Not really. That is no longer possible, “…you’re his family. Christmas is a time for family. We’ll keep… doing this.”

Granddad shakes his hand and nods, “well thank you anyway.”

He wants to refute the thanks again. This is not something to thank him for. Then he puts himself in check. Gratitude is a good thing. They’re not exactly thanking him. They’re relieved that he’s doing what needs to be done. He can acknowledge that and in doing so he is reassuring them. He relaxes more into the moment, returns the nod and squeezes the older man’s hand. Looks towards Gerrie, “hasn’t taken him long, has it?” 

Gerrie is chewing on a pork pie and holding a glass of orange juice in his hand, “what?” he asks defensively, threatening to spray pastry crumbs at his audience.

“It’s almost as though I don’t feed you!” he says.

“He’s a growing lad!” chuckles his Granddad. 

Gerrie is distracted by one of his cousins and quickly lost to him. An uncle hands him a cold beer and asks if he’s OK. He nods, “are you?” he asks the uncle.

The uncle considers this for a moment, “not really. It’s strange. Not right. I expected her to be at the door just now, you know?”

He knows. And he knows this isn’t a slight. He is not a disappointment, or an unwanted visitor. The disappointment lies elsewhere. The change that means there are certain people in your life who dwell in the next room, but they will never again come through the door to the room you exist in. That meeting is reserved for another time. Another life.

He feels numb, but now he has people to share that numbness with. They were divorced for a decade, but he felt the loss just the same. She was a huge part of his world. They made Gerrie together and they did their best by him. Did the best that they could. They shared the most important endeavour in their lives. And this now, this was not in the script. 

He never wanted Gerrie to be hurt, but always knew he couldn’t prevent that. That the bubble of his childhood was all very well, but it could never totally insulate him from reality. Not if reality was intent upon making its presence felt. And here it is, but Gerrie is OK. He’s all the better for being with his Mum’s family. The boy feels his Dad’s gaze upon him. Looks up and smiles. In that moment, his Dad knows he really has done the right thing. And yet again, he’s found the strength and wherewithal to do right by someone he loves by focusing entirely on what counts and not letting himself get in the way. His son is exactly where he needs to be. And so too is he. 

As the night progresses, he recognises the presence of his ex-wife in the room with her family and he says as much to her brother. The words escape him as naturally as his breath. They are heartfelt and they are received with love. Her brother nods, stands and raises a toast to his dear sister. He toasts that presence and gives thanks for it. 

He stands with the family and realises there is nowhere he’d rather be. As the family settle again, Gerrie comes over to his Dad and his face crumples, shedding all his years. He is a lost child and he needs his Dad. They embrace, “I miss her Dad,” he croaks into his Dad’s ear and then, for the first time since his Mum’s sudden and unexpected death, he cries. He cries and he lets something go. Something he might have carried with him all his life. Something that was never his in the first place. 

They both cry and hold each other, and the healing begins.