Drew's Story
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Chapter 13
When the Curtises come to pick Mike up for church the next Sunday, we invite them to dinner. I fix a pot roast with plenty of potatoes, carrots, and onions, Mike's favorite.
Mike bursts through the door bubbling with excitement. "Mrs. Hanson let me play the organ!"
Martha gives him an indulgent smile. "Carol sometimes does typing for me. Mike wanted to see the instrument, so after church she showed it to him, letting him pick out a melody with one finger."
"Can I learn, dad?"
"You'll have to start with piano," I tell him, "and that means you'll have to practice every day for at least an hour."
"I will. I promise."
"Does Mrs. Hanson teach?" I ask Martha.
"She has one or two students. I'm certain I can get her to take Mike if you're serious."
Tor swings his arm around. "Just where the hell do you think we'll put a piano? There's not room enough in here now to cuss a cat."
"The university uses electronic pianos which are quite compact and easy to move for its classes. You might consider one of those. I believe you could get it down where you have the trains," Martha tells us. "I like to see a child exposed to music even for just a short time, and Mike's tests do indicate a strong affinity."
Since we've been taking Mike to such few concerts as there are in this area, music has become something more for us than just background noise while we're working. The next Saturday morning the three of us drive back up to the university. Mike and I leave Tor at the library to look up some references and we search out a music store. I'm astounded by the advances in electronics. We find a unit the clerk assures me is the same as those used in the university's music labs. Having only 61 keys instead of 88 it will even fit in the back of the SL since it comes knocked down. I buy a good headset to go with it to save our ears from hours of scales.
It goes through the hatch easily. Tor and I put it together and place it between the doors of our labs. I plug it in and manage to pick out chopsticks on it, which Mike picks up immediately. When he starts his lessons with Mrs. Hanson, I'm surprised that it takes no more than an occasional word from me to get him to put in his practice time.
When the Curtises invite the three of us for Thanksgiving dinner I'm reminded that Tor and I have never bothered much with holidays. But with Christmas not that far off, I'd like to make it a memorable one for Mike.
Tor's been thinking about it too, for when I mention it he says, "I'd love to do it for the kid, but where do we have room for a tree? About the best we could do is a little table tree and I'd like him to have the thrill of decorating a big one." He suddenly looks sad. "That was one thing I enjoyed when I was a kid. Mom always made sure we had a big one and she and I would decorate it."
"I guess we could push the table over a little and put it by the door to the deck. It'll be cramped, but it won't be for that long and we don't use that door much anyway."
"That might work if we can find one that's not too big around."
The week before school is out for the holiday Tor and I pick up Mike after school and take him on our tree hunt. We hit the three places in the town that sell them, but what we find are either too fat or scraggly. Mike hasn't said a word, but I'm as disappointed as Tor when he says we might as well go home. We're headed back when I see a sign beside the road for a nursery. Though it doesn't mention trees, I tell Tor to try there.
It turns out they have only a few live trees meant to be planted after the holiday. When I ask the owner if there's anywhere else we can look, he shakes his head.
"Not less you want to try some of them towns to the mainland. I'm afraid you're a little late to get a good tree. What kind were you looking for?"
"Something nicely shaped, but it's got to be small around because we live on a boat."
He thinks for a moment, then starts walking. He stops in front of his greenhouse and points to a pretty little fir tree just over six feet tall which is precisely what I had hoped to find.
"You mean something like that?"
"Exactly. That's beautiful. We've got to have one because it's Mike's first Christmas with us and we want it to be special, but we don' have anywhere to plant a live tree."
"Since it's for the kid, I guess you could have that one. It's gonna have to come down anyway, cause if it gets any bigger it's liable to bust the glass in the house. It's too close to the foundation to dig up, so if you want it, I'll get the saw."
"We sure do, and thanks."
While he's cutting the tree for us, he tells us he's having a sale on stands and lights because he's trying to get out of the holiday stuff to make more storage room for his growing landscaping business. All we'll need now are some ornaments.
While Tor and I are putting the tree in the stand before taking it inside, he says, "Have you noticed Mike hasn't once smiled or said a thing about the tree?"
"Yeah. It's kind of curious. I mean most kids his age would be excited by now. I wonder what's going on with him."
Mike is curled up on his bunk watching us solemnly as we move the table and set the tree up.
I open a box of lights and hold them out. "Don't you want to help us put the lights on, Mike."
His face lights up. "We really gonna have a Christmas tree like other people?"
"Of course we are. Don't you want one?"
He flies into my arms and then hugs Tor.
"I ain't never had one before."
Tor holds him up so he can start putting the lights on the top branches. They aren't put on perfectly or even well, but it's his tree. I'll rehang the ones that dangle while he's at school, then Tor and I will take him shopping for some ornaments. But Tor beats me to it. As soon as we're back from dropping Mike off at school the next morning, he tosses his sweater on our bunk and starts redoing the lights. Watching him, I can see he's getting almost as much of a thrill from it as Mike did.
"You don't think Mike'll notice, do you?"
"I doubt it. He'll be so busy hanging the ornaments he won't even think about it. Besides, you told him we couldn't light it up until he decorated it."
We find the family operated variety store and let Mike pick out the ornaments he likes, but Tor can't resist adding a few he's picked out as well. While we're shopping, a Santa comes in and sits in a chair next to the artificial tree the store has decorated. He's a poor skinny excuse for a Santa compared to most I've seen, but Mike's attention is riveted on him.
"Go tell Santa what you want him to bring you for Christmas," I tell Mike and give him a nudge.
Mike shakes his head and his eyes get moist. "He won't bring me nothin'. He ain't never before."
Hearing this about breaks my heart. I look up at Tor and I can tell from his face that he heard Mike. "Maybe you didn't talk to the real one. Go ask him for what you want."
Mike reluctantly crawls up on the man's lap.
"You're right smart of a young feller. What you want ol' Santa to bring you?"
"You the real one?"
"Guess I am. Ain't no more 'round as I kin see. Why you ask?"
"'Cause I asked for a bicycle last year an' I didn't get nothin'."
"Nothin'?"
"I didn't have no Christmas tree neither."
Santa gives Tor and me hard looks. "Well now, I'll have to see about that. You got a tree this year?"
Mike finally smiles. "A big one. Daddy's let me pick out the balls and stuff and we gotta go home and put 'em on it."
"You jes do that, son, an' ain't no tellin' what you might find un'er it come Christmas Day. What else you want 'sides a bicycle?"
"That's all. Dad and Tor already got me a train an' a piano."
"I'm glad fer ye, son. This here candy cane's fer you. Santa wants you to have a good Christmas."
After dinner the three of us finish decorating the tree and let Mike switch it on. He stares at it, mouth agape. Tor puts a CD in the compact stereo and Christmas music surrounds us.
I open one of the cans of eggnog I bought while grocery shopping. My old man and I always had a glass on Christmas Eve when we decorated the tree. I pour a glass for all of us, leaving Mike's without the nog, and sprinkle the top with nutmeg like my old man used to. Mike sits between us on our bunk, our arms around him, as we drink and admire the tree.
I want to mail Christmas cards to Doug and Ted, Joynes, the Langfords, and the Curtises, so after I pick up Mike the last day of school, I detour by the post office. Telling Mike to wait for me, I dash in to get stamps for the cards and post them. When I come out, Mike's not in the car. I look around and see him standing in rapt attention before the window of the hardware store down the block. I walk down and see the black ten-speed bicycle he's looking at.
"That's the one I want," he says plaintively. "I hope that Santa was the real one."
As far as I'm concerned that Santa was real and he'll bring Mike the bike. I remember back when I wanted one, too. I had it all picked out and left pictures the dealer gave me of it lying around where my old man would be sure to see them. About a week before Christmas he sat down and put his arm around me and told me how bad he felt but Santa didn't have the money to buy one for me. I got clothes instead and, though I needed them, the disappointment was still there. I guess that's when I began to realize who Santa really was, even though I didn't want to believe it.
As soon we get home and Mike goes to practice his piano, I tell Tor about the bike. He pulls on his sweater. "I'm gone!"
It's over an hour before he comes back and gives me a rueful look. He calls to Mike that we're going up to the institute to pick up our mail.
"The damn thing was sold," he growls when we're outside. "It was too big for Mike anyway."
"But that's the one Mike wants."
"Don't you think I know that? I got the guy to make some phone calls after I told him I'd pay for them. He found the same bike in the next size down, but it's in a town about seventy-five miles from here."
"Can they ship it?"
"No. But I'm not going to have him disappointed. I'm driving up there tomorrow to get it. I told them to hold it."
"But what if they sell it before you get there?"
"What you think a credit card's good for? You've got to find some way to keep Mike occupied so he won't see me when I come back with it. Curtis said we could hide anything we got for Mike in the storage room since the institute's closed for Christmas. He gave me a key."
With the way Tor drives it'll take about three hours for the trip, so about half an hour before I figure he's due back, I roll out the cookie dough I bought at the market and call Mike to come cut the cookies out with Christmas cutters. I let him decorate them with colored sugar when each batch is done. Tor comes in with a grin just as the last pan comes out of the oven.
"Smells like Christmas in here. You making cookies, Mike?"
"Dad helped me. You want one?"
"I sure do, and a glass of milk." Tor slips off his jacket and takes the cookie Mike holds out.
Because Mike begs, the three of us meet the Curtises for midnight Mass at their small church. It's a simple, lovely service. Tor and I have an awkward moment when communion starts, but Curtis whispers that we should just fold our hands like Mike will and we'll be blest instead. When the pastor puts his hand on my head and begins the blessing, I realize how truly blest Tor and I already are.
The last hymn is one I've never heard before, 'Love Came Down at Christmas'. It has a beautiful melody and the words are what I pretty much expect, until the last stanza. Those words tear me apart: 'Love shall be our token. Love be yours and love be mine.' I close the service book and put it back in the rack, tears beginning to rise. As I reach for my handkerchief, I put my other arm around Mike's shoulders and squeeze gently. When he gives me his sweet smile, tears stream down my face, he's Tor's and my token of love.
Mrs. Curtis sees my tears when she puts her book down and whispers, "What's wrong, Drew?"
I nod my head toward Mike and Tor. "I guess love did come down at Christmas, didn't it?"
I see her eyes moisten as she takes my hand and squeezes it. "Thank you for helping me see the beauty of those words in a way I've never thought of them before."
Though it's after one Christmas morning when we get back home, Mike's so excited it's over an hour before he goes to sleep. When Tor and I bring in the bike and his other gifts we have to be ultra careful with Mike asleep just a few feet away from the tree.
I would swear I've just gotten to sleep when I hear Mike shriek, "He was the real Santa!"
He's got the tree lights on, though the sun is streaming in through the glass door to the deck, and he's stroking the bicycle as if he can't believe it. Tor rolls over and hugs me. "Merry Christmas, Drew. I love you."
"I love you, too, Tor. Having a kid around really makes it Christmas. I'm glad we've got him and each other. Guess we'd better get up and have some breakfast. Mike's going to want to try that bike."
There are other gifts under the tree, but Mike sees only the bike. As soon as he's through with breakfast he begs to ride it. I walk up to the institute's parking lot with them. I help Mike on the bike while Tor holds it, then runs along side to steady it as Mike pedals. Mike has great balance, because Tor turns loose after the second trip around the parking lot and Mike rides it fairly smoothly, wobbling only a little as he makes the turns.
"Damn, he learns fast! I almost let the guy sell me some training wheels." Tor says when he comes back to where I'm standing.
"It wouldn't have hurt until he learns to get on and off."
"Nah. I figured it might hurt his feelings old as he is and he's going to have some falls anyway. I sure did."
We watch Mike riding until it's time for us to dress and go to the Curtises for dinner and more Christmas. Tor calls Mike and grabs the bike so he can get off without falling.
"Can't I ride some more? Please?"
"After dinner. We promised your Uncle Dave and Aunt Martha we'd go over there."
"Can I ride my bike so they can see it?"
"It's too far for you just yet, babe. Bring your bike and we'll put it on the deck and lock it to the railing so it won't get stolen."
Tor's bought chain and padlock to secure the bike. He puts the key on a sturdy bit of nylon cord and hangs it around Mike's neck. "You can keep the key, Mike, but I don't want you to ride unless Drew or I are with you until you learn how to get on and off without falling."
Mike's disappointed, but obedient as always.
Absorbed in our teaching and writing, time passes before we're aware. Mike gets jumped another grade in school, but he enjoys the challenge. When he enters the eighth grade he has a study hall at the hour a beginning word processing course is being offered to older students. He asks to take it. Despite the reservations of the principal, he has no problem keeping up his grades. It must be his piano study, but by mid-term he types faster than I, though with a few more errors. Never the less, he asks if he can type up the notes Tor and I turn out rapidly when we're working on a book. I'm glad for his help since I've got a backlog of photography to get done.
I'm so used to our computer that I don't realize how slow it is until Mike complains that the one he uses at school is faster. With the lack of money schools have for new equipment, I know that if the one he's using at school is better than ours, then ours must be well out of date.
The next weekend we drive the eighty some miles to a large city and look in several computer stores. After Tor and I play with several on display we discover how outdated ours has become. Tor's ready to buy one of the stock models he likes, but Mike insists that we find a newly opened manufacturer's store which has a number of display models. We defer to him because he's already more knowledgeable about computers than we. The clerk invites us to take our time and try them all, but Mike zeros in on one that's a step down from the fastest unit, but has most of the same features. After Tor and I give it a try we discuss its merits, wishing again we could have the options of a twenty-one inch monitor and the largest hard-drive available. Mike suggests that we should also include a special disk drive for backup because the power in our area is unreliable. After listening to our wants, the clerk asks our specific uses of a computer. He's quick to assure us that Mike has chosen wisely and tells us that all their computers are custom built so we can have all the extras we've mentioned for just a few more bucks. We'll have to wait two to three weeks for it to be built, but If we phone the order in direct we can escape paying state sales tax which is enough that the money we save will pay the shipping and leave us a little over besides.
Fortunately, Mike has learned enough that once the new computer is delivered, he can transfer everything from the old hard-drive to the new one with a program he insisted we buy at a software shop while we were looking around.
UPS delivers the computer one morning, but we stack the boxes and wait for Mike to come home from school so he can enjoy setting it up for us.
"What are we going to do with this one?" Tor asks after the new computer is in place and the old one is sitting on the floor.
"Can I have it?" Mike asks.
"Why? You know you can use the new one."
"Yeah, but you and dad will be using it most of the time. I can use this one for my papers and some games."
"I guess we haven't given you much chance at it unless you're typing stuff for us, but you'll like the new one better since it has sound and all the new games. Besides, Drew and I will be using this one quite a bit."
Tor opens the one unopened box and takes out a laptop that's a near equal to the big unit. We bought it because of a greatly reduced price we got by buying it with the desk model. Tor justified the expense by saying how much time we'll save by using it for our note taking instead of writing, then typing our notes in later after trips to the U's library for research. It doesn't have sound nor as big a hard-drive, but we can always transfer our work to the other computer.
Mike grins. "That's great. Thanks."
"I expect I can find some charitable organization that will want the old one. That way we can take a tax break." I add.
"Even better," Tor says.
When I ask the principal of Mike's school if he has any use for our old computer, he's delighted to have it for a classroom of younger kids.
Mike hits a growth spurt, and it becomes obvious there isn't enough room in a two seat car for three of us. We drive to the nearest Mercedes dealership and Tor drives a hard bargain, but we leave in a new convertible.
"Damn this makes me feel old," Tor complains.
"The price one pays for having a kid," I tell him.
"Guess so. I'd rather have Mike any day, and we got our fun out of it."
"We did that. I'm glad we have this, though. Thanks, luv."
We also have the complaint that Mike's clothes are too small and seems to begin almost before we're out of the store. He's already taller than I and squaring off. Though he's two years younger than the other kids, he goes out for soccer and makes the junior team immediately, for his coordination is superb.
Tor and I don't believe in pushing Mike, but we try to be enthusiastic in our support of him, so we attend every game that Mike plays. We're finishing up supper one evening after a game when Mike asks me, "Dad, what's a fag?"
After I beat Tor on the back to stop his choking, he yells, "Where the hell did you hear that?"
"One of the guys on the other team was talking about how some fag tried to pick him up last week."
Tor and I stare at each other, knowing now we've avoided the 'birds and bees' talk with our son for too long, but we had hoped that Martha would be the one Mike would ask questions in that regard.
"Did I say something wrong?" Mike asks.
"No, but it's not a word we like to hear," I reply. "He was probably talking about a man who likes to have sex with boys. The correct term is pedophile. Faggot is a common term among straights for homosexuals, but the polite term is gay."
"You mean guys who like guys instead of women?"
"Right."
"Like you and Tor?"
I read the panic on Tor's face. "That's right. Tor and I love each other. You know Tor doesn't have his left hand, so the rings in our ears are the same to us as wedding rings."
"That don't make you fags! You never tried anything funny with me."
"Dear Lord, Mike! You're our son and we love you. It's up to you to decide what's right for you. If you like girls instead of guys, that's the way we want it."
"Why do you think your Aunt Martha is always checking up on you?" Tor bursts out.
"She doesn't ask me things like that."
"I wish she had. She and Dave know we're gay and she wants to help you understand the way things are with us." I tell him.
"Who else knows?"
"Just Gary and a couple of friends of mine that you've never met."
Mike's perception comes through. "Then I shouldn't tell anybody, should I?"
"No!" Tor howls. "Don't ever say anything about it to anybody but Martha, and only then if you're alone with her."
"Please, Mike, because if you do we'll all be in a lot of trouble." I add.
"But I love you and Tor. Does that make me a fag?"
"Of course not, Mike. Family members are supposed to love each other. This is all about sex. Most people don't believe two guys should love each other the way Tor and I do, so they hate us. If you were to tell anyone, Tor and I would go to prison and you'd be taken to an orphanage."
Mike looks crushed. "Why?"
"Because they're afraid if two guys who sleep together have a kid around they'll force him into having sex with them."
"That's not fair! You guys don't even talk about sex if I'm around."
"I know. We should have talked with you about this earlier. I'm sorry about that, Mike, but we don't want anything to happen to take you away from us."
"No way they could make me leave you and Tor; I'd run away first. Besides, Aunt Martha told Uncle Dave you were doing a great job with me. If she thinks so, who else matters?"
"Nearly everybody, babe, especially the cops and judges. I'm sorry, but that's the way it is. Has anybody asked about your mother?"
"One of the guys on the team asked."
"What did you tell him?"
"That she left me a long time ago."
"Did you say anything about where you lived before you came home with us?"
"No." Mike's upset, now. "Don't make me remember that, dad."
"I don't want to, but if anyone asks, you came to live with us because I'm your dad and Tor's your uncle. I'll ask Martha to talk to you about this the next time you see her. Maybe she can help you understand it."
"Okay."
When I give her a call, she says merely, "I'm surprised this hasn't come up before. I've been expecting it most any time. Don't worry about it, I'll straighten Mike out."
It's a few weeks later that Tor and I are at the school watching the last junior league game of the season. Mike is unbelievable as he races down the field with the ball, evading the guys on the other team, and scoring all but three of the goals. He doesn't hog the ball but he's always in position to receive it. It doesn't seem possible that wiry body can make so many fast moves. Watching him makes us as crazy as the rest of the parents present.
The other team rallies after halftime. The score is now tied with just a couple of minutes left to play, the junior divisional championship at stake. Mike gets the ball and starts a zig-zag pattern down the field. Tor and I are up, screaming our heads off. Mike fakes to the left, then pops the ball past their goalie just as the whistle blows! Tor swings me around while I'm hugging him and pounding him on the back.
When we walk down to the gym to wait for Mike, we hear the yelling. There's a fight going on in the locker room and we're shocked to see Mike in the middle of it, giving it all he's got. Some of the other kids are trying to pull him off the guy he's pounding, but Mike's a little more than they can manage. The coach gets to the door just as Tor and I wade into the melee. The coach grabs the other kid while I grab Mike and get punched for my trouble.
"Mike! Stop it!" He has a cut over one eye and a bloody nose. The other kid gasps for breath where he's been gut-punched. One of his eyes is turning a rainbow of color.
"What's going on?" The coach demands.
Mike squirms free of my grasp. "He made a crack about my dad."
The kid's mouth drops open and he points to me. "He's your dad?"
"Yeah," Mike snarls back. "You wanna make somethin' of it?"
By this time Tor has gotten the other kids sorted out and on their way to the showers. He growls at Mike, "I'm suprised at you. Go shower."
The other kid backs away, intimidated by Tor's scowl and the hook. "Who's that?" He asks.
"Mike's uncle," the coach rasps. "Get going."
As the kid scoots off the coach says to me, "I can't believe Mike started a fight. He's aggressive on the field, but he's always been an exemplary sportsman."
"I hope he has. This won't happen again."
I can tell Mike's ashamed by the way he eases back to us with a hang-dog expression after he's showered and dressed. "I . . . I'm sorry I hit you, dad."
"I am, too. You weren't holding anything back."
"Okay, let's hear it," Tor says in a flat voice once we're in the car.
Mike's still angry enough that with his voice breaking it's first shrill and then a growl. "You know when you grabbed Drew and swung him around?"
"What about it?"
"That shit-head said, 'look at the fags.'"
Tor covers his face with his hand.
I reach back and pat Mike on the shoulder. "I'm sorry we embarrassed you, Mike. We were excited by the way you made the wining goal, but we didn't ever want to put you in the position of having to defend us."
"You didn't embarrass me! The other guys think it's great the way you show up for every game and take us out for pizza when we play out of town. They were pissed too." He suddenly leans forward and hugs me then Tor. "Hey, I really love you guys."
"Okay," Tor growls, "let's get home and get your ass in gear. The guys will be coming before long."
We're having a cookout on the little beach near our houseboat for the kids on the team. The Curtises are invited also, and we haven't much time.
While the Curtises are having a cup of coffee with us after the kids have eaten and taken off, Martha asks about the cut over Mike's eye. When I explain the circumstances, she shakes her head.
"Don't let it worry you. Boys that age call each other fag over most anything one of them does that's not in accord with group thinking. Most of them have no concept of what the term means as yet. It's just a part of their vocabulary. I'll speak to Mike about it."
She then congratulates us on how we've helped Mike develop a sensitivity to others. Neither Tor nor I have been aware of it because he's so easy to have around. He's often curious about what we're doing and watches when I'm photographing specimens or Tor's running experiments in his lab. If what we're doing doesn't require our total attention, we use the opportunity to teach him, but he never touches anything in our labs or gets in the way.
To be continued...
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Posted: 09/14/07