29 #3
“Right,” Tean said. “Well, in the first place, you have to understand that most of the kids who are moved into foster care are there because of pretty horrific circumstances at home. Because the ideal thing would be to keep the kids with their families, if that’s at all possible.
And so when they are moved, it’s either because of abuse or neglect so significant that the child is in real danger. ”
“I know. I know; my childhood wasn’t all that bad—”
“No, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m proud of you—” The words felt strange on his tongue, and Tean was suddenly aware of how their relationship had shifted.
Or evolved. Or taken on a new dimension, maybe, because in some ways, yes, now he was a man talking to a man.
But as the conversation had also proven, in other ways, he was still a child trying to connect with his father.
And that insight was like falling through a window, and he could see that his father, in some ways, was still a child as well.
Tean said again, his voice thick, “I’m proud of you for being honest about the complexity of your feelings.
And I appreciate what you said. What I’m trying to say is that you’d think those children would be angry at their parents.
And they are. But they also love them. And they feel guilty.
They feel guilty, because some part of them believes they deserved whatever was done to them.
And they feel guilty because they think it’s their fault they were taken away.
And they feel guilty because their parents got into trouble because of them.
And that anger and hurt and guilt and love becomes—becomes very difficult to move past.” Tean heard how far he’d wandered.
“I just want you to know that it’s okay to feel all those different things.
It’s normal. So, you shouldn’t feel bad about it.
And you shouldn’t feel like you have to hide it. ”
His dad put his elbows on his knees. He was watching Scipio, eyes tracking the Lab, but his cheeks were flushed, and his eyes were shining.
After a while, he said, “For a long time, I told myself he did the best he could. He didn’t have an easy life, you know.
His dad died when he was a child. His mother had a series of men after that, and some of them were rough with him.
In a lot of ways, the fact that he turned out to be who he did is a testament to his character.
But it was there. I think that’s a big part of it. ”
“That’s called generational trauma,” Tean said quietly. “You inherited a lot of what he went through.”
His dad’s smile was surprisingly wry. “And you inherited what I went through.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“I do, Teancum. It’s all right.” He turned his head, and the stripes of light and shadow shifted. “Everybody’s just trying to do their best, I think. Most of the time, anyway. He was trying to do his best. I tried to do my best. I think I did, anyway. I hope I did.”
“Of course you did.”
But his dad didn’t answer.
In the far corner, Scipio decided to roll around on the ground, so Tean got to his feet and whistled, and the Lab jumped up and gave a quick look around, obviously wondering how he’d been spotted.
When Tean sat back down again, his dad said, “I didn’t know that about Jem.”
“He’s had a very hard life. To your point, it’s a miracle he turned out to be who he is.”
“You love him,” his dad said, and it was a statement.
“Yes.” And the tears came so suddenly that Tean couldn’t do anything but duck his head and wipe frantically at his eyes. His throat knotted up.
“Hey. Hey, Teancum, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I don’t know.” But he couldn’t stop crying, and the words were choked. “We had this awful fight.” And then the tears came harder. And part of it was Jem, and part of it was the embarrassment of crying—crying over a man—in front of his dad.
But his dad only rubbed his back. He made shushing sounds. He was saying something that Tean couldn’t process through the tears, repeating the words, the tone a comforting murmur. Whatever he was saying, what made it through to Tean’s brain was It’s okay, it’s going to be okay.
Tean brought himself back under control. His eyes were hot and prickly. He wiped his nose. Scipio was digging near one of the fence posts, and when Tean started to get up, his dad shouted, “Scipio, leave it,” and the Lab bounded off toward the water pad.
“I’m sorry,” Tean said, but his voice was still thick, and he had to wipe his nose again. “It’s fine. I’m tired and—and I’m sorry.”
His dad was still rubbing his back. A minute passed before he said, “That young man loves you a lot. You just need to figure this out.”
Tean nodded, but he started to cry again.
“I don’t have any good advice for you,” his dad said. And that was another first. “You’re a lot smarter than me, so I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Just don’t do what I did.”
And it was the closest Tean had ever heard his father come to his version of what had happened—to the reason behind the divorce. He didn’t ask, but the question must have been on his face because his dad gave that half-smile again.
“Don’t screw it up.” He gave Tean’s knee another shake. “Talk to him.”