Jimmy grumbled under his breath, leaned over and rested his elbows on his knees, his face in his hands. He was so frustrated, felt that things could never go right. His fingers pressed at the wrinkles in his brow, he had read somewhere that doing this would lessen his stress. How wrong that was, he thought, nothing could lessen this stress. He relived the events in his mind, wondered what he could have done better.
He had had a fight with his oldest son that evening, over whether he would be able to attend dance classes or speech therapy. His son had voiced that he wanted to dance, that it was his passion, and he didn't care about his speech and lisp issues. Jimmy had told him that he really thought that the speech therapy was for the best, and they can't really afford to do both right now. He promised he could do dance the next year, but his son had yelled his hatred for him, and stormed off to his room. The slamming door had resonated through the apartment, hell, Trev could probably hear the echoes from where he was stationed behind the bar downstairs.
Jimmy folded his hands in front of his face, his knuckles grazing his nose and brow. He thought of his own father, and how he had handled things. His father was a very angry man, didn't handle his emotions appropriately. He was cold, unforgiving, and Jimmy could never impress him. Even to this day, with his somewhat successful business, his three kids, his life, his father still stared down at him from over his hooked nose. Jimmy had always sworn to be better than he was; had sworn to treat his boys with more love. He didnt know how, though. He thought he was doing alright, thought that his kids might turn out differently than him. Sure, his small twin sons were strange, but they gave him kisses before bed time, and wouldn't go to school in the morning without hugs. Jimmy wasn't a very affectionate person, but for his boys, he would do his best to accept it.
Jimmy Jr., on the other hand, was a whole different ballgame. Jimmy saw himself in that boy more and more as he grew, and in more ways than just the shared name. When Jimmy Sr. was young, he also had a lisp. He couldn't control it, and no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't form the words correctly. It was frustrating, humiliating, and hurtful. The other kids at school would make fun of him, point fingers, laugh. They imitated him, and he got so insecure to the point where he even developed a stutter. But no matter how much he begged, cried, whined, his father refused to let him get speech therapy.
"Just do it right, don't cry about it! It's not that hard, just try!" He would yell, over and over again, as Jimmy desperately tried to say the words. But he couldn't. His tongue wouldn't listen to him, he struggled and fought, and nothing would work. His father thought men shouldn't need any type of therapy.
So, when he saw his own son, so sweet and innocent, developing the same issues, well. He thought he needed to act, needed to help him in the way his own father refused. The only reason Jimmy Sr. could speak so clearly now was because when he finally turned eighteen, he sought his own help, free from his father's restrictions.
He didn't want Jimmy Jr. to struggle the way he had. He didn't want him to face the same humiliation and sadness. He thought maybe his son had been bullied too, withdrew from him because of it. He was now exploring the possibility that the reason his son had withdrawn was because of him, and not the kids at school.
He looked up, straightened his fingers, gripped the edge of the bed he was perched on. He looked at himself in the mirror attached to his dresser, that sat in front of him. It turns out, his hormonal teenaged son wasn't the only one who would run to the bedroom to hide from the world.
On the dresser, there were photographs of his kids. A few had his ex wife in them. He looked at the pictures of his boys, and his heart filled with love. He wondered if his dad ever felt this love when looking at him.
He would be lying if he said Jimmy Jr. didn't look like him. The poor kid inherited his cleft chin, his eye color, his cheekbones. He got his mother's ginger hair, the only thing that really differentiated him from Jimmy Sr., when he was young. Andy and Ollie, full of sweet innocence from the moment they were born, were in several of the photographs. One of his favorites was one where a small Jimmy Jr. sat holding each of his toddler brothers, one on each side. All three of them had huge grins, all smiling at their mother and father, who were on the other side of the camera.
Jimmy sighed. He thought about when this whole "being a good dad" thing was easier, when his boys were just babies, ever so easy to please. He thought about his teenager back when he was a small bundle in his arms, red hair flaming from the top of the blanket swaddle. Thought about the first time he ever held him, when his wife at the time had said she wanted to name him after his father. Jimmy hadn't wanted that, didn't want everyone ever to think he was a pompous asshole. His wife had smiled, looked at him from under her sweaty bangs. Her face was sweaty, her hair a mess, but he thought she was the most beautiful woman on the planet at that moment. She had just given him their baby. Their sweet and beautiful boy, who had hair just like hers. And, well, if she batted her blonde eyelashes at him and he nearly got jello knees, that was nobody's business but his own. He wanted her to be happy, wanted her to be whole and full. So they named their baby after him.
He looked at her smile in the photos. Their divorce hadn't been a mutual decision. She needed more, needed a life that wasn't consumed by business, wasn't devoted to keeping a place afloat. The restaurant was his dream, not hers, and she couldn't stand the heat.
So she got out of the kitchen. For good.
He was startled from his thoughts as his phone started to ring suddenly. He knew this would happen, he and Pepper would fight, and within half an hour his ex would call to assess the damage. He heaved a sigh and stretched to grab his phone from where it laid on the bed behind him.
"Hello?" He grumbled out.
"Hey." Her curt response. She knew he would tell her, and he knew she wouldn't criticize him.
He took a deep breath. "It didn't go as well as I had hoped." He admitted softly.
"I heard," she said. "What happened?"
Her voice was calm, soothing. He wished he could have given her the world.
"He, uh, he said he hates me and he wishes that I'm not his dad."
She chuckled sadly on the other end.
"You know he didn't mean that."
"But do I?" He said, his left hand coming up to press his creased brow again. "Because it felt real, it feels like he meant it."
"Jimmy. He's a teenager. You told him he can't do something he wants to do. This happens, sometimes."
"It never happens to you," he murmured.
She laughed this time. "Thats because I never give the bad news!"
He smiled, rolled his eyes playfully. "Yeah, why is that, by the way? Leaving me to do the dirty work?" He joked back. This was his first smile this evening.
Her giggle rang through the speaker. "Because I never have anything bad to tell them."
He felt better, laughing, joking with her. Felt like this fight wasn't the end of the world.
"Go talk to him." He knew she would say that. He breathed a deep breath, blew it out.
"Okay." He breathed out. He couldn't help but feel nervous.
"It'll be okay." She reassured him. "Its not over until its okay." He thought she sounded way too sure of herself. She's lucky they had no daughters, he thought.
They hung up after some slow goodbyes, and he tossed his phone back onto the bed. He didn't want to admit to his son that he had been bullied, didn't want to make his son think that he was a weak child. But, he realized, the only way to get Jimmy Jr. to understand why he was pushing this is to tell him the truth. So, that's what he was going to do.
He took a few deep breaths, steadied his shaking hands. Looked in the mirror. He went as far as to point at his reflection threateningly, mentally scolding himself for not talking about this sooner, but also trying to give himself a pep talk before he went and confronted his son.
He could hear the music coming from Pepper's room before he even entered the hallway. He had long put Andy and Ollie to bed, relishing in their Goodnight kisses and whispered 'I love yous'. The bass from whatever Jimmy Jr. was listening to was resonating through the walls, and he took another deep breath. He held it for two seconds, breathed it out for four seconds. Wiped his sweaty palms on his sweat pants and made a fist to lightly knock on the bedroom door. He knew his son would be dancing his heart out on the other side of the door, and while he wasn't a dancer, he was a cook, and he remembered his own father trying to stamp out that passion in himself. That wasn't what he was trying to do here, he just wanted the best for his sweet Pepper.
His knuckles made contact with the door a couple of times, and there wasn't a response. The music continued, and Jimmy knew that his son didn't hear him. Should he knock louder? Just open the door? Ah jeez, where was his boys' mother when he needed her?
He bit his lip, thinking for a few seconds, and just as he was gripping the door handle to open it, the music suddenly stopped. He didn't think that it stopped because he knocked, it was too late for that, but his son had stopped it on his own.
He knocked again, lightly as the first time, but this time got the immediate response, "Go away, dad!" His son's cracking puberty stricken voice sounded muffled through the door.
He opened the door slowly anyways, not sure what he was going to see when he opened it. When he poked his head into the room, he made eye contact with his son, who was perched on the edge of his own bed, looking slightly sweaty and defeated. He had definitely been dancing moments before.
"Hey, Pepper. I just want to talk to you."
"Why would I want to hear it?" His son crossed his arms, looking away.
"Because I think it might explain some things for you."
His son didn't say anything, just avoided eye contact. Jimmy took that as an invitation to fully enter the room, and he sat down on the desk chair across from the bed. He took a deep breath, again, and rubbed his sweaty hands on his pants. He tried to look at his son, but Junior refused to look at him. He slowly, softly, started talking.
"Son, you ever notice how I don't like to take you kids to visit your grandfather?"
Junior hesitated. "Yeah, but what does that have to do with anything?"
"Well, when I was a boy, about your age, I also had a speech impediment. Exactly like yours, actually."
"The other kids, well, they were- they were mean. And it made me feel awful. I wanted to go to speech therapy so they would stop making fun of me." He admitted each word carefully; the last thing he wanted was to further upset his son. He hadn't looked back at him, he could see Pepper processing what he was being told, could almost hear the gears spinning in his head.
"When I asked my Pa, he uh-" he cleared his throat. "He didn't take too kindly to the thought of me going to any kind of therapy." He rested his clenched fists on his thighs, unclenched them, stared at his palms.
"I asked- well, begged I guess, over and over again. But he wouldn't- he wouldn't listen. And I always thought I'd be better than him, but, I, uh, I guess I didn't listen to you either."
He took a chance to glance at Junior. He was staring at him, eyes full of awe, maybe a bit of pity, but mostly they were understanding. Jimmy nervously chewed his lip, his hands coming together to fidget in front of him.
"I guess, what I'm trying to say, is- it's that I'm sorry for not listening to you and what you want, and while your mother and I agree that speech therapy is a good idea, if you don't want to do it, that's okay. We'll get you your dance classes. And we'll be at every recital to cheer you on, because we both love you and we want you to be happy." He said this final part with a tone of finality. Because no matter what, he and his ex wife did love their sons, and they supported them always.
After a moment, Jimmy set his hands on his knees to push himself up. He was going to go back to his room, brush his teeth, get ready for bed. It didn't seem like Pepper wanted to talk, seemed like he didn't have anything to say. But just as he reached the standing position, his knees cracking as he stood, he was almost knocked over by the force of his teenage son. Junior had stood and pretty much leapt at him, wrapping his scrawny arms around his father's middle. Jimmy was surprised, but welcomed it, wrapped his arms around his son and maybe pressed a small kiss to his hair.
And Jimmy's heart swelled with love.
