My Fathers' Son (PG)
Posted to house_wilson and housefic
Title: My Fathers’ Son
Author: Dee Laundry
Pairing: House/Wilson
Rating: PG
Words: 25,853
Summary: From his earliest memory, Jack Wilson knew: you don’t talk about your family.
Disclaimer: House, Wilson, and Cuddy are not mine, more’s the pity.
Warnings: Angst, death from old age
Notes: Completed fic; posted in parts for length. The highest of praise and thanks to my ever-stellar beta daisylily and co-beta hellspoette. And kudos to housesvicodin and denbighm for the whiteboard discussion.
You don’t talk about your family.
That was the first and greatest commandment, etched into Jack Wilson’s soul from his earliest memory.
The visual on that memory was mostly white: walls, floor, ceiling, hospital gown. In fact, everything - in the haze that surrounded such an old memory - was white except Pop’s sleeping face, in stark relief. He’d felt a sense of wonder at the strange colors of the spots covering Pop’s face. Blue, purple, green, red, mixed together.
He’d thought of them in the moment as spots, although he soon learned the proper word was bruises.
Dad’s face wasn’t in the memory at all, but his warm hand was, pressing down on Jack’s shoulder. It almost hurt, the weight, but at the same time it anchored Jack, kept him from floating away. He was grateful, another word he hadn’t known at the time but had learned in the days that followed.
“You see, Jack,” Dad said, his voice heavy, “this is why we don’t talk about our family.”
“House, you’ll scare him,” came a woman’s voice. “He’s only three.” It must have been Aunt Lisa; Dad wouldn’t have let anyone else hear. Jack was beyond caring at the time.
He reached out for Pop’s hand, almost toppling over the chair he was standing on in the process. Dad caught him, safe and strong, and helped him onto the bed next to Pop.
“He needs to see. He needs to know, so this won’t happen to him. It’s a cauliflower tail.”
Jack didn’t look up from the bed. He had buried his face in Pop’s chest, which was warm, and the regular up and down of Pop’s breathing was soothing. But Jack puzzled over where the tail he was supposed to see was, and why it was made of cauliflower. It would be another decade before he’d find the tail and learn the right words.
***
He was good; he was careful; he didn’t talk about his family after that. He was also, unfortunately, a rather literal child, and when his kindergarten teacher told him to draw his family, he didn’t realize that was against the rule as well.
“Oh my,” Mrs. Walker said, as she looked at his picture. “Perhaps you’d better explain this to me.” She was a harridan, he realized much later. At the time, he merely felt a longing for Miss West, the teacher in the other kindergarten classroom. She was so pretty and sweet, played castle games with the kids, and smelled like flowers.
“I don’t know,” Jack replied.
“Come now, you know your own family. This small person in the middle is you, right?”
“Yes.” Jack smiled and pointed to the boy on the paper. “That’s my favorite shirt.”
“It has a...tongue.” Disdain, another word learned later.
“It means the Rolling Stones. It’s old. Dad got it for me.”
Mrs. Walker turned away from the picture and stared at Jack through her pointy reading glasses.
“I thought you called your father ‘Pop.’”
“Yeah, this is Pop.” Jack pointed to the figure on the left.
“I see you enjoy drawing eyebrows.”
Mrs. Walker was distracted for a moment by Teddy and Leo at the other table, and Jack wished he could snatch the picture away and run. He was breaking Dad’s rule for sure now, and his stomach felt terrible.
All too soon, Mrs. Walker turned back to him. “And why does your ‘Pop’ have three legs?”
“This one’s not a leg; it’s a cane.”
“Jack Wilson, we do not fib in this classroom. I’ve seen your father, and he doesn’t use a cane.”
“Pop used it before.” There was no way for Jack to explain how he preferred to picture Pop with the cane, even though Pop hadn’t needed to use it for a long time. It was comforting to think of Pop with the cane because then he matched -
“And who is this three-legged person? Is your mother taller than your father?”
(“Bitch,” adult Jack always thought when this memory would play. “Proper perspective in a drawing is a bit much to ask of a five-year-old.”)
Jack’s head was low, and his stomach was churning. The rule was about to shatter in a million billion pieces.
“That’s Dad,” he said softly.
Mrs. Walker’s face turned even less friendly. “You have a ‘Pop’ and a ‘Dad’?”
“Yes,” he whispered. He couldn’t even look at the picture now.
“Well, many children do nowadays, with all this divorce and step-parenting. But you were only supposed to draw the people who live with you in your primary residence.”
He wanted to rip the picture up. He wanted to lie and say he didn’t hear the directions. He wanted to throw himself on the carpet and cry. He did none of those, just sat with his head hanging and stared at his lap.
“And you didn’t draw your mother at all.”
“She doesn’t live with us. She lives far away.” He felt OK talking about his mother, because she wasn’t in their family. He had never met his mother, although he’d been told some things about her. She sent him a card every birthday with two dollars but no letter.
“Then one of your fathers must live far away as well. Draw a new picture, with just the people who live in your house, so we can put it up on the Family Board. Leave off the tongue shirt as well, please.” Mrs. Walker moved on to the next child’s picture.
This final indignity snapped Jack back to life. It was his favorite shirt. It had been a special gift, not for birthday or anything. It was old, and Dad trusted him to take care of it, so he felt important just wearing it. It was not to be erased.
Jack had jumped from his chair before he knew it. “I will not!”
Mrs. Walker stared at him, astonished. Most of the kids in the classroom stared at him, too. He was usually a quiet child and obedient: a rule follower.
“This is my family who lives in my house, and you can’t make me change it! I hate the Family Board!” He pressed his picture to his chest and ran pell-mell for his backpack. He was convinced that if he could just get the picture safely in the pack, Mrs. Walker couldn’t take it from him. He was closing the zipper with a sigh of relief when Mrs. Walker grabbed his arm.
She whipped him around and pushed him toward the door. “Jack Wilson, you are going to the principal’s office now. We will be calling your father.”
Jack felt strangely calm as Mrs. Walker dragged him down the hall. Pop would take care of it. Pop would understand.
He sat on a bench outside the principal’s office for over half an hour. He swung his feet in 4/4 time. He counted the tiles in the ceiling. He read the notices on the bulletin board next to the teacher mailboxes, proud of himself for recognizing “elementary” and “attention” and “excellence.”
Eventually the principal, Mr. Latham, came over, set Jack’s backpack on the floor, and sat next to Jack on the bench. He looked straight into Jack’s eyes, and Jack looked back. Mr. Latham had long hairs in his nose. That was interesting.
“I’ve discussed what happened today with your father, your Pop. He told me a bit about your home life but said he wants to keep it private. Do you understand the word ‘private,’ Jack?”
“Yes.” Jack knew a lot about the word “private.”
Mr. Latham patted Jack’s leg and nodded. “We’re going to send you home early today, Jack. You’ll get a chance to take a break, talk this over with your family, and then we’ll see you tomorrow. A fresh start.”
“Is Mrs. Walker still mad?”
Mr. Latham made a little sound like a “hm” or a “hmph.”
“I’ll talk to Mrs. Walker after school today. She has a very… conventional way of thinking about things, but I’ll take care of it. Everything will be fine tomorrow.”
Jack thought of a question. “Can I wear my tongue shirt to school?”
Mr. Latham smiled kindly. “It’s best if you didn’t, Jack. But I hope you enjoy wearing it at home. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
After Mr. Latham returned to his office, Jack began to swing his feet again. Because he was going home, he would miss lunch and Letter of the Day. Fine. Letter of the Day was boring, and there were better things for lunch at home.
Everything was quiet. He heard a quiet step-thump rhythm begin in the hall and then get louder. He was enjoying the pattern of the beat but didn’t realize its meaning until suddenly Dad was in the doorway.
Jack was stunned. He might have gasped out loud but didn’t know for sure. He had expected Marjorie, his nanny, to come get him, or maybe Pop, but not Dad. Dad never picked him up from anywhere. Did he know what Jack had done?
Dad hadn’t seen him yet and went straight to the secretary’s desk. “I’m here to pick up Jack Wilson.”
“Are you his father?” Ms. Mukada asked, looking him up and down.
“Dr. Wilson couldn’t come. He sent me instead.” He glared at the secretary but she simply stared back impassively. “I’m on the approved pick-up list for Jack. Greg House.”
“Let me see.” Ms. Mukada looked into a folder that was on her desk. “Here you are. You need to sign the sign-out sheet.”
She waved at the clipboard and handed Dad a pen shaped like an alligator. He stared at it for a second, then signed the sheet. “Do I go to Jack’s classroom, or what?”
Ms. Mukada waved over toward Jack, who was trying to become invisible. “He’s waiting right there.”
“You could have told me that,” Dad irritably replied.
“OK, Jack, let’s go.” He gestured toward the door with his cane. “Don’t forget your backpack.”
Jack picked up his backpack and headed out the door. He didn’t want to look at Dad at all.
“How come you came to get me? Where’s Marjorie?” Dad had long legs and walked fast. Jack had to hurry to keep up.
“When you started kindergarten, Marjorie got another job during the day. She works there until you get out of school. She can’t leave that job just because you get a little time off. So you’re stuck with me for a while.”
“Why didn’t Pop come?”
Dad stopped and looked down at Jack. “Wilson has patient appointments today, and I don’t happen to have any. So I snuck past the evil Aunt Lisa and came to play hooky with you. Would you rather hang out with Pop and the sick people at the hospital?”
“No,” said Jack reluctantly. The hospital was not the best place to hang out. Dad’s office was kind of cool, but the rest of it smelled funny. And Pop’s office always seemed sad.
They started walking again toward Dad’s car. An afternoon with Dad was almost always more fun than anything else, but Jack was feeling guilty.
“Did Pop tell you what happened in school?”
“Yup. The outline of it, at least.”
“Are you mad?” Jack was afraid of the answer but had to ask anyway.
Dad stopped again. “Do I seem mad?”
Jack checked Dad out, searching his face for the answer. “No.”
“You can safely assume that I’m not, then.” Dad unlocked the car and opened Jack’s door. Lately, he had stopped helping Jack with the seatbelt, and Jack enjoyed the challenge of getting it just right around the booster seat.
Jack waited until Dad was in the car and buckled in before he confessed, “I’m sorry I broke the rule.”
“Hmm?” Dad was getting the car ready to go, and then off they went. “Which rule was that? No yelling in the classroom, or no defying tyrannical authority figures? I have some trouble with that last one myself. Or do you mean Mrs. Walker’s stupid unwritten rule that you must have a mother living in your house to make it onto the Family Board?”
“What’s tyrannical? Like the dinosaur?”
“Tyrannical rex. Yes, exactly. It means loud and pushy, with the possibility of biting off some part of your body if you don’t do exactly what it says. Roar!! I think I will call Cuddy a tyrannical rex tomorrow at work.”
Dinosaurs were cool. They were big and could stomp anything they wanted to. Jack roared, and Dad roared again too. Then he turned on the stereo, and the car was filled with great music.
But when Dad pulled the car into the driveway and turned around to look at Jack, the guilty feeling returned. Jack had to tell him.
“I broke your rule, Dad. I talked about our family. I’m sorry.”
“It’s a tough rule, Jack, for a tough world. I’m sorry we even have to have it as rule.” He reached back and patted Jack’s hair and then broke into a smile.
“But as for today’s incident, I blame it solely on the tyrannical rex you have teaching your class. Who let such a dinosaur into your school, anyway?” Jack smiled and shrugged. Dad roared again and then opened his door.
“C’mon, let’s get inside. I think we still have some of that last batch of cookies that Wilson made. Bet I can eat more than you.”
When Marjorie came by after her other job, Dad made her wash the dishes and make popcorn, and then he sent her home.
When Pop came home from work, Jack and Dad were ensconced on the couch, watching cartoons.
“Is that all you’ve done all day, just watched TV?” Pop asked as he started picking up the mess of popcorn pieces, chip bags, plates, and wrappers they had spread over the coffee table.
“Yes,” Dad replied, and Jack laughed at Dad’s big fib. They had done a lot of great things that day and only just started watching TV. Pop was not going to be happy when he found the leftover volcano in the kitchen, but it had been very fun to make.
“Did you talk to Jack about what happened today at school?”
“We discussed it thoroughly, and everything will be just fine tomorrow. Right, Jack?” Jack smiled at Dad and roared quietly.
Pop bent down to look Jack straight in the eye. “Are you sure? Everything’s OK?”
“Everything’s OK, Pop.”
“Good.” Pop nodded and then kissed Jack on the top of his head. Straightening up, he added, “Now what about dinner?”
“We’re not hungry; don’t worry about us.” Dad gave Jack a hug and tickled him under his arm, and Jack laughed again.
“Well, I’m hungry. You didn’t start anything?”
Dad looked up at Pop. “I think there’s some pizza left over from our lunch today. Check the kitchen.”
When Pop’s back was turned, Dad covered Jack’s mouth to keep him from being too loud and made a very funny face. Jack laughed into Dad’s hand. Then they both laughed together as Pop’s voice came from the kitchen. “House! What happened in here?!?”
When Jack went back to school the next day, Mr. Latham nodded to him in the hall. The kids at his table acted a little strange toward him in the morning but seemed back to normal by the afternoon. The Family Board had been taken down.
By the day after that, everyone at school seemed to have forgotten Jack had ever yelled. Everyone except Mrs. Walker. She didn’t like the dinosaur pictures that came in the mail once a week, but Jack thought they were funny.
***
Pop was Jack’s official father. He signed all the papers, did all the stuff at school, took Jack to playgroups and music classes, held his hand when they crossed the street. They even had the same last name.
Pop and Dad had explained to Jack that Pop was his adoptive father and Dad was his biological father. They were his two parents. He had a biological mother, too, but she lived far away and had another life.
“You don’t need three parents, do you?” Dad had asked. “That would be rather greedy of you.”
“House!” Pop had interjected. “Jack, you could have three parents, that wouldn’t be greedy. House, honestly. But you happen to have two, your Dad and me.”
“That’s OK. You’re who I want,” Jack had said. Pop had blinked a bunch, and Dad had rubbed Jack’s head.
Dad loved Jack. When they were at home, Dad hugged him, kissed him, wrestled with him. Dad had a bad leg, but the reach in his other leg and arms more than made up for it when it came to wrestling. Dad talked to Jack about the most interesting things. He supervised homework and listened to stories of the latest disgusting thing Teddy had done. But he wouldn’t come to school events, or Cub Scouts, or soccer. Dad was Jack’s secret father.
***
When Jack was seven, a very sad thing happened. His Grandma House, Dad’s mom, died.
Jack, Dad, and Pop went together on the plane to where Grandma and Grandpa House lived. Dad’s leg was hurting, and he had to get up a lot to walk around. He got in a fight with a flight attendant named Stacy about the walking.
“Have you heard of DVT? Thrombosis? Clot? Possible pulmonary embolism? No? How about suing your airline and you personally for wrongful death - does that ring any bells?”
Pop covered Jack’s ears, and they kept watching the Scooby Doo DVD.
When they got to Jack’s grandparents’ house, Dad stopped before ringing the doorbell. “We probably should stay in a hotel.”
“I’m sure your father will get some comfort from you and Jack staying here,” replied Pop.
“I’m sure he won’t,” Dad said, but he rang the bell anyway.
After a minute, Grandpa House answered the door. Jack had anticipated that he’d look sad, but mostly he just looked tired. “Greg. James. Where’s Jack?”
“Here I am, Grandpa House,” Jack replied, coming out from behind Pop.
Grandpa House turned and started walking away. “Come on, then. I bought you some cookies. You like cookies, don’t you?”
Jack looked at Dad and Pop before following Grandpa House. “Sure, I like cookies.”
“It’s OK, Dad,” called Dad after them. “Wilson’ll get our bags all by himself. It’s no problem, Dad.”
Grandpa House didn’t seem to hear.
Grandma House’s funeral was the next day. There were a lot of people in the church, and a lot of people cried, but Grandpa House didn’t and Dad didn’t. They both looked sad, but they didn’t cry.
After the church service was over, they went to the cemetery. The hole for Grandma’s casket was very interesting to Jack. Nicely rectangular, the hole was so dark against the grass. When Jack tilted his head a certain way, it looked like a door on a green house.
Pop kept his arm around Dad the whole time they were standing next to the hole, the gravesite. Dad held Jack’s hand.
After a while, Jack reached up to hold Grandpa House’s hand, too. Grandpa seemed surprised; he pulled his hand away when Jack touched it.
“Dad,” Jack’s Dad said, and his voice sounded like it did when Jack was in trouble.
Grandpa House put his hand down and held Jack’s hand the rest of the time by the gravesite. When people started to leave, Grandpa House looked down at Jack. His eyes were wet, and the wrinkles on his face were extra wrinkly. He squeezed Jack’s hand once and then let go. Nodding his head at Dad and Pop, he left to talk to his friends.
Dad, Pop, and Jack walked back to their long black car, the limousine. On the way there, Dad nudged Pop and said, “One good point to my mother’s funeral: you were able to put your arm around me in public.”
“Oh, House,” Pop sighed.
“Just think, if they’d both died, you might’ve even been able to give me a kiss.”
They rode back to Grandpa House’s house in silence. They didn’t have to wear seatbelts in the limousine, so Jack sat on Dad’s lap, on his good leg, for the entire ride. A few times Dad put his head on top of Jack’s and hugged him tighter. Pop looked out the window.
There were a lot of people at the house. There were a lot of men like Grandpa House, and a lot of women like Grandma House. The women took Dad away to the living room and made him sit, and then each of them talked to him for a little bit.
Jack wondered about this, as he stood next to Pop in the dining room. “Why is Dad listening to all those ladies? He doesn’t like so many people.”
Pop was rearranging the plates of food on the dining room table. “That’s very astute, Jack.”
“What’s astute mean?”
“It means you’re smart at seeing things.” Pop stepped back from the table and looked it over. It must have seemed all right, because he quit moving the plates.
“Your Dad is talking with all the ladies because they were Grandma House’s friends. They want to talk to him and help him feel better because he’s Grandma House’s son.”
“I don’t think he’s feeling any better.”
“Probably not. But your Dad loved Grandma House a lot. Being nice to her friends is a way to be nice to her.”
The dining room was filling up with people who wanted to have some food. Pop nudged Jack out of the room and towards the back yard. “Let’s go outside for a minute.”
“But Grandma House is dead. She doesn’t have feelings any more. How can she know Dad is being nice?”
Pop sat on a patio chair and looked Jack right in the eye. “An excellent question, Jack, but I’m not really up to discussing it all with you now. Can we talk about it later?”
“Sure. Can I go inside?”
“Go ahead. You might want to stay away from the ladies, or they’ll want to talk to you, too.” Pop leaned in and whispered, “They look like the kind who might pinch cheeks.”
“Thanks.” He gave Pop a big hug. Pop hugged back and then turned to look over the yard.
The old ladies were still in the living room with Dad. The not-so-old adults were in the dining room and kitchen. The old men were in the den with Grandpa House. They were drinking that drink Dad liked. Scotch. Grandpa House had had some at breakfast time, when he thought no one was looking.
Jack sat down outside the doorway of the den, in a quiet corner between the wall and a chest of drawers, where he could be alone.
Grandpa House was talking. His voice sounded like Dad’s but just a little bit different. Jack remembered suddenly that he was named for his Grandpa House. He wondered if his voice would sound like that when he was grown.
Then he realized that Grandpa House was talking about Dad.
“And that’s how Greg told us he was going to have a kid. Smart ass.” Grandpa House’s friends laughed.
“So then Blythe says to him, ‘You’re just going to raise a baby all on your own?’” The men fell quiet when Grandma House’s name was mentioned.
“And he says, ‘No, I’m with Wilson. He’s going to help me.’” Grandpa House paused, and Jack heard sloshing, clinking, and a gulp.
“And that’s how he tells us he’s a fag. No tact, no decency, no normal feeling. I’m surprised I expected anything different out of Greg.” Grandpa House’s friends were silent.
“That kid’s kind of cute, though. He was sure the apple of Blythe’s eye. Smart kid, of course, but he’s real disciplined, too. Knows how to take direction, how to get things done. He sure didn’t get that from Greg. Wilson’s always seemed a bit soft to me, but maybe he’s got a proper tough streak in him. Who knows with fags?”
One of Grandpa House’s friends left the den just then, closing the door behind him.
Jack sat and listened to his own breathing. The worst word in the whole world, and Grandpa House had used it against Dad and Pop. Boys weren’t really supposed to cry, and names should never hurt you. Only sticks and stones. So why did it feel like his eyes were getting poked and his heart was getting pounded?
Pop was there all of a sudden and pulled him off the floor, picked him up, and held him like when Jack was little. Jack wrapped his legs around Pop’s waist and dug his face into Pop’s neck as the sobs began.
“Sticks and stones,” Jack whispered. “Boys don’t cry.”
Pop held him tight and stroked his hair. “It’s been a long day. A very long day. Anybody might cry on a day like today.”
“Bet Dad’s not,” said Jack through his tears.
Pop half-sighed, half-chuckled. “Dad’s a special case. I think maybe he used up his tears.”
Pop pulled back and chucked Jack’s chin to get him to look up into Pop’s eyes. They were warm and strong, even though they were a little wet.
“You and me, I think we’ve got a larger supply than most. It’s fine.”
Jack dived for Pop’s neck again, pressing forward to muffle the sound. “I don’t want Grandpa House to hear.”
Pop tightened his hug. “I don’t give a shit if Grandpa House hears, and you shouldn’t either. He can’t tell you what to feel.”
That startled Jack out of his tears. He pulled back to check out his father’s face.
“Pop! You said a bad word!”
Pop smiled a little. “Yes, I did. The situation warranted it. Before you ask, warranted means ‘justified’ or ‘made appropriate.’”
He continued, “Are you OK?” Jack nodded. “Can I let you down then? Because you’re getting heavy. You’ll be fighting in the welterweight class soon.”
Jack let go of Pop’s waist and dropped his legs to the floor. He kept his arms around Pop’s neck a little longer, just to keep the hug going. “Dad doesn’t like hitting.”
“No, he doesn’t. But for some reason boxing doesn’t count. Go figure.” Pop patted Jack’s back. “Do you want a juice?”
“Can I have a soda? They only have crappy juice.” Jack was surprised to see the expression Pop normally gave Dad aimed at him. “What? The juice warranted it.”
Pop laughed and tapped Jack’s shoulder to get him moving toward the kitchen. “You are your father’s son.”
(Continued)
Title: My Fathers’ Son
Author: Dee Laundry
Pairing: House/Wilson
Rating: PG
Words: 25,853
Summary: From his earliest memory, Jack Wilson knew: you don’t talk about your family.
Disclaimer: House, Wilson, and Cuddy are not mine, more’s the pity.
Warnings: Angst, death from old age
Notes: Completed fic; posted in parts for length. The highest of praise and thanks to my ever-stellar beta daisylily and co-beta hellspoette. And kudos to housesvicodin and denbighm for the whiteboard discussion.
You don’t talk about your family.
That was the first and greatest commandment, etched into Jack Wilson’s soul from his earliest memory.
The visual on that memory was mostly white: walls, floor, ceiling, hospital gown. In fact, everything - in the haze that surrounded such an old memory - was white except Pop’s sleeping face, in stark relief. He’d felt a sense of wonder at the strange colors of the spots covering Pop’s face. Blue, purple, green, red, mixed together.
He’d thought of them in the moment as spots, although he soon learned the proper word was bruises.
Dad’s face wasn’t in the memory at all, but his warm hand was, pressing down on Jack’s shoulder. It almost hurt, the weight, but at the same time it anchored Jack, kept him from floating away. He was grateful, another word he hadn’t known at the time but had learned in the days that followed.
“You see, Jack,” Dad said, his voice heavy, “this is why we don’t talk about our family.”
“House, you’ll scare him,” came a woman’s voice. “He’s only three.” It must have been Aunt Lisa; Dad wouldn’t have let anyone else hear. Jack was beyond caring at the time.
He reached out for Pop’s hand, almost toppling over the chair he was standing on in the process. Dad caught him, safe and strong, and helped him onto the bed next to Pop.
“He needs to see. He needs to know, so this won’t happen to him. It’s a cauliflower tail.”
Jack didn’t look up from the bed. He had buried his face in Pop’s chest, which was warm, and the regular up and down of Pop’s breathing was soothing. But Jack puzzled over where the tail he was supposed to see was, and why it was made of cauliflower. It would be another decade before he’d find the tail and learn the right words.
***
He was good; he was careful; he didn’t talk about his family after that. He was also, unfortunately, a rather literal child, and when his kindergarten teacher told him to draw his family, he didn’t realize that was against the rule as well.
“Oh my,” Mrs. Walker said, as she looked at his picture. “Perhaps you’d better explain this to me.” She was a harridan, he realized much later. At the time, he merely felt a longing for Miss West, the teacher in the other kindergarten classroom. She was so pretty and sweet, played castle games with the kids, and smelled like flowers.
“I don’t know,” Jack replied.
“Come now, you know your own family. This small person in the middle is you, right?”
“Yes.” Jack smiled and pointed to the boy on the paper. “That’s my favorite shirt.”
“It has a...tongue.” Disdain, another word learned later.
“It means the Rolling Stones. It’s old. Dad got it for me.”
Mrs. Walker turned away from the picture and stared at Jack through her pointy reading glasses.
“I thought you called your father ‘Pop.’”
“Yeah, this is Pop.” Jack pointed to the figure on the left.
“I see you enjoy drawing eyebrows.”
Mrs. Walker was distracted for a moment by Teddy and Leo at the other table, and Jack wished he could snatch the picture away and run. He was breaking Dad’s rule for sure now, and his stomach felt terrible.
All too soon, Mrs. Walker turned back to him. “And why does your ‘Pop’ have three legs?”
“This one’s not a leg; it’s a cane.”
“Jack Wilson, we do not fib in this classroom. I’ve seen your father, and he doesn’t use a cane.”
“Pop used it before.” There was no way for Jack to explain how he preferred to picture Pop with the cane, even though Pop hadn’t needed to use it for a long time. It was comforting to think of Pop with the cane because then he matched -
“And who is this three-legged person? Is your mother taller than your father?”
(“Bitch,” adult Jack always thought when this memory would play. “Proper perspective in a drawing is a bit much to ask of a five-year-old.”)
Jack’s head was low, and his stomach was churning. The rule was about to shatter in a million billion pieces.
“That’s Dad,” he said softly.
Mrs. Walker’s face turned even less friendly. “You have a ‘Pop’ and a ‘Dad’?”
“Yes,” he whispered. He couldn’t even look at the picture now.
“Well, many children do nowadays, with all this divorce and step-parenting. But you were only supposed to draw the people who live with you in your primary residence.”
He wanted to rip the picture up. He wanted to lie and say he didn’t hear the directions. He wanted to throw himself on the carpet and cry. He did none of those, just sat with his head hanging and stared at his lap.
“And you didn’t draw your mother at all.”
“She doesn’t live with us. She lives far away.” He felt OK talking about his mother, because she wasn’t in their family. He had never met his mother, although he’d been told some things about her. She sent him a card every birthday with two dollars but no letter.
“Then one of your fathers must live far away as well. Draw a new picture, with just the people who live in your house, so we can put it up on the Family Board. Leave off the tongue shirt as well, please.” Mrs. Walker moved on to the next child’s picture.
This final indignity snapped Jack back to life. It was his favorite shirt. It had been a special gift, not for birthday or anything. It was old, and Dad trusted him to take care of it, so he felt important just wearing it. It was not to be erased.
Jack had jumped from his chair before he knew it. “I will not!”
Mrs. Walker stared at him, astonished. Most of the kids in the classroom stared at him, too. He was usually a quiet child and obedient: a rule follower.
“This is my family who lives in my house, and you can’t make me change it! I hate the Family Board!” He pressed his picture to his chest and ran pell-mell for his backpack. He was convinced that if he could just get the picture safely in the pack, Mrs. Walker couldn’t take it from him. He was closing the zipper with a sigh of relief when Mrs. Walker grabbed his arm.
She whipped him around and pushed him toward the door. “Jack Wilson, you are going to the principal’s office now. We will be calling your father.”
Jack felt strangely calm as Mrs. Walker dragged him down the hall. Pop would take care of it. Pop would understand.
He sat on a bench outside the principal’s office for over half an hour. He swung his feet in 4/4 time. He counted the tiles in the ceiling. He read the notices on the bulletin board next to the teacher mailboxes, proud of himself for recognizing “elementary” and “attention” and “excellence.”
Eventually the principal, Mr. Latham, came over, set Jack’s backpack on the floor, and sat next to Jack on the bench. He looked straight into Jack’s eyes, and Jack looked back. Mr. Latham had long hairs in his nose. That was interesting.
“I’ve discussed what happened today with your father, your Pop. He told me a bit about your home life but said he wants to keep it private. Do you understand the word ‘private,’ Jack?”
“Yes.” Jack knew a lot about the word “private.”
Mr. Latham patted Jack’s leg and nodded. “We’re going to send you home early today, Jack. You’ll get a chance to take a break, talk this over with your family, and then we’ll see you tomorrow. A fresh start.”
“Is Mrs. Walker still mad?”
Mr. Latham made a little sound like a “hm” or a “hmph.”
“I’ll talk to Mrs. Walker after school today. She has a very… conventional way of thinking about things, but I’ll take care of it. Everything will be fine tomorrow.”
Jack thought of a question. “Can I wear my tongue shirt to school?”
Mr. Latham smiled kindly. “It’s best if you didn’t, Jack. But I hope you enjoy wearing it at home. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
After Mr. Latham returned to his office, Jack began to swing his feet again. Because he was going home, he would miss lunch and Letter of the Day. Fine. Letter of the Day was boring, and there were better things for lunch at home.
Everything was quiet. He heard a quiet step-thump rhythm begin in the hall and then get louder. He was enjoying the pattern of the beat but didn’t realize its meaning until suddenly Dad was in the doorway.
Jack was stunned. He might have gasped out loud but didn’t know for sure. He had expected Marjorie, his nanny, to come get him, or maybe Pop, but not Dad. Dad never picked him up from anywhere. Did he know what Jack had done?
Dad hadn’t seen him yet and went straight to the secretary’s desk. “I’m here to pick up Jack Wilson.”
“Are you his father?” Ms. Mukada asked, looking him up and down.
“Dr. Wilson couldn’t come. He sent me instead.” He glared at the secretary but she simply stared back impassively. “I’m on the approved pick-up list for Jack. Greg House.”
“Let me see.” Ms. Mukada looked into a folder that was on her desk. “Here you are. You need to sign the sign-out sheet.”
She waved at the clipboard and handed Dad a pen shaped like an alligator. He stared at it for a second, then signed the sheet. “Do I go to Jack’s classroom, or what?”
Ms. Mukada waved over toward Jack, who was trying to become invisible. “He’s waiting right there.”
“You could have told me that,” Dad irritably replied.
“OK, Jack, let’s go.” He gestured toward the door with his cane. “Don’t forget your backpack.”
Jack picked up his backpack and headed out the door. He didn’t want to look at Dad at all.
“How come you came to get me? Where’s Marjorie?” Dad had long legs and walked fast. Jack had to hurry to keep up.
“When you started kindergarten, Marjorie got another job during the day. She works there until you get out of school. She can’t leave that job just because you get a little time off. So you’re stuck with me for a while.”
“Why didn’t Pop come?”
Dad stopped and looked down at Jack. “Wilson has patient appointments today, and I don’t happen to have any. So I snuck past the evil Aunt Lisa and came to play hooky with you. Would you rather hang out with Pop and the sick people at the hospital?”
“No,” said Jack reluctantly. The hospital was not the best place to hang out. Dad’s office was kind of cool, but the rest of it smelled funny. And Pop’s office always seemed sad.
They started walking again toward Dad’s car. An afternoon with Dad was almost always more fun than anything else, but Jack was feeling guilty.
“Did Pop tell you what happened in school?”
“Yup. The outline of it, at least.”
“Are you mad?” Jack was afraid of the answer but had to ask anyway.
Dad stopped again. “Do I seem mad?”
Jack checked Dad out, searching his face for the answer. “No.”
“You can safely assume that I’m not, then.” Dad unlocked the car and opened Jack’s door. Lately, he had stopped helping Jack with the seatbelt, and Jack enjoyed the challenge of getting it just right around the booster seat.
Jack waited until Dad was in the car and buckled in before he confessed, “I’m sorry I broke the rule.”
“Hmm?” Dad was getting the car ready to go, and then off they went. “Which rule was that? No yelling in the classroom, or no defying tyrannical authority figures? I have some trouble with that last one myself. Or do you mean Mrs. Walker’s stupid unwritten rule that you must have a mother living in your house to make it onto the Family Board?”
“What’s tyrannical? Like the dinosaur?”
“Tyrannical rex. Yes, exactly. It means loud and pushy, with the possibility of biting off some part of your body if you don’t do exactly what it says. Roar!! I think I will call Cuddy a tyrannical rex tomorrow at work.”
Dinosaurs were cool. They were big and could stomp anything they wanted to. Jack roared, and Dad roared again too. Then he turned on the stereo, and the car was filled with great music.
But when Dad pulled the car into the driveway and turned around to look at Jack, the guilty feeling returned. Jack had to tell him.
“I broke your rule, Dad. I talked about our family. I’m sorry.”
“It’s a tough rule, Jack, for a tough world. I’m sorry we even have to have it as rule.” He reached back and patted Jack’s hair and then broke into a smile.
“But as for today’s incident, I blame it solely on the tyrannical rex you have teaching your class. Who let such a dinosaur into your school, anyway?” Jack smiled and shrugged. Dad roared again and then opened his door.
“C’mon, let’s get inside. I think we still have some of that last batch of cookies that Wilson made. Bet I can eat more than you.”
When Marjorie came by after her other job, Dad made her wash the dishes and make popcorn, and then he sent her home.
When Pop came home from work, Jack and Dad were ensconced on the couch, watching cartoons.
“Is that all you’ve done all day, just watched TV?” Pop asked as he started picking up the mess of popcorn pieces, chip bags, plates, and wrappers they had spread over the coffee table.
“Yes,” Dad replied, and Jack laughed at Dad’s big fib. They had done a lot of great things that day and only just started watching TV. Pop was not going to be happy when he found the leftover volcano in the kitchen, but it had been very fun to make.
“Did you talk to Jack about what happened today at school?”
“We discussed it thoroughly, and everything will be just fine tomorrow. Right, Jack?” Jack smiled at Dad and roared quietly.
Pop bent down to look Jack straight in the eye. “Are you sure? Everything’s OK?”
“Everything’s OK, Pop.”
“Good.” Pop nodded and then kissed Jack on the top of his head. Straightening up, he added, “Now what about dinner?”
“We’re not hungry; don’t worry about us.” Dad gave Jack a hug and tickled him under his arm, and Jack laughed again.
“Well, I’m hungry. You didn’t start anything?”
Dad looked up at Pop. “I think there’s some pizza left over from our lunch today. Check the kitchen.”
When Pop’s back was turned, Dad covered Jack’s mouth to keep him from being too loud and made a very funny face. Jack laughed into Dad’s hand. Then they both laughed together as Pop’s voice came from the kitchen. “House! What happened in here?!?”
When Jack went back to school the next day, Mr. Latham nodded to him in the hall. The kids at his table acted a little strange toward him in the morning but seemed back to normal by the afternoon. The Family Board had been taken down.
By the day after that, everyone at school seemed to have forgotten Jack had ever yelled. Everyone except Mrs. Walker. She didn’t like the dinosaur pictures that came in the mail once a week, but Jack thought they were funny.
***
Pop was Jack’s official father. He signed all the papers, did all the stuff at school, took Jack to playgroups and music classes, held his hand when they crossed the street. They even had the same last name.
Pop and Dad had explained to Jack that Pop was his adoptive father and Dad was his biological father. They were his two parents. He had a biological mother, too, but she lived far away and had another life.
“You don’t need three parents, do you?” Dad had asked. “That would be rather greedy of you.”
“House!” Pop had interjected. “Jack, you could have three parents, that wouldn’t be greedy. House, honestly. But you happen to have two, your Dad and me.”
“That’s OK. You’re who I want,” Jack had said. Pop had blinked a bunch, and Dad had rubbed Jack’s head.
Dad loved Jack. When they were at home, Dad hugged him, kissed him, wrestled with him. Dad had a bad leg, but the reach in his other leg and arms more than made up for it when it came to wrestling. Dad talked to Jack about the most interesting things. He supervised homework and listened to stories of the latest disgusting thing Teddy had done. But he wouldn’t come to school events, or Cub Scouts, or soccer. Dad was Jack’s secret father.
***
When Jack was seven, a very sad thing happened. His Grandma House, Dad’s mom, died.
Jack, Dad, and Pop went together on the plane to where Grandma and Grandpa House lived. Dad’s leg was hurting, and he had to get up a lot to walk around. He got in a fight with a flight attendant named Stacy about the walking.
“Have you heard of DVT? Thrombosis? Clot? Possible pulmonary embolism? No? How about suing your airline and you personally for wrongful death - does that ring any bells?”
Pop covered Jack’s ears, and they kept watching the Scooby Doo DVD.
When they got to Jack’s grandparents’ house, Dad stopped before ringing the doorbell. “We probably should stay in a hotel.”
“I’m sure your father will get some comfort from you and Jack staying here,” replied Pop.
“I’m sure he won’t,” Dad said, but he rang the bell anyway.
After a minute, Grandpa House answered the door. Jack had anticipated that he’d look sad, but mostly he just looked tired. “Greg. James. Where’s Jack?”
“Here I am, Grandpa House,” Jack replied, coming out from behind Pop.
Grandpa House turned and started walking away. “Come on, then. I bought you some cookies. You like cookies, don’t you?”
Jack looked at Dad and Pop before following Grandpa House. “Sure, I like cookies.”
“It’s OK, Dad,” called Dad after them. “Wilson’ll get our bags all by himself. It’s no problem, Dad.”
Grandpa House didn’t seem to hear.
Grandma House’s funeral was the next day. There were a lot of people in the church, and a lot of people cried, but Grandpa House didn’t and Dad didn’t. They both looked sad, but they didn’t cry.
After the church service was over, they went to the cemetery. The hole for Grandma’s casket was very interesting to Jack. Nicely rectangular, the hole was so dark against the grass. When Jack tilted his head a certain way, it looked like a door on a green house.
Pop kept his arm around Dad the whole time they were standing next to the hole, the gravesite. Dad held Jack’s hand.
After a while, Jack reached up to hold Grandpa House’s hand, too. Grandpa seemed surprised; he pulled his hand away when Jack touched it.
“Dad,” Jack’s Dad said, and his voice sounded like it did when Jack was in trouble.
Grandpa House put his hand down and held Jack’s hand the rest of the time by the gravesite. When people started to leave, Grandpa House looked down at Jack. His eyes were wet, and the wrinkles on his face were extra wrinkly. He squeezed Jack’s hand once and then let go. Nodding his head at Dad and Pop, he left to talk to his friends.
Dad, Pop, and Jack walked back to their long black car, the limousine. On the way there, Dad nudged Pop and said, “One good point to my mother’s funeral: you were able to put your arm around me in public.”
“Oh, House,” Pop sighed.
“Just think, if they’d both died, you might’ve even been able to give me a kiss.”
They rode back to Grandpa House’s house in silence. They didn’t have to wear seatbelts in the limousine, so Jack sat on Dad’s lap, on his good leg, for the entire ride. A few times Dad put his head on top of Jack’s and hugged him tighter. Pop looked out the window.
There were a lot of people at the house. There were a lot of men like Grandpa House, and a lot of women like Grandma House. The women took Dad away to the living room and made him sit, and then each of them talked to him for a little bit.
Jack wondered about this, as he stood next to Pop in the dining room. “Why is Dad listening to all those ladies? He doesn’t like so many people.”
Pop was rearranging the plates of food on the dining room table. “That’s very astute, Jack.”
“What’s astute mean?”
“It means you’re smart at seeing things.” Pop stepped back from the table and looked it over. It must have seemed all right, because he quit moving the plates.
“Your Dad is talking with all the ladies because they were Grandma House’s friends. They want to talk to him and help him feel better because he’s Grandma House’s son.”
“I don’t think he’s feeling any better.”
“Probably not. But your Dad loved Grandma House a lot. Being nice to her friends is a way to be nice to her.”
The dining room was filling up with people who wanted to have some food. Pop nudged Jack out of the room and towards the back yard. “Let’s go outside for a minute.”
“But Grandma House is dead. She doesn’t have feelings any more. How can she know Dad is being nice?”
Pop sat on a patio chair and looked Jack right in the eye. “An excellent question, Jack, but I’m not really up to discussing it all with you now. Can we talk about it later?”
“Sure. Can I go inside?”
“Go ahead. You might want to stay away from the ladies, or they’ll want to talk to you, too.” Pop leaned in and whispered, “They look like the kind who might pinch cheeks.”
“Thanks.” He gave Pop a big hug. Pop hugged back and then turned to look over the yard.
The old ladies were still in the living room with Dad. The not-so-old adults were in the dining room and kitchen. The old men were in the den with Grandpa House. They were drinking that drink Dad liked. Scotch. Grandpa House had had some at breakfast time, when he thought no one was looking.
Jack sat down outside the doorway of the den, in a quiet corner between the wall and a chest of drawers, where he could be alone.
Grandpa House was talking. His voice sounded like Dad’s but just a little bit different. Jack remembered suddenly that he was named for his Grandpa House. He wondered if his voice would sound like that when he was grown.
Then he realized that Grandpa House was talking about Dad.
“And that’s how Greg told us he was going to have a kid. Smart ass.” Grandpa House’s friends laughed.
“So then Blythe says to him, ‘You’re just going to raise a baby all on your own?’” The men fell quiet when Grandma House’s name was mentioned.
“And he says, ‘No, I’m with Wilson. He’s going to help me.’” Grandpa House paused, and Jack heard sloshing, clinking, and a gulp.
“And that’s how he tells us he’s a fag. No tact, no decency, no normal feeling. I’m surprised I expected anything different out of Greg.” Grandpa House’s friends were silent.
“That kid’s kind of cute, though. He was sure the apple of Blythe’s eye. Smart kid, of course, but he’s real disciplined, too. Knows how to take direction, how to get things done. He sure didn’t get that from Greg. Wilson’s always seemed a bit soft to me, but maybe he’s got a proper tough streak in him. Who knows with fags?”
One of Grandpa House’s friends left the den just then, closing the door behind him.
Jack sat and listened to his own breathing. The worst word in the whole world, and Grandpa House had used it against Dad and Pop. Boys weren’t really supposed to cry, and names should never hurt you. Only sticks and stones. So why did it feel like his eyes were getting poked and his heart was getting pounded?
Pop was there all of a sudden and pulled him off the floor, picked him up, and held him like when Jack was little. Jack wrapped his legs around Pop’s waist and dug his face into Pop’s neck as the sobs began.
“Sticks and stones,” Jack whispered. “Boys don’t cry.”
Pop held him tight and stroked his hair. “It’s been a long day. A very long day. Anybody might cry on a day like today.”
“Bet Dad’s not,” said Jack through his tears.
Pop half-sighed, half-chuckled. “Dad’s a special case. I think maybe he used up his tears.”
Pop pulled back and chucked Jack’s chin to get him to look up into Pop’s eyes. They were warm and strong, even though they were a little wet.
“You and me, I think we’ve got a larger supply than most. It’s fine.”
Jack dived for Pop’s neck again, pressing forward to muffle the sound. “I don’t want Grandpa House to hear.”
Pop tightened his hug. “I don’t give a shit if Grandpa House hears, and you shouldn’t either. He can’t tell you what to feel.”
That startled Jack out of his tears. He pulled back to check out his father’s face.
“Pop! You said a bad word!”
Pop smiled a little. “Yes, I did. The situation warranted it. Before you ask, warranted means ‘justified’ or ‘made appropriate.’”
He continued, “Are you OK?” Jack nodded. “Can I let you down then? Because you’re getting heavy. You’ll be fighting in the welterweight class soon.”
Jack let go of Pop’s waist and dropped his legs to the floor. He kept his arms around Pop’s neck a little longer, just to keep the hug going. “Dad doesn’t like hitting.”
“No, he doesn’t. But for some reason boxing doesn’t count. Go figure.” Pop patted Jack’s back. “Do you want a juice?”
“Can I have a soda? They only have crappy juice.” Jack was surprised to see the expression Pop normally gave Dad aimed at him. “What? The juice warranted it.”
Pop laughed and tapped Jack’s shoulder to get him moving toward the kitchen. “You are your father’s son.”
(Continued)