The Saturday Boy Novel (Chap. 6 & 7)

CHAPTER SIX – TIME TO FORGIVE

 

 

I LOOK forward to my father coming to get me on Saturday. Excitement builds up so much I can hardly stand still. That doesn't sound grown-up, but it's true.

 

At school it’s torture waiting to see my father again. And I think some of my friends are jealous. I'm finally getting my fair share of fishing and makes up for all the times I've missed.

 

I figure I missed 649 times. It sounds like a good number. Now that I caught my first fish, the rest of the numbers seem to come easily.

 

Before too long I'll catch up.

 

My father has been amazingly patient with me, so far. I really have been a baby. A wimp. But it's not really my fault. No, not really. It's just the way I turned out.

 

It's just that...well, I never had a chance to test myself against other kids my age.

 

Because I missed out on school activities so many times with my father gone, I became a shy kid. And when I struggled from grade to grade...other things began to slide backwards.

 

Without a father to take me to basketball or anything, I just missed out. Besides, mom didn't even have a car.

 

So the only way I could accomplish anything was to play with younger kids. I didn't feel threatened.

 

And they liked the idea, since I became a sort of bodyguard to stop any bullying from some of the neighborhood jerks. Who wouldn't feel good about an older kid being around? It made me feel important.

 

I didn't feel so backward because I couldn't swim and no one really cared if I was afraid of the water. It didn’t even matter to them if I was terrified of the dark, because they were too.

 

Everything is changing now.

 

My father is showing me how to overcome my fears.

 

During our trips he lets me go first across the creeks. Or walk through the raspberry bushes on my own.

 

All I used to think of was falling down and banging my head or drowning. Getting my clothes torn by the scratchy bushes was a worry, especially thorns pricking out my eyes.

 

For a scared cat, I was tops. Number one wimp. And I was able to hide it all with my younger friends. They didn't seem to mind if I had any hang-ups.

 

My father started to change all that with his understanding. For a man I had not seen for so long, he sure was patient. I hope he wasn't doing all this because he was feeling sorry for me. That would ruin it.

 

Maybe he really did love me. It was all so confusing.

 

All these things raced through my mind as I watched through the window. Mom allowed me to wait upstairs since I was like a butterfly running around and bumping into things in my excitement.

 

She understood how much I missed because she was especially nice to me lately. And extra patient when I deserved to be grounded for losing my temper or forgetting my chores.

 

Sometimes I can't understand why I'm so stubborn with her.

 

Today my father took me to the public beach at Little Dyke Lake for a swim. It was very hot hard to think with the shouting and shoving going on in the water.

 

I surprised myself by joining other kids my age on a makeshift raft. It could hold about eight people and I was one of them.

 

Due to its size, it was more like a floating dock. Suddenly I thought, "What am I doing here?" But it’s OK; my father is nearby. Other kids knew I had a lot of hang-ups and wondered when I would fall apart. I had to be brave.

 

During my first few jumps, my toes ended up touching the bottom, and when I reached the surface water gushed from my mouth. I was brave or reckless, but I jumped six times. And so did my father.

 

Then I was tired and had to get to shore. After changing into dry clothes, we had a hot dog and coke in Great Village. Most of the houses were painted white. "Must have been a sale on white paint back then," I said.

 

"Could be," my father answered.

 

When I grow up I think I'll buy a house here and paint it something really wild. Pink, no blue; I like blue. It reminds me of the sea.

 

The village could use more color in the area. I'm starting to think more on my own now, to figure things out for myself.

 

Then I had another treat. Something I always wanted to do. Father brought along an axe and taught me how to chop down a live tree.

 

This was a neat surprise. My father knows how to make a kid happy. He picked one in his backyard for me. French Fries!

 

"Later, we're going to make a fire. It's time you start learning how to take care of yourself in the woods," he said.

 

This old tree was dying, but remained tough. "Make sure no one is in front or behind you," he said. Then with my legs spread apart I cut it down with some nifty swings.

 

It took a long time. But I did it myself. After awhile we made a fire. I thought it was neat sticking a branch in the flames then swinging it around and watching pieces of burnt wood fly through the air.

 

"Leave wood in the fire so it doesn’t burn you!" my father yelled more than once. "Smarten up, Jay," he added. I thought I knew better. When I tried to move a piece, my hand felt as if placed in a hornet's nest.

 

Three fingers really pained. My father took a hold of my arm as I did a little dance. "OW! OW! OW!" I said, one for each burn.

 

It must have looked funny but I wasn't laughing. My father neither. He began to scrape off the spruce gum with his nail. It looked like white paint on my skin. It hurt too.

 

"I told you," he said quietly. "You don't have to learn the hard way."

 

Then he led me down to the creek. I thought he was going to throw me in. But he didn't. “Now stick your hand in the cool water.” It sure felt good.

 

Soon, three little blisters appeared. I said I would listen more carefully next time we build a fire. "Cross my heart," I promised.

 

"I don’t think you’ll do that again," he said then winked at me.

 

I’m glad he's giving me another chance.

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER SEVEN – A MOTHER’S BIRTHDAY

 

 

THEN IT was my mother's turn to have a birthday. She said when she was a kid she used to get Birthday Bumps.

 

"My friends stood in two lines," mom said. "And I had to crawl quickly between them as everyone gave me paddy-whacks on the behind."

 

I figured she must have had a sore butt by the time she got to the end. I sure wouldn’t do it. I would never want to hurt my mother.

 

Today father wore the hunting cap I bought for his birthday. The diagram on front was of a deer holding a rifle. And a captured hunter was hanging upside down. A rope on the tree branch held him.

 

I wanted something special for my father. This was the ticket.

 

I always wished to be taken on a hunting trip and hoped this gift might be a strong hint for us to go soon. My father and I were getting along just fine. But I didn't want him to think I expected special favors.

 

I wanted him to ask me to go with him. What if he didn't want me to go? I guess that's the chance I'll have to take.

 

After awhile, we played catch and mom watched for a few minutes. Then I left with my father to help him at the house he was renting. Mom had me all week, she said, so she didn't mind that I didn’t hang around.

 

Mom didn’t have such a big birthday party. Just cake and ice cream. But I'm glad both my parents were there.

 

At the time I was really happy and wanted to yell out "Dad!!" But dark thoughts kept interfering about how much he hurt me when he went away. So I canned it for now. I knew it would happen soon though.

 

We piled wood at the house he rented in the country. Huge piles. I chucked them into the cellar through the outside bin. "Lookit my chunks fly!" I yelled. It was awesome how they skittered over the growing pile then bounced in the air.

 

I felt bad when I heard a screech. My father was in the basement stacking wood I fired down. His leg must have hurt badly because he limped for a good half hour after that.

 

"For goodness sakes, Jay. Watch it," he managed to say.

 

He didn't stay upset, though. He should have. Everyone else seems to get on my back whenever I do something wrong. I said "Sorry." And I meant it. He grunted something back. It sounded like, "That's okay."

 

My father got lemonade and we sat in the kitchen. I wish I were like him. He looked so strong. I bet he never was a wimp.

 

"Are you mad at me for hurting you?" I asked.

 

"No." That's all he said. "No."

 

I bet he could lick anybody when he was my age. If anyone ever asked him to pass over their dessert, “or else,” I think he’d bop them. Sometimes I have to pass over mine at school. Or get pounded by some of the thugs.

 

Rats. I just know he could lick anybody who tried that on him. "Are you sure, you're not mad at me?" I stubbornly asked.

 

Before I knew it my father grabbed me by the waist and flung me down. And we were soon wrestling on the kitchen floor. "Not fair," I said, “you caught me off guard.”

 

Actually it was quite funny and I could barely stop laughing. He had me around the neck, as if he was Conan the Barbarian or something.

 

How could I be enjoying myself with him when he didn't even know I existed for three whole years? I didn't care. This was a time to forgive.

 

Now I grabbed him around the neck and squeezed back hard. I could see wrinkles on his forehead and wondered how old he was?

 

"Forty-plus," he said. I wish he would stop reading my mind.

 

We got up in a little bit and he asked if he hurt me. I didn't say yes at first. I tried to act like I was cool. But I couldn't lie. "A little," I said, rubbing my neck.

 

He leaned down because I was shorter. Of course, I was still a shrimp. “Sorry,” he said. Then he wrapped his arms around me and gave me a friendly bear hug squeeze. I didn’t mind.

 

Then my father went into the bathroom and came back with some shaving lotion and said, “Put a little on your face, see if you like it.” He knew I liked Old Spice and so did I.

 

He also gave me his spare shaving kit. “This is for a young man,” he said.  "Don't ever forget me son. No matter what."

 

I didn't know what he meant. But I could see he was blinking slowly. “Gosh darn” there were tears in his eyes. Maybe his eyes just water easily.

 

We went for a walk at the back of his place. There were a few acres of woods with mostly spruce trees, and a few poplars. My grandfather once told me another name for them. “Trembling Aspen.” I liked that one better.

 

My grandfather spent a lot of time with me after my father left. And I grew up thinking of him as my dad.

 

I knew he wasn't, but he was just the same. I didn't want to think too much about him right now. I wanted to remember every detail about the time I spent with my own father.

 

Somehow I knew it was coming to an end. Each Saturday he came, it was as if it was the last time we would be together. I don't know why I felt like that. It was so strange.

 

Maybe it’s because we were doing so much together in just a few hours. Like we had to make up for the past and the future.

 

I pushed these thoughts out of my mind and concentrated on him standing beside me. Today we tried very hard to spot a rabbit but maybe the coyotes caught them all.

 

My father explained, "Some farmers want the government to put a bounty on them. Others say coyotes are too smart to be seen or trapped."

 

“I don't want them to get hurt,” I said. "They have a right to live in the woods too."

 

We stopped often on our walk and just talked. I told him I wanted to be a Forest Ranger and he said long ago he wanted to be a pilot. But it didn't work out for him.

 

He looked solemnly at me. "Jason, if you really want to be a Forest Ranger then do it."

 

I hoped it would happen.

 

I don't know how I ended up as an engineer," he said.

 

Mom already told me my father wasn't just building bridges. He was a big shot in charge of large projects all over. Not just Canada, either.

 

"Want an ice cream?" my father asked as we hiked along the gravel edge of the highway. “A Variety Store is just around the corner.”

 

This is a special moment for a father and son, always and forever.

 

My eyes are watering.