The Father They Deserved

A Story by GregAtkinson72

A story about a father who has let his kids down

The sun was hot and bright through the window. S**t. I was late. Again. I’d spent the day alternating between blissful napping and berating myself for not getting out of bed.

Hell, I didn’t need the sun to tell me I was late. No doubt Olivia would gladly remind me of that. I was not looking forward to facing Olivia and her a*****e of a husband Derek. F**k Derek. F*****g a*****e.

I rolled out of bed and started looking for Billy’s present. In a moment of panic I thought maybe I’d left it at the ballpark. But of course I hadn’t. This was too important for me to do something stupid like that. I grabbed Billy’s present and threw it in my backpack.

I grabbed the trophy too. I’d mailed it off to a jeweler to have it professionally repaired and had paid an extra $50 for a custom box to protect it. I placed the trophy gently in the box and carried it in my hands. I didn’t trust it in my backpack.

It didn’t matter that I was late, I told myself. I had Billy’s present and I had the trophy. That’s all that mattered.

I got in my car and noticed the time. It was 4:37. S**t. That was later than I was hoping.

I found myself driving faster than usual. Before I knew it I was knocking on the screen door. Derek came and opened the heavy oak door. He looked me up and down, glanced at his watch and put on a fake smile. “Hi, Will,” he said, louder than he needed to.

Olivia’s voice called from inside “Tell him he’s too late!”

Derek’s smile dimmed a bit and he said “Will, the party was from noon to four. Everybody’s left.”

“Even Billy?” I asked.

“No, Billy’s here playing with his brothers and sisters.”

“I have something for him.”

Derek unlocked the screen door and I stepped in.

“You’re late as always!” Olivia snapped. “I knew you’d be late.”

“Billy,” said Derek, “your Dad’s here. I think he has a present for you.”

I looked around. There were Sweet 16 balloons and banners scattered around their beautiful, white house. Unwrapped presents and half-eaten cake lay on the dining room table. Natural light flowed in through the windows. It was a happy house.

Billy and his siblings held game controllers in their hands, sitting on the large couch that formed a semicircle around the TV. “Hi Dad,” said Billy, not taking his eyes off the screen. “Thanks for the present. Go ahead and set it on the table.”

Billy now had a man’s voice. I hadn’t noticed that before.

Derek gestured to a table next to the front door.

I set the trophy box on the floor, gently removed the trophy and set it on the table. I removed my backpack, set it on the floor and pulled out my present for Billy. I’d tried to wrap the present as carefully as I could, but I’m not all that good with wrapping presents and the past few days in my possession had taken its toll; the wrapping paper was wrinkled and torn.

I began to set Billy’s present on the table but Derek seemed to suddenly have a different idea. “Um, hey, um, Billy? Why don’t you pause the game for a minute? It looks like your dad got something really nice for you.”

F**k Derek. He doesn’t even know what I got. But, yeah, you know I was actually kind of proud of Billy’s present.

You see, I had coached Billy’s baseball team starting in preschool all the way up through 6th grade. We were a happy family then. We’d all go to the games and Olivia would sit in the stands with our other kids and cheer for Billy.

We did everything as a family back then. We’d eat, play and pray together. If there was one thing I knew for sure in this life it’s that I was lucky to have such a wonderful family and that I was going to do my best to be the father they deserved.

In his younger years, just about all the boys in Billy’s class played baseball. But as the kids got older and the games got more competitive, many of the kids dropped out. I learned as a coach the two reasons kids drop out. First, it’s fun to do things you’re good at and not-so-fun when you’re not good, so the better kids continue and the worse kids drop out. Second, your teammates rely on you and letting them down is too much to take for some kids.

Billy didn’t have either of those problems. In low-pressure situations, Billy was easily the best player on the field. But when the heat was turned up, Billy was a force to be reckoned with. Billy typically played first base like his hero, Joe Mauer, but his real strength was at the plate.

I remember the last game of Billy’s 6th grade season. The championship game. Classic situation. Down by one run, we had one out and a runner on first and Billy came up to bat. Billy was in his element.

The first pitch to Billy was right down the middle. The bat made an enormous CRACK when it met the ball. The ball went right to the shortstop, who threw it to second for the one out and over to first for the second out. A double play to end the game. We’d lost.

Our fans were stunned. Our players were stunned. Billy was stunned. Maybe stunned wasn’t the word. Billy was crushed. Billy was devastated. One by one everyone went over to console Billy. “It’s not your fault.” “Hey, good game today.” “We never would have made it this far without you.”

Shortly after the game I told the team to line up on the field and the commissioner would deliver our second place trophies. Everyone got up and proceeded to the field. Everyone except Billy. “Come on, Billy”, I said.

“I’m not going. I’m going to walk home,” said Billy.

“What? No, come on. This’ll just take a few minutes and we’ll go out as a family for ice cream.”

“Go without me,” said Billy. And he turned and walked away.

I accepted the trophy on Billy’s behalf. After the trophies were handed out, Olivia said “I told the kids we’d get ice cream. Where do you want to go?”

“We’re not getting ice cream. We’re going home,” I replied.

“But I already told the kids…”

“We’re going home, and that’s final. Everyone get in the van,” I demanded.

Later that evening I walked down to Billy’s room. He’d come home a couple hours earlier and I figured he’d had enough time to cool down. “Here’s your trophy,” I said.

“I don’t want it,” he said under his breath.

“Oh, come on. We’ll get ‘em next year.”

Billy shook his head. “No we won’t.”

“Sure we will,” I said cheerfully.

“I’m not playing next year. I let my team down today. I never want to feel that way again,” Billy said defiantly. “I already threw away all my baseball stuff. Check in the garbage if you don’t believe me.”

“You mean to tell me that you’re going to just throw this all away over one f*****g mistake? What the f**k is wrong with you? After all the f*****g effort I put towards playing catch with you and coaching you and helping you get better? Is this how you thank me?”

“F**k you, Dad”

And it was like I was outside my body and I could hear myself saying “F**k you, Billy” and I saw myself bringing the trophy behind my body and throwing it across the room. I never meant to hit Billy. Why did Billy have to go and make me so angry?

Billy tried to duck but it was just too late. The trophy hit Billy smack in the face and fell to the ground, broken.

A couple years later, after Olivia and I had divorced, Billy brought the broken trophy to my apartment. “I was cleaning out my room and I was going to throw this away, but I wasn’t sure if you wanted it. Feel free to throw it out if you don’t want it. You know, Dad, I forgave you long ago for what you did. I’m not mad anymore. I really enjoyed the times we used to spend playing baseball, but somehow I just lost my love for the game.”

I didn’t acknowledge Billy’s olive branch at that time. Perhaps I was a few too many years late, but here, on Billy’s 16th birthday, was my chance to finally offer an olive branch of my own.

I walked the present over to Billy. He set down the game controller, opened his present and found a brand new first baseman’s glove. The brown leather smelled of baseball and of all things good in the world.

“Thanks, Dad,” said Billy, a bit less enthusiastic than I’d hoped.

“Did you see I got it signed? Guess who signed it?” I asked, hopefully.

Billy set the glove down on the couch without looking at it more closely. “Dad, I’ve kinda moved on to other things in my life.”

Before I knew it, I found myself saying “Well f**k you! F**k all of you! My whole life I’ve always tried to be the best father in the world and you always take it for granted.”

Truth be told, I hadn’t tried my best since that night I broke the trophy so many years ago. And ever since then, whenever I’d struggled as a father, my struggles were a painful reminder of how I’d let my kids down. So I just gave up. Like father, like son.

All my children stared at me with disgust on their faces and tears in their eyes.

Before they could respond I turned and left the house, slamming the heavy oak door on my way out. Once outside I turned to look back through the window. The trophy was wobbling, slowly at first but picking up speed. “Oh God!” I thought. “What have I done?” The trophy gave one last big wobble and fell from the table.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Derek flying across the room, leaping toward the trophy. All eyes were on Derek now. Olivia, Billy, Frankie, Winnie, Stella and Maxwell were transfixed. Derek gave one final lunge, reached out his arm and caught the trophy just before it hit the floor.

They all gathered around Derek, tears in their eyes and sobbing softly. Derek put a loving smile on his face and opened his arms wide. They all joined in a group hug, sobbing at first, but soon the sobbing gave way to giggles and smiles.

And I suddenly realized that they already had the father that they deserved. I guess Derek wasn’t an a*****e after all; he was just picking up where I was forced to leave off.

Epilogue

A little over a year later my phone rang. It was Billy. I hadn’t talked to any of them since Billy’s 16th birthday. They didn’t need me anymore.

I answered. “Hey, Billy. Sorry I missed your 17th birthday. I was real busy with work.”

“That’s OK, Dad. I get it. Say, I was talking with my brothers and sisters and we were wondering if you wanted to come to my graduation party.”

“Aren’t you planning things a little far in advance?” I asked. “You don’t graduate for another year.”

“Well, I have some good news for you. I worked hard and I’m graduating early! We’re celebrating this Saturday starting at noon.”

“Noon, huh? That’s a little early for me, but I’ll see what I can do.”

“That’s OK, Dad. Just come whenever you can and maybe we can toss the ball around. Here, let me put you on speaker.” Billy put me on speaker and then I heard all my children say “We love you Dad! And we miss you!” Billy added, “Well, Dad, I don’t want to take up too much of your time. I really hope you can make it.”

I hung up the phone and opened up my calendar and added a reminder for Billy’s graduation party, just in case I wanted to go.

And then it hit me from out of the blue. Sadness and shame and self-loathing and grief were pouring from my body. I cried for hours. My lungs were exploding with wails, my eyes were gushing with tears, and my body felt like I’d run a marathon. Was it too late? Had I missed my opportunity to be the father they deserved?

I opened up the calendar reminder again and added a note: “Important! Don’t be late!!!”