Tom, A Dad's Story -- Part 3

[smokesmoke]

TJ studied the brochure the rec center had prepared for swimming students. The kid loved to read. He brought the paper into Burger King with us, wiped his hands carefully so it wouldn’t get greasy from the French Fries. I’d wanted to eat in the truck, but TJ wanted to sit at a table and I wasn’t going to push anything today. Well, not much. Okay, not the small stuff.

“I need swim trunks,” he announced.

“Don’t you have any?”

“I don’t swim,” he said. “Or I didn’t.”

“Okey dokey,” I said. “We’ll swing by Dick’s, its right next to Best Buy.”

That pleased him, that and the chocolate shake he was swilling. Shopping is shopping. I knew we could probably find something cheaper at Target, but a real sporting goods store was a better place for a dad to take his son.

I made sure we took our time at Dick’s, doesn’t that name get you? Makes you want to ask where the balls are. I skipped the baseball bats, knowing that would bore the hell out of him, but lingered in the camping section. Tired to get him interested in tents, sleeping bags. He could have cared less, said nothing when I said maybe we’d go camping later in the summer. But he did spend a lot of time looking, wouldn’t you know, at the little propane camping stoves.

“These are really cool,” he said.

“”If we go camping,” I said, “we’ll have to get one.”

That seemed to make him happy and again, I realized that for every two points, I’d lose one. Co-ed swimming class, stove if we went camping so he could cook. Progress was slow. And I was slow, too, sluggish after two Whoppers with cheese and only time for one cigarette afterwards. At work, I eat fast specifically so I’ll have time to smoke at least three cigarettes afterwards. And at home, well shit you know I light up right away and usually chain smoke for at least half an hour.

I gave up on the camping gear and we headed to the swimsuit section.

“Anything in mind?” I asked.

“The paper says it has to be a speedo,” he said. “Whatever that is.”

“It’s a tight one,” I said, looking for better words. “Like jockey shorts, but for swimming.”

“Oh, okay,” he said. “Sort of like a bikini bottom, huh?”

I laughed, hoping he was trying to be funny, but Jesus, it riled me that everything related to something feminine. Where the heck had I been for the last ten years?

There weren’t many choices for an eleven year old boy, and most of them were black. I watched him finger through the hanging little briefs, honing in on a bright turquoise nylon number.

“That’s pretty bright,” I said.

“Yup,” he said and I knew exactly what he was going to get. Well, he is dark haired, almost black like me, and it would really look okay, I figured. Kind of stand outish, maybe, but hey, it wasn’t so bad if my son wanted to be noticed. Might make him work harder at becoming a really good swimmer if he thought people were watching him.

“Will it fit?” I asked. “What size is it?”

“It’s a 14,” he said.

“Is that your size? Like when you buy underpants?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “Mom always buys my stuff.”

Yup, I was a negligent father, no doubt about it. But really, who the hell bought their kids clothes? Boy or girl, it was always the mother.

“Well, it looks okay,” I said. “Hold it up to your waist.”

“It looks kind of small,” I said. TJ seemed small to me, but when he put his hands on his hips, I saw that he was growing up after all.

“Maybe I can try it on?”

“Well maybe,” I said. “Let’s find a salesman.”

Of course, wouldn’t you know, the help that showed up was a large middle aged cow of a broad. TJ did the asking, he was very good with people, especially women. “Of course you can, “ she said. “You have your underwear on, don’t you?”

I would have died if I’d been a kid and asked that question. But TJ, he had no guile, no guilt, no shame. “Of course,” he said.

“Well, you keep it on when you try on the suit,” she said. “The same as if you were getting a pair of pants.”

The old biddy smirked at me and this time it was me who turned red. I doubt she was interested, but in fact I was free balling under my jeans. I always go commando on weekends, like the feel of freedom. Man, did I want a cigarette.

But I couldn’t tell my kid I was stepping out for a smoke while he went to the dressing room. Well, I could have and I might have if old floppy tits wasn’t there. And besides, I reminded my lungs, I need to be with my kid more. Bonding, right.

I waited outside the dressing stalls for what seemed like forever. What the hell could be taking so long? I was fingering through a sale rack of bicycle shirts when I heard a voice.

“Dad.”

I turned around and there was my boy, t-shirt, shoes, even his fucking socks. And a very ridiculous looking speedo. Way too small, which of course those things are at best.

“Kind of tight,” I said.

“Yeah, it is. I thought so too.”

“Let’s try a bigger one,” I said, and I followed him to the racks. Even though his t-shirt was long, I could see the perfect outline of his butt stretching that screaming turquoise nylon. And I swear, TJ was walking funny, like a girl if I thought about it which I didn’t want to.

“Darn it,” he said, “all the rest of ‘em are black or dark blue.”

“Here’s a maroon one,” I offered, willing to yield a little bit since I knew I was going to at least get my way and not buy that swishing blue thing.

“Ugh,” he said.

“The color really doesn’t matter,” I said. “In fact, probably all the guys will be wearing dark ones.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” he said forlornly. “Girls get all the fun colors.”

“Can you hurry it up a little?” I said. “I, uh, need to go to the bathroom.”

“You can go while I try this on,” he said. He picked out a 16 dark blue, then pulled out a black one. “I’ll see which one I like better.”

I didn’t have to go to the bathroom at all, unless it would be to puke. This was worse than I’d dreamt. What I needed was a smoke, something to calm my rising nerves. To hell with all this phony baloney bonding, I had my needs too. So while TJ minced, yeah I hate to admit it but that is how he walked, back to the dressing rooms, I made a beeline to the front door, had a cigarette in my lips as the automatic slider pulled open.

Smoke does wonders. I pulled fast and deep. My thoughts were getting together by my third drag.

“Excuse me.” The tentative changing voice of a kid who didn’t look much older than TJ grabbed me.

“Can I have a light?” No qualms, no apology, this kid already had a cigarette out of his gold and white Marlboro Light pack.

“Sure,” I said, flicking my lighter in his face. He caught the flame, dragged, said thanks and walked away.

Ten thousand thoughts rushed to my head. I remembered going shopping once with my dad, I think we were looking for sneakers. What a hell of an ordeal. My dad was cheap and slow as molasses going uphill in Alaska. I was a freshman, yeah that’s right, I needed the sneakers for JV basketball. And wished I were dead instead of having to have my old man at my heels. I remembered faking the need for the bathroom as soon as we got out of the store and back into the mall, desperate to, you got it, sneak a cigarette. Yeah, at 14 I was already smoking half a pack a day.

It was funny how part of the tide had turned. I was in control now, and probably TJ hated this as much as I had when I was his age. And here I was, twenty years later, out sneaking a smoke.
I speed smoked. Like I said, I hate to waste a cigarette, or part of it, and I had to get back inside. Made it to the dressing rooms just as TJ was stepping out.

“Much better,” I said, hoping he wouldn’t catch smoke smell on me. And the dark blue speedo did look good.

TJ pulled up his t-shirt so I could get a full look, even turned around like I cared about how his butt looked. It did fit a lot better, the only foolish thing was that you could see the elastic leg bands of his briefs hanging below the speedo.

“Yeah it isn’t so tight,” he said. “I can actually walk in it.”

He took a few steps so that he could check himself out in the mirror and did I breathe a sigh of relief. He walked fine, none of that swishy stuff.

“Much better,” I said again. “Feel okay?”

“Lots better,” he said. “Everything isn’t all jammed in.”

He blushed when he said that, and I tried not to match him. I mean, I would have loved a kid who would have said something like “that one was squeezing my nuts.” But we’d never been that kind of family and he certainly wasn’t that kind of boy. The comment made me think maybe we were getting somewhere. But that damned blushing.

We bought the suit and a pair of goggles, dishing out forty seven bucks as if it were canned corn. I tell you, kids are expensive these days. TJ seemed happy, I was glad that he was getting into the swimming idea, and we ambled off to Best Buy.

Slowly, I have to tell you. I walked slowly even though the sun was baking the sidewalk. Slowly so that I could really enjoy my cigarette. TJ was chattering away, something about some cool sneakers we’d seen on the way to the checkout. A good sign. I hauled deep.

“You really like ‘em?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said.

Well, I knew what was coming. If it were Jennifer, there’d be some dealing, offering them as a birthday present in advance or something like that. Me, I was feeling better than I’d felt all day, all week in fact.

“Well hey,” I said. “Let’s go get ‘em.”

“You mean it dad?” His eyes glowed.

“Sure,” I said. “Why not?”

Bonding, it’s all bonding I reminded myself as we went through the trying on ritual. Luckily this time we sat down and there was help a young man in fact, who was very helpful. And when he was bent over TJ’s foot, lacing up the six colored sneaker, I saw a pack of Camel Lights in his shirt pocket.

Back to the check out, the line was longer this time and I was worried something else might catch TJ’s eye. A hundred and forty two bucks on top of the swimming stuff, I couldn’t afford too much more bonding. Out the door, two Dick’s bags swinging from TJ’s hand, a red and my lighter in mine.
“Have fun with the shoes,” someone said. We both looked over. There was the shoe sales guy, leaning against the brick wall, puffing on one of his Camels.

“I will,” said TJ brightly. I nodded and took a drag.

Best Buy, well it really isn’t you know. You can do better at Wal-Mart always. But it’s a cool place, lots of noise, lots of gizmos and gadgets, though the computer stuff leaves me in the dark. TVs, sound systems, I could have looked all day, forgotten that we’d come in to look at cameras. I didn’t really need one, but there was a really great deal on a Nikon, and I coughed up six hundred bucks figuring I might use it to take vids of TJ when he was swimming.

At home, shit it was hitting four o’clock by the time we got back, everything was quiet. Jennifer was taking it easy, an early glass of white wine, a romance novel, and a Virginia Slim out on the patio.

“I got some cool stuff,” TJ told her as I helped myself to a slug from her glass.

“Yeah we did okay,” I said. “Signed up for classes, three days a week, ten o’clock.”

“And then you went shopping?” Man, that woman can be so sly and it is so sexy. I was glad it was Saturday night.

“Dad bought a camera,” he said, “and I got a bathing suit, and goggles and some really cool shoes.”

“A thousand bucks in a couple hours,” I said, firing up a Marlboro. “Hey, life is good.”

Jennifer was surprised when TJ pulled out his new speedo. “It’s what we have to wear,” he said in that officious tone he uses mostly to let me know that he’s right.

“I hope it fits,” she said, a dubious overtone in her voice.

“Oh it does,” he said. “Dad made me try it on.”

“Fits fine,” I said. “Regulation. Why don’t you run upstairs and try it on so you show Mom?”

“Do you think it’s appropriate?” As soon as TJ was out of earshot, she let me have it.

“Well it’s what they told us to get,” I said defensively. “I don’t make the rules, I just …”

“Follow them,” she finished. “When you feel like it. So anyhow, he is okay with the classes?”

That damned class stuff. I’d forgotten how I’d lost that one, but I didn’t want to admit failure so I said yeah, he liked the place, the coach seemed nice, although I realized the guy we’d met probably wasn’t the coach. For one thing, he was in a shirt and shorts, and for another, he was a smoker.
TJ modeled for his mom, she was her usual smothering self, told him he looked cute, what a word. “I’m sure all the girls will like it,” she said. Well, that seemed encouraging.

He went back inside to get back into street clothes. Jennifer poured a little more wine for herself, fixed a glass for me, too. Another encouraging sign. We sat down, toasted each other, life, and lit cigarettes.

“He does look cute in it,” she said. “But Tom, could you maybe have a word with him?”
“Huh?”

“Man to man,” she said. “He needs to do something about those baggy briefs hanging out.”

We both had a laugh at that, I tell you. “Yeah,” I said, “I’ll clue him in.”

By dinner time the girls were home, I’d had two glasses of Chardonnay, six or seven cigarettes, and was feeling expansive. We went out to dinner, over to Antonio’s, a great Italian place, lots of food and where they still call spaghetti spaghetti, none of this pasta nonsense.

TJ seemed really happy, much stronger than I’d seen him all week. He’d forgiven me, thanks to my wallet, and now he was all excited about the swimming classes, or at least so he acted when he talked about the pool to his sisters.

“Did you get a bikini?” Annie teased him.

“Oh you know it,” he said, falling into that pattern of acting and sounding like one of the girls. “Basic black. No, I am wrong. Blue. It’s the new black you know.”

Suddenly, I‘d had enough to eat, couldn’t swallow another bite of my cannoli.

What the hell was it? I tried to hide my feelings as we drove home. Didn’t want to spoil the evening. Tired to concentrate on the good parts of the day. I poured myself a stiff Wild Turkey when we got home, sat outside with Jennifer while the kids talked on the phone, watched TV and whatever.
“We’re so lucky,” she said as she lit her first after dinner cigarette. Me, I’d already burnt down three.

“I guess so,” I said, trying to sound positive, emphasis on so. Affirmative, not pondering.

Well we weren’t so bad off, she was right, and she sure proved it a couple hours later. Long passionate lovemaking, slow and easy like she likes, and then some down and dirty nasty stuff for me.

Sundays I kick back. Slept late, stayed in bed after Jennifer was downstairs, smoking a few cigarettes with the coffee she’d brought me. I’d just fired up one, was contemplating turning on the TV to see if there was a good ball game on, when I heard a tentative tap at the door.

“Yeah?” I pulled up the sheet, making sure the family jewels were covered. Actually, I didn’t think it was even a good idea for the girls to see me half naked, but I do sleep raw.

“Hey, uh dad.” It was TJ. Relief.

“I got a couple questions,” he said.

“Have a seat,” I said, patting the empty side of the bed. Shit, this was a first. We’d never had a talk like this.

He sat down on the edge of the bed. I took a drag from my cigarette.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“Dad,” he said, “I got a personal question.”

“Okay.” Oh shit. He’d heard me and Jen going at it.

“Uh, that speedo thing.”

“Yeah?” Another drag.

“Um, my um underpants, well they kind of bunch up in it and plus I mean the speedo doesn’t cover them up.”

I tried not to laugh. “Yeah, I noticed.” And then, just when the chance for some guy to guy talk came up, I lost my tongue. I took a slow inhale.

“The underpants thing,” I said. “That was just for trying them on. Cleanliness, sanitation. I mean you don’t want your balls to be …” I stopped. I’d just said balls to my son.

TJ didn’t blush, didn’t flinch. So he was cool after all. I went on.

“Like if you weren’t wearing any underwear when you tired them on, and like if they didn’t fit or something, and you didn’t buy ‘em, the next guy would, well or it could be you after somebody else has tried them on …”

Pause. Another drag.

“Well you know a guys get sweaty down there, and you don’t want to get someone else’s sweat or something on your balls. Or your butt.”

“Oh yeah,” he said. “I get it. So does that mean I don’t wear any underpants when I wear the speedo?”

“Don’t they have a liner?” I asked. I had to admit, those damn things were very silky looking and probably felt great, but hey guys are guys and you know what happens when you feel good down there. But I sure as hell wasn’t ready for that discussion.

“I don’t know,” he said. “What’s a liner?”

“Like underpants,” I said. “But built-in.” Best I could think of.

“Dad,” TJ had another question. I hoped it would be easier.

“What are balls?”

Fuck. Now I’m not a prude, I got no hang ups about sexuality stuff. But I don’t have any experience with talking about it either, at least not to a pre-adolescent son. I crushed out my cigarette and right away reached for another one. Damn, the pack was empty.

“I’ll get you a new pack,” TJ offered.

Nice of him, and convenient too. As much as I didn’t know what to say about balls, the last thing I wanted was to show him mine if I had to stand up and walk across the room to my dresser. He reached into the carton on top of that bureau, pulled out a pack and politely handed it to me, as he sat down. I packed it, more than usual, trying to buy time.

“Balls,” I said as I finally pulled out a cigarette, “are the parts of your body under your,” I shuddered, “penis.”

“Oh,” TJ said, his face brightening. “My testicles.”

“Testicles, yeah that’s the real word,” I said. “Balls, well it’s just what most of us end up calling ‘em.”

I felt like a complete asshole. And TJ, well once he realized we were talking about he clammed up.

“Check out what’s inside,” I said. “And we’ll figure something out.”

TJ sat there, watching me smoke. I felt like there was something else on his mind, so after a couple good drags, I asked him what he was up to today.

“Oh, nothing,” he said. “Everyone’s gone away.”

It seemed hard to believe that we were the only people in town, but I gathered that all his little pals were off with their parents. Much as I hated giving up a Sunday of smoking, TV and beer, I felt a little needle that told me I should offer to do something, take him somewhere. Yeah, more bonding.
I pulled back the covers, trying to think of what I might offer, but I needed to empty my bladder. TJ froze, looked at me, then looked away like he was going to turn into a pillar of salt. God, was this the first time he’d seen me naked? Probably. I had to be pretty careful around the house, what with the three daughters. I felt as embarrassed as he obviously was, but hey, it was a good time to be nonchalant. Being naked ain’t just a guy thing of course, but it’s way different between men than between men and women, that’s for sure.

I cut a huge fart as I stood at the toilet, cigarette dangling. I’m pretty sure TJ snickered, so I pushed out another one. “Feels good,” I said, dropping my butt in the toilet before I went back into the bedroom.

“You didn’t flush,” said TJ.

“Later,” I said. “Toss me my smokes, huh?” Time to get dressed, cover up. And have a smoke while I came up with some idea of what to do. Like I said, TJ’s not a wimp about my smoking, he picked up the reds and box and pitched it to me. Not a good throw, but I leaned into it and caught.

“You don’t wear underpants?” he asked as I pulled on my jeans.

“Not on weekends,” I said. “I like the freedom.”

“Like my speedo?”

“Yeah maybe,” I said, trying to keep this going. “But my jeans aren’t soft and silky.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I wonder if it’s going to feel like girl’s panties.”

Hell of a question. I exhaled a long slow stream. Was this a good time so suggest that it wasn’t appropriate for him to be folding his sisters’ laundry?

“Well I guess that’s something we’ll never know,” I said. A long space filled the room as I zipped up. I watched TJ, watched him look at the floor, turn red, scratch his arm, knew the awful truth. My son knew what panties felt like. He’d tried them on. I just knew it.

I had to do something, I had to make a big gesture. But what the hell could I do? Those few brief moments when he’d stared at my hairy cock and balls, when I’d farted and pissed, that wasn’t enough to make a man out of him. I picked up my cigarettes, stuck them in my shirt pocket.

Had to change the subject. “So, if you’re up for it, we could do something,” I said. “You and me.”

“Like what?”

“Jesus, I don’t know. A ball game? Drive up the river and do some fishing?”

“I don’t know,” he demurred. “I do have some homework.”

“That can wait,” I said. “Think about something you want t do, and after I wake up with more coffee and some grub, I might have some better ideas, too.”

The coffee, two scrambled eggs with lots of ketchup, and no ideas. I went back to the bedroom, sat down on the toilet. I’d needed to crap for hours, usually go when I get up, but with TJ in the room, well I got some modesty you know. Smoked a couple reds while I sat there, trying to come up with something. I didn’t want to force him to do something he really would hate, knew a ball game would be out of the question. Fishing, maybe. But it’s a lot of trouble, too much work getting it all together for just a quick afternoon.

I wanted to do something where he could cut loose a little. He had it in him, I’d seen a couple glimpses in the last couple of days. Of course, he scotched it every time, but maybe if we had real time together, no mom and no sisters around, maybe he’d chill. And maybe if we did something that was clearly guys only stuff, he wouldn’t dare mention it at the dinner table.

Eleven, almost twelve. Awkward time. The hormones should be kicking in, the voice changing and all the equipment growing. And there should be what the hell do the shrinks call it, individuation, that sense of wanting to do something wrong, something bad.

But what does a good kid do that would be daring? It shouldn’t be with me, really. Should be with a male friend. Maybe he’d meet some guys at swimming class. Maybe we should have sent him to camp, but it was too late for that this year. And the way he was going, next summer could be too late.

Maybe we could go for a hike. Yeah, that’s guy stuff. Not just a walk in the park, but through some rugged woods. Talk about nature, he would be good with that, maybe ease into something about the birds and the bees, which he obviously knew the facts about. Maybe talk about girls, see if he had any interest yet. If only he were a couple years older, shit I’d offer him a cold beer and maybe that would loosen him up. Too young.

Then it hit me, and it was right there in my hand. Smoking. Maybe I could offer him a cigarette. Every boy wanted to try it, wanted to feel the sensation of doing something forbidden, yeah, and something that was for adults. Or at least it makes you feel more grown up.

Jennifer would kill me. As much as she liked her cigarettes, she was kind of anti smoking when it came to the kids. But she was realistic, too, and I had a hunch that if one of the girls asked her if she could try a cigarette, she’d say yes.

The trouble was, and I thought about this as I smoked my third red down, I didn’t want my kid to become addicted. He was a little too young, and aside from the flack from his mother, there were some blunt truths. I’d smoked when I was his age, yeah. But it was inconvenient, which probably made me want to do it more. Smoking in the boys room was the thing to do when I was a kid, we knew it was a risk but in those days you might get a detention, first time. Nowadays, geeze, you’re out of school on your ass for the rest of the year or something.

Well, I didn’t want a smoking kid on my hands, but maybe one now, and who knows if he’d even like it, it might give us a secret, a bond. Yeah, I’d do it.

I felt nervous as if I were TJ’s age when I suggested a hike up along the ridge north of town. He surprised me by seeming to like the idea. Who knows, maybe things were warming up between us.
I made sure I packed the cooler as full as you can carry on your back, plus a back up for the car. A bag of trail mix, a couple Hershey bars. And of course, a spare pack of Marlboros.

I hesitated as I tucked that box into the knapsack. Would I do it, would I get my kid to smoke? Shit, lots of parents probably offered their kids a cigarette, but that was to prevent further experimentation, not to encourage some free guy behavior.

No, not a good idea. Overboard.