CHAPTER 1 - Discussions

"I hate you! I wish you had bled to death in the hole they found you in!"
Screamed his son and ran out of the kitchen without waiting for an answer. They could still hear him stomping up the stairs to the second floor and then the door to his room was already banging.
He was still sitting at the dining table, his face reddened from anger and his hands clenched into fists with white knuckles. He breathed emphatically calmly and closed his eyes.
"Go check on him. If I go up there now, there'll just be another fight right away."
He finally said calmly. His daughter nodded silently and got up from the table. The soft rustling of her clothes told him that she was leaving the kitchen. He waited a moment before opening his eyes again. Slowly he opened his cramped hands and ran them through his mottled gray hair. He looked around the kitchen. The plate on which his son's dinner had lain only minutes before lay broken on the floor, the food scattered on the wall behind him. His son's steak knife was stuck deep in the tabletop and the fork was bent.
"What a mess..."
He said while taking a deep breath. It was by no means the first time they had argued and it certainly wouldn't be the last. But this time it had been really violent. Short but powerful. Groaning, he rose from the table and went to the sink cabinet. He opened the door and took out the trash can. With difficulty he collected the broken pieces of the plate and the coarsest of the dinner and threw it into the bucket. When he stood up again, he groaned under the pain. With both hands he supported his back and stretched.
"...This isn't getting any better..."
He muttered and went to the sink. He took the rag and began wiping the remains of dinner off the wall.
When had he become so estranged from his children? He asked himself that question after every argument, and after every argument he came to the same answer. He just hoped that someday it would be a different one, or that he could finally say:
"Yes, I alienated myself from my children, and yes, that was the stupidest thing I ever did in my life. That and getting my fucking spine shot up in Afghanistan. But I managed to get back to them."
But again today, he came to the conclusion that he had a long way to go before he could say the last sentence. But when had he become estranged? Had he ever had a good relationship with his children? Yes he had, hadn't he? Or not?
He had met his wife on home leave. It had been love at first sight. They both seemed to be made for each other. They both knew that he would spend a lot of time abroad and she had agreed. They had married early, had had the blessing of both families.
He remembered that his father-in-law had welcomed him into the family with open arms.
"A soldier. A man who knows how to protect his family... that's good."
He had said. Today, he thought differently himself.
He had been in Iraq when his daughter was born. Had missed the most important time in his first child's life. Of course, he had come home highly-decorated. And of course his wife had been waiting for him overjoyed. But his daughter didn't even know who this man in those funny clunkers was.
"No, you're not my daddy...you were never there."
The little girl had said then. His wife had reassured him that it would blow over. In fact, he had been able to establish a relationship with his daughter, though not one that could be called a father-daughter relationship. He was the kind uncle who always stopped by.
Even when his son was born five years later, he had not been there. This time, too, his wife had sat at home alone with the children. The relatives had helped take care of the children while he had flown around the world to play policeman for his government.
It had happened when his son was 3 years old. His wife had fallen ill and before he had returned from his overseas assignment, he had received the call that she had died. Of course, he had been sent home immediately. But what was he supposed to do there?
Burying his wife, sure. He could not raise his children, who knew him more from pictures. That was impossible. They had agreed that one of the aunts would take over.
The children had a good relationship with her and she was very happy to take over this task. While his children were growing up in the care of the aunt, he went off to war again.
Of course, this did not improve the relationship with his children. While his daughter was already large enough, in order to understand the connections at least in the basic outlines, his son had been still much too small for it. Much later he had learned that his son had felt betrayed and left behind. A feeling that had left a deep gulf between father and son.
Meanwhile, he was now home all the time. After a gunshot wound, he had been honorably discharged from the service and could now be there for his children.
Except his kids didn't want to be there for him.
"...No, that's not right...that's not like that..."
He muttered, propping his head on his hands. He had tidied up and cleaned the kitchen. He sat at the kitchen table, still not knowing what to do with his son now.
He heard footsteps on the stairs and raised his head. His daughter, now almost 18 years old, came back into the kitchen. She looked a bit disheveled. She went wordlessly to the coffee machine and poured herself a cup. After adding milk and sugar, she came to the table and sat across from her father.
"Has he calmed down again?"
He asked quietly, worry written all over his face. She nodded slightly.
"You know how he is. He ramps up fast, but he ramps down just as fast again. You're definitely similar in that way."
She said, stirring around in her cup. The clink of the spoon was the only thing heard in the kitchen for a moment.
"I'm terribly sorry."
He finally admitted. His expression looked petrified, but his daughter knew him well enough by now to know that this was the expression he used when he was thinking hard. She let him take his time. He took a deep breath and looked at her.
"Am I so wrong in my fears?"
His voice was forced calm, you could tell the tension in it. His daughter sipped her coffee to buy herself a little more time before answering.
"No you're not wrong. But that's not the point at all."
She replied and set her cup down. She looked abolished and tired. Even though she wasn't directly part of the discussion most of the time, she always experienced the arguments between her brother and her father firsthand. Her father looked at his hands. They were covered with scars, as were his forearms, which stood out on his washed-out army green T-shirt.

"But if I'm not wrong, why are we arguing? If I'm right, then why doesn't he understand me?"
His despair was palpable. His daughter slowly shook her head. It was obvious that her father was simply not up to the overall situation. He had never seen her or her brother grow up, so he couldn't recognize the nuances in his behavior that her brother had acquired over the years. How could he. In the Army, the problem her father faced was completely taboo and ostracized. Slowly, she slid her hand across the table and reached for one of her father's hands. Tenderly, their hands clasped.
"Dad, this isn't about Jamie being bad company for Jonathan. Your son knows full well that Jamie is part of a gang and that gang has a really, really bad reputation."
She said softly. Her father looked over at her in anguish. His thumb stroked the back of her hand.
"So he's doing this to get a rise out of me? To show me what a bad father I am?"
He asked, closing his eyes. He slumped his shoulders and sighed deeply. Again, his daughter shook her head.
"First of all, no he's not doing this to annoy you. It's for completely different reasons. Second, you're a better father than you think, and he knows it. You take care of us, and you try very hard, but you can't just make up for 13 years. It's not that simple."
She took her second hand and placed it on her father's hand. Her thin smile looked tired but sincere. For his part, he tried hard to draw a smile on his lips. He succeeded to some extent. He took a deep breath.
"I know I can't make up for the past. And you both know how infinitely sorry I am for not being there for you both when you were little. But..."
"...But you had duties to your country and you did it so we could live in a better world. I know."
Completed his daughter his sentence for him. It was his standard excuse for his past failures. She knew he meant it sincerely, but it didn't help much when you had a pubescent brother who was in the middle of his rebelious phase and not very amenable to arguments.
"Your son is in the middle of a crisis of purpose. He's questioning his whole life and unfortunately it doesn't help that his father doesn't understand him. Can't understand him."
She added, looking into his gray-green eyes. Her father chewed on his lower lip. He knew she knew her brother, his son better than he ever would, at least for a long time to come.
"Then help me. Help me understand him. How am I supposed to help him when as soon as I question one of his decisions, he won't even explain it to me, and just shuts down?"
His daughter smiled a little wider. She squeezed his hand a little tighter before letting it go and standing up. She went to the cupboard and took out the well-hidden bottle of whiskey. Along with a glass, she placed it on the table in front of him. Her father looked at her questioningly.
"How..."
"How I know that's where you hide your stuff? Listen, I know this kitchen better than you. Nothing that's in that kitchen stays hidden from me. Not the whiskey, not the .45 under the sink, not the bundle behind the range hood."
She replied, sipping her coffee once more. Her father shook his head and looked at the bottle.
"Is this going to be necessary?"
He asked, lifting the bottle briefly. She shrugged her shoulders.
"I don't know yet, but I don't want to rule it out."
She returned and set her cup down. She folded her hands in front of her and looked at him seriously. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and leaned back. He took another deep breath.
"Okay. Shoot."
It sounded less convincing than he'd hoped. His daughter nodded curtly.
"First of all, you should know your son is gay."
She herself was amazed at how easily it had come across her lips. She looked to her father, who sat there unmoved. She had expected a more intense reaction, but he just sat there digesting the information. After what felt like an eternity, he finally nodded.
"Hmm... I'd be lying if I said I was already expecting something like this, but I'm actually less surprised than I thought."
He said, nodding once more. He went over the previous information in his head again.
"Then Jamie is his...?"
His daughter nodded mutedly.
"Hmm... yes that explains one or two things then."
His voice sounded tired but not half as angry as his daughter had expected.
"I've caught them. It's been a while. I didn't think it was good to just tell you like that. I didn't know what you'd do."
She explained, looking over at her father questioningly. He ran his hand over his face and looked at the bottle on the table, but shook his head.

"Well, I don't want to say that it doesn't bother me mightily. I grew up in a very conservative family, and as you can imagine, this was a difficult issue while in the Army."

His daughter nodded mutely.

"But Jonathan is my son, and I love him just the way he is. Even if I want to shake him every once in a while. Couldn't he have chosen a...hmmm...less difficult friend?"

You could tell how much it was bothering him. He started scratching his head uncontrollably. It was a skip action. His body didn't know how to handle the energy his mind was building up. Again he looked to the bottle, but held back. Instead, he leaned forward and reached his hands across the table. His daughter grabbed them and squeezed them tightly.

"Why can't he just tell me? It would have made so many things so much easier."

"Well, he, like me, didn't know how you would react. You're both very quick-tempered. And if you tried to talk this issue out with your heated tempers, it would end in a disaster. You know that as well as I do."

He took a deep breath, set to reply, but then paused. Again he bit his lip and stroked the back of her hand. Finally, he took heart.

"You're right. I probably would have been hurt in my pride as a veteran and a 'man', thrown something at him, and he would have done something stupid out of sheer desperation. And now? Now I sit here and still don't know what to do..."

He hung his head and wanted to pull his hands back, but his daughter held him. She smiled.

"You love your son, don't you?"

He raised his head slightly and nodded.

"Then go upstairs, talk to him. Tell him you love him. Just the way he is. With everything that goes with it."

She squeezed his hands again and gave him an encouraging nod.

"Do you think he'll even listen to me?"

She tilted her head slightly.

"You'll only find out if you try. Be patient with him, give him his space."

He took a deep breath. She let go of his hands and he slowly pulled them back to him. Again he ran his hand through his hair and over his face. Slowly he stood up and walked around the table. When he was next to his daughter, he leaned down and hugged her. It was a warm, sincere hug and she returned it. Gently, he kissed her on the head and let go of her again. She looked up at him and smiled.
"Thank you."
He said softly and walked out of the kitchen. She watched him go until he was at the stairs, then looked into her cup. It was empty.
"I need another coffee..."
She mumbled and stood up. While she poured herself another coffee, her father climbed the stairs. His steps were slow and heavy. His injury had cost him more than a few aches and pains and his career. Control of his legs and the strength in them had weakened significantly. He could walk, even long distances, but woe to him if he tried to move faster or the ground became uneven. He had been in therapy since he returned home, but both the doctors and the therapists had given him little hope that things would ever really get better. And so now he dragged himself up the stairs one step at a time, looking down the hallway whose doors led to their individual bedrooms. As he reached the top, he was practically standing right at Jonathan's door. The door was closed and covered all over with stickers and posters. Typical for a boy his age. Prominently displayed was a poster announcing a performance by a local punk rock band from last year. He remembered that Jonathan had attended this concert with his aunt and that he had been very proud to be allowed to attend the concert. He would have liked to go with his son, but he had been in the hospital at the time.
He leaned against the wall next to the door and raised his hand to knock on the door, but hesitated. Several times he started, but stopped each time just before he actually knocked. Finally, he turned his back to the wall and slid down it until he was sitting on the floor. He leaned his head against the wall and turned it toward his son's door. He took a deep breath and took heart.
"Jonathan...son...I know you can hear me."
He said to the closed door and waited for a reaction from his son. It took a moment, but he could hear movement in the room. He closed his eyes and waited a moment longer.
"Listen. I want to apologize to you. I know I've made a lot of mistakes in the past. Mistakes I can't make up for. I can't turn back time and make it different. I don't expect you to forgive me for those mistakes either. But I would still like to have a halfway normal relationship with you."
He said much more quietly now. He knew his son was on the other side of the door. He didn't have to speak loudly. He could hear his son moving around behind the door. He heard the strained breathing, the suppressed sniffling. He opened his eyes and looked down at his hands.
"Listen, Natalie told me about you and Jamie..."
Now he could hear movement behind the door.
"...Don't be mad at your sister, she only did it in hopes that it would help me understand you better. And I can at least relate to some things better now."
He paused for a moment and took another deep breath.
"So why didn't you tell me?"
He asked quietly, his voice soft. He could hear his son sliding down the wall behind the door as well. He waited patiently.
"I was afraid..."
Finally came his son's answer, muffled by the door. He nodded. He could completely understand why his son had been afraid of this confrontation.
"You didn't have to be. Of course I wouldn't have been happy. But not because of your sexual orientation. You are my son and I love you just the way you are. It doesn't matter whether you're straight or gay."
His voice was still soft, just loud enough for his son on the other side of the door to understand him well enough. It took a moment for his son to answer him.
"You say that now... but if I had told you then..."
He could hear very well that his son was struggling. His voice was broken and he sounded very unsure. He smiled slightly.
"Yeah... if you had thrown it at me in the argument, it probably would have escalated. It was good that Natalie told me. It gave me a chance to prepare a little before I came to you."
He waited a moment before continuing.
"But I mean it like I say it. I don't care if you're gay or not. You're my son, and I love you. I want you to be happy."

He said it a little louder so he could put more emotion in his voice. He waited for his son's reaction. He could hear him moving around his room. He didn't answer, but he didn't move away from the door either. It took a little while longer, but then the door slowly opened. In the gap between the door and the wall stood his son. His eyes were puffy from crying and his face was red. His lips were pressed tightly together. They looked at each other for an infinitely long moment. Both held each other's gaze. It was Jonathan who broke the silence first.

"Do you promise?"

Jonathan asked almost tonelessly. His father looked up at him. He had never seen his father sitting on the floor and leaning against the wall the way he was. He seemed so weak, so frail. He had always seen his father as an unshakable rock, towering above him, looking down on him. Now the relationship was reversed. His father "lay" on the ground and he towered over him. It was a surreal image. His father also saw him with different eyes. Now that he knew his son was gay, he noticed the many little things about him. His son was slender, downright skinny, and very delicately built. He had always blamed it on the fact that he took more after his mother. His whole demeanor also seemed so different all of a sudden. His choice of accessories and clothing, the much too tight shirts, the too short pants. Everything suddenly made sense. A sense that had remained closed to him before.

He leaned his head against the wall and smiled slightly before nodding.

"I want to promise you."

He finally said, and it sounded sincere. Jonathan pushed the door open far enough for him to walk through and was now standing next to his dad. It was obvious that he was still struggling with himself and his emotions. His father smiled slightly and opened his arms.

"Now come here already."

He whispered. Jonathan hesitantly stepped closer. Part of him wanted to forgive his father, another part still wanted to hold on to the anger he had built up over the years and another part argued that he was far too grown up to hug his father and that the whole situation was just embarrassing. In the end, the part of him that at least wanted to forgive his father for this argument won out. He sank to his knees and hugged his father. He returned the hug with all his heart and held him tightly.

He could feel his son relax in his arms. It was as if someone was lifting tons of weight from his shoulders. Jonathan was shaken by his own sobs and his father could feel his shoulder getting wet. He carefully stroked his son's back and rested his head on his shoulder.

"Let it out... That's OK."

Jonathan gripped him tighter and pulled him close. He could feel the heat radiating from him.

"...I miss mom..."

His father nodded and squeezed him tightly as well.

"I know, I miss her too and I'm sorry I couldn't be there for you during that time."

His voice was no more than a hoarse whisper, but he didn't let go of his son, instead giving him the support he needed right now.

"But I'm here now. And I'm not going anywhere."

Jonathan continued to hold him tightly but slowly seemed to calm down a little. His breaths were still interrupted by his sighs. His father gave him time. He heard Natalie slowly come out of the kitchen.

"Uh oh, we'd better finish this quickly or your sister will see us, that would be incredibly embarrassing."

He said jokingly. But his son shook his head.

"Nats is my sister, nothing is embarrassing in front of her."

He mumbled into his father's shoulder. His father just smiled. It was a nice thought that Jonathan wasn't embarrassed to cry in front of his sister. It showed the bond they had with each other. He lifted his head and looked towards the stairs as Natalie slowly made her way up. She stopped short when she saw the two of them on the floor, but when her father nodded briefly, she continued her ascent. She stopped behind her brother, smiled and squatted down.

She poked him in the butt with a finger and teased him.

"Hey you little sissy. First you go all Though-Guy on us and now? Now you're hanging in your father's arms and crying?"

It was clear to hear that she didn't mean what she said. Only grumpy sounds could be heard from her brother, the content of which was indecipherable. Natalie smiled at her father and nodded approvingly. Her father smiled slightly and the gratitude was written all over his face. Natalie reached over and patted her brother on the butt.

"Now get up here..."

She complained and grabbed her brother by the waistband.

"I've made you two more sandwiches downstairs, you should eat something so that you get big and strong so that Jamie doesn't always have to defend you at school..."

She said and simply lifted Jonathan by his waistband off of his father. He still tried to hold on, but it was more of a joking attempt than a serious one.

"Jamie just needs to defend me from you. You bully."

The boy said, waving his arms in a half-hearted attempt to hit his sister. She simply pulled him away and dropped him on the floor in front of his father with an "Oof..." Natalie's father raised his eyebrows as he watched the spectacle, but just let the two of them be. They seemed to have such a good relationship that this little banter was just part of it. However, the comment that Jamie, whose friendship with his son he still didn't quite agree with, had to defend him at school made him angry. Why? From whom? Was there cause for concern, or was it just the usual teenage squabbles?

Jonathan pulled himself to his feet, his head bright red. Probably from his outburst earlier. For a moment it looked as if he was going to attack his sister when he lunged at her, but he only hugged her gently. After the hug, he turned around and quickly ran down the stairs to the kitchen to eat his belated dinner.

Natalie and her father were left alone in the hallway. They both looked at each other silently for a moment. It was her father who broke the silence first this time.

"What's with Jamie defending him at school?"

He asked quietly as he pushed himself up a little against the wall to sit more comfortably. Natalie pressed her lips together and tilted her head slightly.

"Well, he gets bullied at school. He's the boy without a mom and with a disabled dad. On top of that, he's such a skinny boy and the boys have already figured out that he's gay. You know how kids are. Well, Jamie and his buddies look after him. At least he won't get beaten up."

Her father's face was petrified. He knew there was nothing worse for his son now than to turn up at school and try to change things there. He was also sure that there was little point in trying to teach his son to fight. So that left Jamie. He ran his hand over his face.

"Why Jamie of all people?"

He asked himself more than Natalie. She answered him anyway.

"Well, for one thing, he's gay too, just like a lot of his gang. Secondly, because Jamie doesn't have a mom either, so he knows how your son feels. They look after Jonathan and so far they haven't forced him to take part in any crooked things."

Her father nodded silently. He would still like to talk to this Jamie. After all, if he was his son's friend, that would probably mean... He tried to push the thought out of his head.

"Give me a hand up..."

He finally said and held out a hand to his daughter. Natalie came to him and took his hand. Together they pulled him to his feet.
"Man my back is killing me."
He groaned and leaned against the wall. His daughter smiled tiredly.
"I'm just glad you two made up."
She said and looked towards the kitchen. Her father nodded. He was also glad that he had made up with Jonathan. It was important to him to build a good relationship with both of them.
"I couldn't have done it without your help. Thanks again."
He sounded just as tired as Natalie. A slight smile crossed his face.
"I think... now I'd have a whiskey... a small one... do you want one?"
She looked at him in shock for a moment, then shook her head. Her father smiled a little more and pushed himself away from the wall. Slowly, he walked to the stairs.
"Don't tell me you haven't had a drink at your parties. You're not supposed to get senselessly drunk. But it's OK, I respect and appreciate your restraint."
He said quietly and slowly trudged down the stairs. His daughter followed him and watched somewhat uncertainly as he slowly took step after step.
"Of course I've already had a drink. I just didn't expect you to offer me anything. But admittedly, whiskey isn't my thing."
She replied and saw him grin. At the foot of the stairs, he looked up at her. His grin still played around his lips.
"That's good. That leaves more for me."
He returned jokingly and continued to the kitchen. Jonathan was just about to eat the last of his sandwich and took a hearty bite of the bread. When his father, followed by Natalie, entered the kitchen, he chewed his bite with relish. His father tousled his undercut hair and then sat back down in his seat. He took the bottle and looked at it for a long time. It was still a little more than half full. It wasn't a particularly good whiskey, but it did what it was supposed to. He slowly turned the bottle back and forth, read the label and finally took a deep breath.
"Nats..."
His daughter looked over at him.
"...Do me a favor and pour that away. Thanks."
He handed her the bottle and she took it from him in amazement. Both she and his son were completely surprised.
"Are you sure?"
Natalie asked again and he nodded silently. His expression left no doubt. He placed a finger on the rim of the glass and let it balance on the edge. He looked seriously but lovingly at his son, who was staring at him with his mouth full.
"So, Jonathan. There's one more little thing we need to sort out."
His tone was dead serious. He smiled, but his son knew that what followed would not be a laughing matter. He quickly swallowed the far too large chunk in his mouth. He was just about to ask a question or make an excuse, he wasn't quite sure yet, when his father beat him to it.
"If you want me to approve of your relationship with Jamie, you'll have to bring him with you and I'll have to get to know him. We will have to talk to each other. There are a few rules..."

...