“I am afraid that if I try, I just like, won’t be able to handle it. Like it is one thing to don’t do anything and fail. Like, you expect that to happen. But every time I try, I just fail like I didn’t try. So why bother? Trying just makes me… nervous. Nervous that I going to run away like Dad,” Anthony Jr. said. And everything he said was wrong. But it also made perfect sense.
“You aren’t your father,” I said.
“And when you ask me to do stuff,” Anthony Jr. continued, “Like I am afraid of doing them. Because I know that Dad thought it was like… your fault that he couldn’t handle stuff And I don’t want to blame you for making me look like an idiot when I can’t do anything. And I am afraid I will do something dumb like leave you alone. And there won’t be anyone to care about you,” he said. My eyes grew wide. It was clear he was being honest. I had never expected that.
“Honey…” I started, rising from the bed.
“You told me I had to be the man of the house. And I just wanted to that for you mom,” Anthony Jr. said, his eyes growing moist, “When I was a kid, I just didn’t know what to do. And then I learned what I was supposed to do, but I couldn’t do it. I am not a… like man. I can either try and then run away. Or I can be a loser, but stay here. And I don’t want to leave you mom. I don’t want to hurt you,” Now I did rush across the room. Now I did throw my arms around my son. I could feel his heart hammering against my breast as I squeezed him.
“Dad would just be so angry when he got up to go to work, and then he would come back even angrier because he was work, and when he was home all he did was complain about work,” Anthony Jr. said, “And I knew I was half him. And I knew I already didn’t like homework and school work and stuff. I just… I wanted to be a grown up for you. But I was afraid to do it too. I just didn’t want to disappoint you.”
“Honey, I am so sorry. I said I was sorry, but I will say it again now. I never meant, when you were little, to put any kind of pressure on you. You didn’t have to be a man at 12! You didn’t have to take care of me! I am so sorry that you thought you did! You were already the man of the house, just by being there Anthony Jr.! I wasn’t trying to get you to do anything. I just was… trying to tell you I love you,” I said. And in that moment, I felt the crushing weight of expectation that I had inadvertently placed on my son. He had wanted to be an adult when he was 12. He’d failed and been crushed by that failure.
“I love you too mom, I am sorry I am a fuck up,” he said. I shushed him and squeezed him tighter.
“I don’t want you to be sorry about anything honey,” I said, “I just want you to be happy and able to take care of yourself.”
We sat in silence for a long time, with my arms around my son, his head on my shoulder while he sat in the chair. I thought about the things that Anthony Jr. Said and the way that they made sense, in a certain sort of childish way. And I, of course, felt terrible about what I’d done, even if I hadn’t meant to. But I also thought about something that Joanne said. About being an adult.
“You know,” I said, finally breaking the silence, “Not everyone who get a job or goes to school hates it, right? I loved school and I don’t mind my job,” I offered.
“I know,” Anthony Jr. said. I broke my hug and moved back away from him. I grasped his shoulders with my hands and settled onto my knees on the floor in front of his chair.
“And even if school and work suck, I mean, that isn’t all there is to being an adult. There are bad things about adulthood. But there are good things too,” I said. Anthony Jr. was looking at me again.
“Yeah,” was all he said, not sounding convinced. I swear, I was just about to launch into a defense of adulthood that centered on being able to stay up late, eat snacks between meals, and decide where you wanted to go on vacation (pretty weak sauce, I know). The words were forming in my head, but when my mouth opened, I said something else.
“Do you have an erection right now?” I asked. We looked at each other in stunned silence for a moment. I was on my knees, just a foot or two away from my son’s lap. He was wearing lose-fitting basketball shorts. He was leaning forward a bit, towards me, to cover himself. But I could see the lump in the fabric. We both knew what it meant. I just couldn’t believe I had brought it up. My cheeks were red.
“Jesus mom!” Anthony Jr. said, shaking his head, “Why would you even…” And suddenly, more words were pouring from me. I don’t know if they came from the same place as my earlier question, or if I was just trying to talk over the awkwardness I had created. But, regardless, I was speaking.
“You know, when we first got married, before things kind of went down hill with your father, I would help him out when he came home stressed from work. He never, ever liked work. Always complained about it. Always so tense about something that was happening, even if there wasn’t anything he was bringing home with him. And, before he decided that I was part of the problem, I used to be able to fix it for him.” I said. This was all true. But not a thing I ever expected to share with my son.
“What are you talking about, mom?” Anthony Jr. asked, his voice croaking a bit. He was looking down at my chest again, and shifting in his seat. I almost started speaking again. Almost started explaining what I was getting at. But, in that moment, something in my brain just sort of snapped. I looked up at Anthony Jr. Saw that innocent face that I loved. Who I had caused to feel so much anguish for so many years. So much tension and frustration. I sighed. ‘Fuck it,’ I thought, ‘he needs to really understand what it is he is missing.’ I decided. This was, after all, what I had really come here for anyway. Who was a I kidding?