My parents divorced when I was 11 years old. I didn't see or hear from my dad again until the summer after my sophomore year of high school. That was when I ran away and showed up on his doorstep. My mom and I had been fighting more or less non-stop for the last couple of years. I hated her new boyfriend, he hated me, and she always sided with him. I admit that I had been getting into a lot of trouble -- petty theft, suspended from school -- stuff like that. Mostly I did it because I wanted to piss off my mother and, truthfully, I really didn't care about anything. I felt very put upon by other people's rules, and I had no problem breaking them.

My dad and I had been pretty close when I was growing up, and I felt like he owed me something. I wanted to know why we hadn't heard from him. I wanted to make him feel bad for leaving us, and I was pretty sure I could guilt him into letting me stay with him, if only for a little while.

So one day I snuck into my mom's purse, pulled out the check he sent to us every month, and put his address into Yahoo! maps. My mom had moved us out to California right after the divorce, and while I knew he still lived in Arizona I didn't know where exactly. I printed out two maps, one detailed, one broader in scope, and just got in my car and left. I didn't even leave my mom or Nick a note.

It took me seven hours to get there, and I arrived at about 4:00 in the afternoon. My dad must have been doing pretty well for himself, because he lived in a guard gated community in Scottsdale. I was stopped at the gate and had to give the guard my license. He went into the little guard house and came out and said, "Yeah, okay. You're on the permanent guest list."

That surprised me. I had the eery feeling that I was expected. Had my mom called my dad? I doubted it. They wouldn't consider me missing until much later that night, if they noticed today at all. I figured I might have until tomorrow afternoon before mom and her brain-dead boyfriend clued in.

It only took a couple of minutes to get there from the gate. I parked out front and sat in my car, suddenly very anxious. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. I really thought that my dad had loved me. I had been thinking about him the whole time I was driving across the desert, and the more I thought about him the more I got mad about his leaving. I had cried a lot after the divorce, sure that he would come home. But he never did. I wanted an explanation. I guess I kind of wanted to punish him, and I also thought that if I couldn't stay with him I could at least get some money out of him.

I got out of the car and went up to his house. I was actually shaking a little bit as I reached out and pushed the doorbell, and I got mad at myself for being nervous. He opened the door, and I was a little shocked at what I saw. He was at least 40 pounds heavier, his hair was mostly grey on the sides and some on the top. He looked, well, old.

"Yes?" he said. I didn't say anything, and a second or two later his chest heaved up and down and he rushed forward and grabbed my upper arms with both his hands. "Hank!?!"

I leaned backward in his grip. I didn't know what to say. I was still trying to adjust to how he looked, which was not at all how I remembered him. "Hank" he said again, and his voice broke.

"Hi, dad" I said. I was kind of scared he was going to have a heart attack. His face had gotten bright read, and his nostrils were flared. He was breathing heavily. We stayed like that for almost a minute, just looking at each other. I had to go to the bathroom really bad, so I said, "Can I use your bathroom, at least?"

"Oh, my God" he said. "Come in. Come in. Oh, my God. You're so big! You've gotten so big."

This place was nice! Was my dad rich now? He led me to the bathroom off the entry way, and I closed the door and sat down to do my business. From what I had glimpsed all the floors downstairs were marble, there was a curving wrought iron stairway in the entry with a little room halfway up the stairs. The bathroom I was in was nicer than any bathroom I had ever seen. The floors in here were the same marble, the sink was some kind of stone, and the walls had been painted with a kind of mural -- but a really nice one, like something you'd see in a movie. That was it! The whole house looked like something out of a movie, though you really couldn't tell that from the outside.

When I was finished I went back out into the hall and found my dad pacing there. He jerked his head back when he saw me and said, "Are you hungry, son?" That word, "son," made a lump rise in my throat and I was suddenly really pissed off with him.

"Yeah, I guess" I said, trying to sound nonchalant. "Would it be too much trouble to get a sandwich from you?" I asked sarcastically.

"No" he said, "of course not. Come on." I followed him into the kitchen while looking around the house. The little room halfway up the stairs was a library that had a whole back wall of books which you could see from the livingroom below. The fireplace in the livingroom went all the way up to the second floor, and the ceiling had to be at least 20 feet high.

My dad dug through his refrigerator and said, "How did you get here, son?" There was that word again.

"Drove" I said, spitefully. Did he think we could just go back to being father and son after what he had done?

"All by yourself?" he said, pulling out an armful of stuff from the frig.

"Yeah" I said.

"Alone?!?" he said, looking anxious.

"Yeah. What do you care?" I said.

He actually took a step backward when I said that and said, "I care a lot."

"That why you just took off?" I asked. I was mad, I was hurt, and I wanted him to see it. I refused to cry, though. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. I didn't want him to think I still loved him.

He just stood there looking at me, breathing shallowly. After a moment he said, "I have something for you, Henry. I want you to read it while I'm making you something to eat, okay? Will you do that for me, please?"

"What is it?" I asked him.

"It's just something you need to see."

I shrugged as belligerently as I knew how and followed him up the stairs to his library. I couldn't believe he was living this well! I mean, our house was okay, but it was nothing like this. I was resenting him even more when he reached into his desk and pulled out a large folder with rubber bands around it.

Handing it to me he said, "This is it" and he nodded his head at a small sofa to my left. The thing had to be five inches thick.

"You expect me to read all this?" I asked him.

"Just start reading, okay? There's a letter for you on top." He was looking at the floor as he said this, and he pushed gently past me and left.

I couldn't deny I was extremely curious. _f_u_c_k_ him, I thought. I'm not going to read ALL this. I sat angrily down on the sofa and snapped the rubber bands off the folder. Right on top was a letter to me. It read:

"Dear Hank,

Happy Birthday, son. If you're reading this you're 18 years old today. I wasn't able to give this to you until now, and I am so very happy that I finally have the chance. I know it has been a long time, and I know you're probably pretty mad at me, but please just finish this letter before you say anything or try to send me away."

I leaned back on the couch and continued to read. My dad's letter went on to say that my mom had accused him of child molestation, that she had been granted full custody over me, and that she had gotten a restraining order that didn't allow him to see or talk to me until I was legally an adult and could make my own decisions.

His letter said that he had called me every couple of days after the divorce was final until my mom got the restraining order. It said that the folder contained transcripts from the court proceedings, copies of his phone bills proving that he had tried to call me -- basically all the legal documentation involved in the case.

There were post-it notes in several places, and highlights on his phone bill, the court transcripts, and everything else that incriminated my mother. I flipped through it and recognized our old phone number. He did try to call every couple of days, at least according to these papers. I flipped through the court transcripts and read my mother's own words as she accused him of molesting me, of beating her, and I was shocked to read my grandfather's testimony backing up what my mother said. I had never gotten along with that old bastard, but as I read and read I couldn't believe what I was reading.

I didn't believe it. It couldn't be true. My mom could be a real bitch sometimes, but she would never do a thing like this! I realized that I was shaking, and I put the folder down on the floor at my feet. This couldn't be true. What kind of sick bastard would make up all this? Except, how could he have faked phone bills and court documents?

I went down to the kitchen, still shaking. I wanted answers from him. I wanted the truth, and I was so mad I swore to myself that I would wrestle the fat old bastard to the ground and make him tell me if that's what it came to. I guess he heard me come into the kitchen and, with his back to me, said, "Did you read your letter?"

"Yes" I said. I meant to sound pissed off, but my voice caught in my throat.

He turned around and I saw that his eyes were deeply bloodshot. He looked like he had been crying -- I was almost sure of it -- but I had never seen my dad cry. Was he into drugs? I was so confused, and so angry, I didn't know what to think.

"Good" he said. "It's important -- " his voice broke, and he actually caught and held back a sob. His face was bright read, and he angrily pointed his finger at me. In a strangled voice he said, "I did NOT leave you."

I couldn't speak. I could barely move. I didn't even realize that I was shuffling over to him with my arms out, until he walked forward and hugged me tightly to him. We both cried hard then. We cried for a long time, and I finally managed to half yell/half sob, "Why did you leave me!" It was something I had wanted to ask him for years, though I guess I had my answer now.

He had stopped crying and was holding me tightly. "I didn't leave you son" he said, stroking the back of my head. "I would never leave you. You were taken from me." He kissed my forehead and my cheeks. He kissed my mouth, my chin, the top of my head. He was crying again, and I was ashamed to see him like that.

I pushed away from him, but he tried to hold onto me. I pushed back forcefully, breaking his grip on me. I picked up the first thing I saw -- I think it was a bowl of fruit -- and through it at the far wall.

"I hate her!!!" I screamed, tears streaming down my face. My dad was holding me again, and I buried my head in his chest and sobbed. I couldn't believe she had done this to us. I was furious with her, and I was ashamed at myself for having doubted my dad. There was so much that I wanted to tell him. There was so much of my life that he had missed! All of junior high, most of high school. There was so much I wanted to know about his life.

We eventually sat down together and ate and talked. We sat there talking until it started to get dark outside. The whole time he kept reaching out and stroking my arm, and I'd alternately put my hand on his arm or is shoulder, and then pull it back again. It was like we were both trying to make sure that the other was real or something.

He gave me a tour of his home, which had three bedrooms, a den, a music room, a wine room. "When did you get rich?" I asked, incredulously.

He laughed bitterly and said, "I don't do anything but work son. I don't really have any other life."

I started to imagine him all alone in this huge house, but had to turn away from those thoughts. I was feeling good just then, and I didn't want to spoil it. He said, "You should bring your stuff in."

I laughed and said, "I don't have anything. I just got in my car and drove."

He clapped me on the back and said, "Nothing?"

I shook my head no, kind of embarrassed, and he laughed and led me to his bedroom. "Why don't you take a shower" he said, "and I'll throw your clothes in the laundry. They'll be clean in the morning."

I followed him into the masterbath, which had an enormous tub and a shower big enough for three or four people that had two clear glass walls and two marble walls. I kicked off my shoes and socks as he swung open the door to the shower and pointed to some buttons on the inside wall. "This makes it a steam room" he said, pointing to a little red button. "You should try it."

"Okay" I said. I was so happy to be with him again. He walked up to me and grabbed the edges of my shirt.

"Up" he said, like he did when I was a little kid. I lifted my arms and he pulled the shirt off over my head.

Next he reached for the waistband of my jeans and I got embarrassed and said, "Dad!"

He didn't say anything. He just smiled at me, his face not more than an inch from mine. He looked down, undid the buttons on my 501's and pulled them down so that they dropped to my ankles. "Step out of them" he said, which I did.

When he reached for the waistband of my boxers I put my hands on top of his, but I didn't try to stop him as he pulled them down. "Hey" I said, laughing nervously as they dropped to the floor. I realized then that no one had seen me naked since he had left. No adult, anyway. And I certainly hadn't been undressed like that. It made me blush.

He rubbed his hands up and down my sides and said, "You embarrassed with your dad?" I hadn't been with him like this -- I hadn't been with anyone like this -- in years, and it made me want to cry. I swallowed hard and shook my head no.

"What's this?" he said, tugging gently at the hair under my arms.

"Ow" I said, but it didn't really hurt. I remembered when my body started to change. Puberty was a strange time for me, mostly because I had an almost constant boner but I didn't have anyone to ask about it. Standing there with him at that moment made me feel so deprived and so wronged. I put my hand on his shoulder and looked down.

I had hair down there now, just like I remembered him having. Again I swallowed hard, but I giggled as he reached out with his index finger and gently scratched the top of my pubic hair. He gently patted my side and said, "Why don't you get in the shower, son? I'll put your things in the wash" and he reached down, picked up my things and walked out of the room.

I did as he said, and turned on the shower. It had one giant shower head in the ceiling, and standing under it was like standing under a hot rain. It was wonderful. There was a built-in bench at the end of the shower opposite the door, and on it was soap and shampoo. I washed my hair, and as I was rinsing out I cleared the water out of my eyes and saw my dad staring at me.

It made me feel self conscious. "What?" I said. I saw his lips move, but I couldn't make out what he said. "What?" I asked louder.

He cleared his throat and said, "You're all grown." He looked so lonely to me just then. I turned my back to him and started washing vigorously. I wanted to stay happy, and if I had kept looking at him I was probably going to start to cry again. I was fine in a couple of seconds.

I finally turned off the shower and I heard him say, "Don't you want to try the steam?"

"I will later" I said, opening the door. I stepped out and started drying myself. He grabbed a towel and dried my hair and my back. I just stood there with a towel around my waist with my hands on his shoulders and let him. He draped the towel around my neck, kissed my forehead and said, "Let's find you some clothes."

I patted his bulging stomach and said, "You think you got something that'll fit me?"

"Oh, that's harsh" he said, but laughed.

From his closet he tossed me a sweatshirt which I pulled on and threw my towel on the floor. My mouth opened in a wide yawn. I was tired!

"Try these" he said, handing me a pair of sweats. They were too big, but they had a draw string. I looked at myself in the mirror. I was practically swimming in his clothes.

"Put your towel up, please" he said, and walked back into his bedroom. I did so, and then followed him.

Walking into his room I tugged at the clothes I was wearing and said, "When did you get so fat, dad?" I was grinning, and he turned around in mock anger and said, "So this is how you talk to your dad now?"

He poked me in the ribs, making me double over. "Huh?" he said, and poked me some more. I made my way over to the edge of his bed while he tickled me.

"What kind of disrespectful kid have I got here?" he asked playfully.

"Fat old man" I said, which wasn't really fair since he wasn't that over weight and couldn't have been more than 41 or 42 at the time.

"You want to go over my knee, kid?" he asked.

"Oh, right. Good luck trying that" I said.

He was sitting on the side of his bed, and I had just started to stand when he said, "Oh, yeah? Come here" and he reached up and pulled me over his lap. My head and chest were on his bed, and I let him position me there.

He reached up and grabbed the back of my sweats and I laughed and said, "Hey!" but he pulled them down anyway. I didn't have any underwear, and we both laughed as I tried to reach back and grab the waistband of my sweats. He gently grabbed my arm and pinned it behind my back.

"Now you're gonna get it" he said, and smacked my butt.

It kind of stung, and I said, "Ow!"

"Am I going to get attitude out of you?" he asked playfully.

"No, sir!" I said.

He smacked my cheeks a few more times, not as hard though. When the build up started to sting I said, "Hey! That hurts!"

"Sorry" he said, and rubbed his hand over my right cheek, then my left. His hand rested there a moment, and then he massaged my back a little and then the back of my head. There was no one in the world I'd let do this to me, except my dad. No one.

When his hand was on the back of my head and my face was pressed down into the bed I said sarcastically, "Can I get up now?"

"Are you going to be a good boy?" he asked.

"Yes, sir" I said, and I blushed but I didn't know why. He patted my back and let go of my arm. I stood up and yawned deeply again.

"It's been a big day, hasn't it?" he said as I pulled up the sweats and re-tied the waist.

I nodded yes, crawled onto his bed, grabbed the remote and turned on his TV.

"You want to watch some TV with me before you go to bed?" he asked.

"Yes, sir" I said. What I wanted to do was fall asleep in his bed, but I was too embarrassed to ask. He sat on the far side of the bed, patted the bedspread next to him, and said, "Come over here, son."

I scooted over to him, pulled a pillow out from under the spread, and propped it up against his arm and shoulder. I put my head down and threw my arm over his lower chest. I closed my eyes for just a second and remembered when I had gotten my driver's license. I had wished he was there that day. I opened my eyes to tell him about that day but he wasn't there.

I panicked for just a second. For more than a year after the divorce I had had very vivid dreams of his coming home. "Dad?" I said. I felt sick at the thought that the whole day had been a dream. I looked around the room. It was definitely my dad's new house. The clock next to the bed said the time was 2:10 a. m. Somewhere between the time my head hit the pillow and I thought to tell him about getting my driver's license I had fallen asleep. Passed out was probably a better way to say it.

I got up and walked out into the upper hall that circled the stairway. It was dark, but I could see light coming from under the music room door which was on the opposite side from me. I walked over to it, and I could hear really strange sounds coming from inside. I couldn't make it out, so I cracked open the door a bit and looked in.

There was my dad sitting at a table in the middle of the room. He had his head on his hands, and he was sobbing uncontrollably. I felt sick. Really sick. It was awful to see him like that, and I was suddenly overwhelmed with guilt. I had had so many bad thoughts about him for years, and the whole time he had been all alone in this big house. My mom could be a difficult woman -- scratch that, mom was a total bitch now as far as I was concerned -- but she was still my mom and we managed to keep each other company when we weren't fighting.

I had opened the door wider, and I didn't want him to catch me spying on him so I whispered, "Dad?"

He jumped in his seat and clutched the end of the table. "Jesus, Hank! You scared me" he said, wiping snot from his nose with a tissue. I then noticed the stack of used tissues on the table in front of him. I couldn't take it anymore. I threw myself at him, wailing like a little kid and said, "I'm sorry, Dad! I'm so sorry!" I desperately wanted his forgiveness. I had never felt so guilty, so awful, in my whole life.

He held me tightly and said, "Come on. There's nothing for you to be sorry about."

I squeezed my eyes tightly shut and cried harder. I wanted to tell him that there was something to be sorry for, there was a lot to be sorry for, but I couldn't talk so I just shook my head. He patted my back and said, "You been mad at your dad, have you?"

Oh, God, I thought. He knew. How he must hate me for the things I had been thinking and feeling. He shook me a little bit as he hugged me and said, "Is that it? Did you think I just walked away from you and your mom?" He hugged me tighter and said, "I'd probably hate my dad if I thought he had done that to me."

"I'm sorry!" I wailed. I was so very sorry, and I didn't know how to make it right.

Still holding me he said, "Shhhhh. You don't have anything to be sorry for. It's not your fault, son. Do you know that? It's not your fault. You didn't know any better. Anyone would have felt the same way in your shoes."

I pushed away from him, forced my tears to stop, and just looked at him breathing in little gasping breaths, just like a _f_u_c_k_ing two year old. He leaned forward, kissed my mouth, and said, "We know that we love each other, and even if I can't keep you here with me now you'll always know the truth." He kissed my forehead, my cheek, and pulled me to him again and ruffled my hair.

As he rested his hand on my head I said, "I'm never go back there, dad. I want to live with you. I'll tell the police she was lying. I'll make her and grandpa John tell the truth if I have to."

"All right" said my dad. "Let's not talk about that right now." He reached down and put a hand under my knee, and just for a half second tried to stand and then laughed. "Okay, you're way too big for me to try to carry, son." That broke us both up, and we laughed hard. I guess our emotions were pretty ragged just then.

Embarrassed, I looked at the floor and whispered, "I want to sleep with you tonight." Would he think I was stupid? It was such a little kid thing to say, but I hadn't seen him since I was a little kid and I was afraid that if I didn't fall asleep with my hand on his arm or his chest that he wouldn't be there when I woke up. I didn't make sense, but it was how I felt.

"Yeah" he said. "That's okay for tonight. Come on." He grabbed my elbow and led me back to his room. We fell asleep on top of the bedspread almost instantly.

NOTE: I think this story line has potential. Hank is very much a "troubled teen" right now. Breaks lots of rules, gets into lots of trouble at school and with the law. After his dad gains custody of him, I'd like suggestions for how this story should progress. orangecatholic@yahoo. com