Father’s Day Special
As I think about Father’s Day and the Anniversary of me starting this blog, I thought it would be a good time to do something a little special and share an excerpt from a novel I am working on. The book is entitled, “Busted Hearts.”
Tristan felt a tug on his shirt and turned looking down at an energetic four year old with a sparkle in his big brown eyes and world class grin across his face.
“Mr. Tristan! Mr. Tristan!”
“What is is, Billy?” Tristan asked, stooping down to get eye-level with the little boy.
“This is for you,” Billy said while the smile that already engulfed his face seemed to get impossibly larger.
Taken aback, Tristan stuttered for the words to say, “Uh, Billy, this is supposed to be a gift for your dad.”
The little boy’s smile faded as he looked down at his shoes, “I know, but… but I don’t have a dad.” He continued to study the floor as his expression teatered between an onrush of sadness and deep contemplation.
A flood of emotions passed of Tristan. He had really stepped in it this time. How was he going to fix this? Poor kid.
“You could give it to your mom,” Tristan quickly threw out the first thing that came to mind.
Billy giggled as the smile returned to his face and he replied with a playful, but confident tone, “You’re so silly Mr. Tristian! Mommys can’t be daddys!”
Tristan was relieved that the awkward moment of sadness had passed as fast as it had arrived, but remained at a loss as to what to do next. Thankfully, the little boy took the lead.
“Daddy’s are boys!” Billy continued between more giggles. “Daddy’s are big boys–like you, Mr. Tristan. Daddy’s are strong and they take care of you and teach you how to be a big boy… and they play games with you!”
Tristan struggled to process the words coming out of the little boy’s mouth. His mind transported him back into time, looking down at his own son when he was about the same age as Billy. Dante’s eyes were a striking dark green, but held the same sparkle and passion as Billy’s brown ones. At least they had. Then. It has been a long time since Dante’s eyes has displayed that kind of energy and life. Tristan was overwhelmed with fear as he worried: Will my little boy ever be the same? Will he ever have that sparkle of joy in his beautiful green eyes again? Will I ever even get a chance to see those eyes again?
Billy stood there still holding out the Father’s Day craft they had worked on during Sunday School class, “Pleeease, you can be my at church daddy” Billy pleaded while waiting for Tristan to accept his gift.
Tristan couldn’t find words, but nodded in agreement and accepted the necktie-shaped foam cut out with “#1 Dad” sprawled across it. He just stared down at the word “Dad” as he stood up and the feelings of doubt and despair rushed over him. I don’t think I’m much of a dad, Tristan thought to himself, much less a number one ranked dad. My kids hate me. They never want to see me again. I’ve hurt them, ruined them. I’m no dad. Certainly not one anyone wants.
Tristan’s self-deprecating thoughts were cut short as little Billy brought him back into the present moment. Tristan looked down again, this time Billy had his arms wrapped around Tristan’s legs and let out a quiet confirmation of his intentions, “I love you, Mr. Tristan.”
Tristan’s eyes darted around the room to see if anyone else had seen what just happened. Sure enough, his eyes met with the downcast glare of Ms. Betsy. He had a pretty good idea of what she was thinking right now, too. It was the same look his wife had given him to remind him of what a true disappointment he was: Tristan, the man who doesn’t listen. Tristan, the slob. Tristan, the failure.
Tristan wished he could pick up the little boy and hold him close and tell him that he loved him too. But in this day and age, a man can’t even touch his own children without being suspected of malicious intentions–let alone someone else’s child.