Collected Scenes
- Thread starter Light Ice
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Light Ice
A Real Bastard
- Joined
- Feb 12, 2003
- Posts
- 5,397
He throws a perfect spiral and all of a sudden I cannot see him for the young man that he is. Instead, in that instant, my mind fills with memories of a much smaller boy with a much smaller arm. A pudgy boy, round and awkward with baby fat, with bright eyes like his mother that will one day make girls blush when they look at them and dark hair like mine. In those days his throws fell short and were soft enough for my gnarled hands to handle easily. In those days there were things I could teach him to help him along and earn those small looks that he still gives me; looks that make me feel like everything that I have lost and suffered and worked at is entirely worth it.
But he is not that tiny boy anymore. He is a young man. He is tall, and lean, and strong. His throws are not tumbling through the air. They arc, like arrows, with wicked spirals. Each ball zips from his hand like a missile. There are times, even now, that I wish I could say that he got that great arm from me. But I cannot. I was never a man for quarterback. My glory came from big hits and defense, gruffer things.
When he was a boy he cried when I would not let him play linebacker in PeeWee's. He broke my heart begging for me to let him be like me. Adoration, that potent, is too much for even my resolve.
But the boy was too handsome, even then. He was too precious to me to suffer concussions and broken fingers and broken ribs and get bitten, and kicked, and punched over a game. Back then a college scholarship had never crossed my mind as anything more than a wild fantasy, a dream for a father. Back then I was more concerned with how delicate he was.
One of his throws explodes from his hand, cuts across the yard like a brown and white rocket. My hands, calloused and worn, were never soft enough to be much good for receiving. I get them up just in time to watch the balls split them, to see the world get blotted out by the shape of the ball and register the impact against my face.
He is at my side already, apologizing.
"Dad, shit. Are you alright?" His voice is so deep now. When did he get so big?
"Fine." I say and mean it. Aware, now, that warm wet runs down my lips from my nose. My fingers touch my nostril and come away slick and red.
"You're bleeding." He says.
And I am aware that somehow, strangely, I am proud of him.
"I'm an old man." I answer him. We are nearly the same height. "But even I can see that you're going to get a shot this year."
All at once his concern vanishes. The competitive edge takes hold. I watch it sharpen his features into a lethal pout. It's the look that broke his mother down when he was a boy. "Shit, Dad. I'm a Freshman."
I understand what he is saying. I simply can't believe it. It's impossible for me to accept that nobody can see him for the wonderful things that he is.
"Don't curse." I think of my daughter and my niece and nephew, younger kids with ears that aren't ready for a man's talk. It is in reminding him that I remember my nose is bleeding and that nobody seems to have noticed. I cover my face with my hand. "And that cannon is going to get you noticed. I'm going to go clean up."
I flash him a smile and he breaks one of his own, melting me.
He's so big.
I cut the patio quickly, evade the in-laws and the neighbors. The smell of sausage and hamburger on the grill is maddening but I don't stop to look or to pick from it, turning into the garage and the laundry room beyond. Inside, without windows, I look in the battered mirror and assure myself with a glance that my tired nose is not rebroken. That I will not bruise.
And when she comes in behind me, I don't notice right away. The sound of the water striking the deep, ugly utility sink and running through my fingers far louder then her steps have ever been.
But he is not that tiny boy anymore. He is a young man. He is tall, and lean, and strong. His throws are not tumbling through the air. They arc, like arrows, with wicked spirals. Each ball zips from his hand like a missile. There are times, even now, that I wish I could say that he got that great arm from me. But I cannot. I was never a man for quarterback. My glory came from big hits and defense, gruffer things.
When he was a boy he cried when I would not let him play linebacker in PeeWee's. He broke my heart begging for me to let him be like me. Adoration, that potent, is too much for even my resolve.
But the boy was too handsome, even then. He was too precious to me to suffer concussions and broken fingers and broken ribs and get bitten, and kicked, and punched over a game. Back then a college scholarship had never crossed my mind as anything more than a wild fantasy, a dream for a father. Back then I was more concerned with how delicate he was.
One of his throws explodes from his hand, cuts across the yard like a brown and white rocket. My hands, calloused and worn, were never soft enough to be much good for receiving. I get them up just in time to watch the balls split them, to see the world get blotted out by the shape of the ball and register the impact against my face.
He is at my side already, apologizing.
"Dad, shit. Are you alright?" His voice is so deep now. When did he get so big?
"Fine." I say and mean it. Aware, now, that warm wet runs down my lips from my nose. My fingers touch my nostril and come away slick and red.
"You're bleeding." He says.
And I am aware that somehow, strangely, I am proud of him.
"I'm an old man." I answer him. We are nearly the same height. "But even I can see that you're going to get a shot this year."
All at once his concern vanishes. The competitive edge takes hold. I watch it sharpen his features into a lethal pout. It's the look that broke his mother down when he was a boy. "Shit, Dad. I'm a Freshman."
I understand what he is saying. I simply can't believe it. It's impossible for me to accept that nobody can see him for the wonderful things that he is.
"Don't curse." I think of my daughter and my niece and nephew, younger kids with ears that aren't ready for a man's talk. It is in reminding him that I remember my nose is bleeding and that nobody seems to have noticed. I cover my face with my hand. "And that cannon is going to get you noticed. I'm going to go clean up."
I flash him a smile and he breaks one of his own, melting me.
He's so big.
I cut the patio quickly, evade the in-laws and the neighbors. The smell of sausage and hamburger on the grill is maddening but I don't stop to look or to pick from it, turning into the garage and the laundry room beyond. Inside, without windows, I look in the battered mirror and assure myself with a glance that my tired nose is not rebroken. That I will not bruise.
And when she comes in behind me, I don't notice right away. The sound of the water striking the deep, ugly utility sink and running through my fingers far louder then her steps have ever been.
Family..I love family get together's, when we all just group around, talking , laughing, reminiscing, teasing, with one person seemingly picked out of the group for the day, to be 'it'. And the 'it' for the day never minds they'll suffer the brunt of the jokes, because next time, next family get together, someone else will be 'it'.
My guys are missing..Around the back tossing ball, having a little one on one with each other..Burgers are doing fine, the thick pork sausages are doing slowly on the top grill, so I ask one of the cousins to take over, and go to remind my husband that his dressing will be needed in a while for the salad. He makes the best dressing ever, and my attempt to copy it is less than poor.
Tossing off the cheeky BBQ apron, I go around the back of the house , and hear the patting tosses of the leather ball and stand for a minute watching.
Our son is growing too fast. It feels like only yesterday he made his presence felt on a Sunday evening while we were watching a game on TV. I remember the panic only too well, despite the practice run, the packed bag, the phone numbers left ready on the fridge door to call when 'the time came'. We'd only made it to the hospital on time, he wanted to be in the world so fast..His Dad never left my side, whispering to me all the time, telling me how we were just there..how good I was doing..That our world was going to change in the most beautiful of ways.
Eight pounds later, our world did change..In the soft pink bundle, that cried and cried, until the midwife handed him to his Dad, his little wrinkled face creased and frowning as unfocused eyes seemed to look right up to dark eyes, that were always kind, and full of love. Yeah, it was just like yesterday, and it was going by so fast.
My eyes water when the ball catches the my husband right in the face..My son's reaction is quick, but so too is his Dads, and they huddle together briefly, my son's concern evident as he checks his father out. I need to go to him..my husband...but it's evident despite his nose bleed he's ok...and my son can see that too..So I leave them to the moment without me, and just wait until the time is right...Our boy lets his go into the garage, and I nod to him as he approaches me, his shoulders slumped, his face embarrassed..
''It's OK honey..You keep an eye on your sister, and keep her out of the house until he's cleaned up''..
I rub his arm, ...and look up at him..He's not my 'little soldier' anymore..He's so tall now, the boy almost gone, with the young man hidden behind his bright eyes, and growing little smile..He gets it from his Dad,.. his smile...a beautiful smile that comes from the heart, and isn't ever given to sweeten, or deceive.. He leaves, and I know he'll do what he's told..Our youngest, who for this week has decided her name is Cloe is a drama queen, and has an aversion to blood since she'd cut her forehead four years ago and needed stitches. Seeing her Daddy bleeding would only upset her, and spoil her day, and spoil her Dads too, something I don't want.
The garage is cool, and floor icy beneath my bare feet as I cross it and follow the sound of running water into the laundry..Crossing my arms I lean against the door frame, watching him; watching how the broad of his back stretches the fabric of his teeshirt, and I can see his salt and pepper colored hair needs a little trim. I just love this guy, and on our worst day, he's still the best thing that has happened to me, with our babies.
I tug my favorite plum colored, and only designer labeled halter top down around my waist and go a little closer to him...We weren't labels people, but I like to have something nice from time to time when we can afford it, because I like to look nice....I like to look nice for him. I'm in my forties,.. not dead,.. and I like he likes looking at me, so I try make it worth his while.
I rub his back gently, and press my cheek against it, and slip my arms around his waist. We're both different than when we'd met.. Both now a little on the softer side of lean, but damn if I don't still think he's the finest thing that I'd ever seen.
''Hey baby....How 'bout next time you try catching the ball with your hand, instead of your face.''
My tease is just that, and it's gently murmured against his shoulder as I kiss it before I stand on tip top and cock my head over his shoulder, but then 'Oooooh' when I see the stain on his top lip from the remaining crimson trickle of blood..
''Aw, let me clean that up for you..Come here...''
And I scoot in around him, taking a fresh wad of kitchen towel from the roll, and dampen it with the cold running water. Gently I pat over his top lip, and hold the damp tissue to his nose with one hand, and with the other, I stroke his cheek with the backs of my fingers.
''I like fussin' over you...You don't let me do it enough, let me do it now babe.''
My guys are missing..Around the back tossing ball, having a little one on one with each other..Burgers are doing fine, the thick pork sausages are doing slowly on the top grill, so I ask one of the cousins to take over, and go to remind my husband that his dressing will be needed in a while for the salad. He makes the best dressing ever, and my attempt to copy it is less than poor.
Tossing off the cheeky BBQ apron, I go around the back of the house , and hear the patting tosses of the leather ball and stand for a minute watching.
Our son is growing too fast. It feels like only yesterday he made his presence felt on a Sunday evening while we were watching a game on TV. I remember the panic only too well, despite the practice run, the packed bag, the phone numbers left ready on the fridge door to call when 'the time came'. We'd only made it to the hospital on time, he wanted to be in the world so fast..His Dad never left my side, whispering to me all the time, telling me how we were just there..how good I was doing..That our world was going to change in the most beautiful of ways.
Eight pounds later, our world did change..In the soft pink bundle, that cried and cried, until the midwife handed him to his Dad, his little wrinkled face creased and frowning as unfocused eyes seemed to look right up to dark eyes, that were always kind, and full of love. Yeah, it was just like yesterday, and it was going by so fast.
My eyes water when the ball catches the my husband right in the face..My son's reaction is quick, but so too is his Dads, and they huddle together briefly, my son's concern evident as he checks his father out. I need to go to him..my husband...but it's evident despite his nose bleed he's ok...and my son can see that too..So I leave them to the moment without me, and just wait until the time is right...Our boy lets his go into the garage, and I nod to him as he approaches me, his shoulders slumped, his face embarrassed..
''It's OK honey..You keep an eye on your sister, and keep her out of the house until he's cleaned up''..
I rub his arm, ...and look up at him..He's not my 'little soldier' anymore..He's so tall now, the boy almost gone, with the young man hidden behind his bright eyes, and growing little smile..He gets it from his Dad,.. his smile...a beautiful smile that comes from the heart, and isn't ever given to sweeten, or deceive.. He leaves, and I know he'll do what he's told..Our youngest, who for this week has decided her name is Cloe is a drama queen, and has an aversion to blood since she'd cut her forehead four years ago and needed stitches. Seeing her Daddy bleeding would only upset her, and spoil her day, and spoil her Dads too, something I don't want.
The garage is cool, and floor icy beneath my bare feet as I cross it and follow the sound of running water into the laundry..Crossing my arms I lean against the door frame, watching him; watching how the broad of his back stretches the fabric of his teeshirt, and I can see his salt and pepper colored hair needs a little trim. I just love this guy, and on our worst day, he's still the best thing that has happened to me, with our babies.
I tug my favorite plum colored, and only designer labeled halter top down around my waist and go a little closer to him...We weren't labels people, but I like to have something nice from time to time when we can afford it, because I like to look nice....I like to look nice for him. I'm in my forties,.. not dead,.. and I like he likes looking at me, so I try make it worth his while.
I rub his back gently, and press my cheek against it, and slip my arms around his waist. We're both different than when we'd met.. Both now a little on the softer side of lean, but damn if I don't still think he's the finest thing that I'd ever seen.
''Hey baby....How 'bout next time you try catching the ball with your hand, instead of your face.''
My tease is just that, and it's gently murmured against his shoulder as I kiss it before I stand on tip top and cock my head over his shoulder, but then 'Oooooh' when I see the stain on his top lip from the remaining crimson trickle of blood..
''Aw, let me clean that up for you..Come here...''
And I scoot in around him, taking a fresh wad of kitchen towel from the roll, and dampen it with the cold running water. Gently I pat over his top lip, and hold the damp tissue to his nose with one hand, and with the other, I stroke his cheek with the backs of my fingers.
''I like fussin' over you...You don't let me do it enough, let me do it now babe.''
