My Step-Dad Glen - Part 3
When I was 14 and finishing my freshman year of high school my family went through what we all now call "the week from hell." Dad's nephew came to visit us from Michigan. I had been calling Glen "dad" for most of that year, and I really enjoyed having both a mom and a dad like some of my friends. Most of my friends either came from single-parent families, or had step-moms and step-dads ad infinitum. I guess I really shouldn't refer to Glen as my "step-dad" since I never really knew my natural father, and Glen did adopt me as soon as was legally possible. Anyway, I had always had just a mom, and dad and I still had occasional run-ins. Looking back on it, both mom and dad referred to that time in our lives as "the adjustment period."
Anyway, about The Week from Hell: Michael (the nephew) came to stay with us for the summer. He was 19 and was considering moving out to California. My mom and I had never met him, and my dad hadn't seen him in several years. He slept on the couch in our livingroom, and he seemed like a nice enough guy at first, but after a couple of weeks he started acting differently.
Things came to a bit of a head one night when my mom and dad went out to the movies, leaving me with Michael. Mom had made us all an early dinner, and when they left dad told me to put the trash out, to get some of my junk out of the yard and put it in the garage, and to do my homework. He told Michael to clean the kitchen.
I did what he said, and after I had finished my homework I went into the kitchen and it was still a mess. I went out to the livingroom where Michael was watching TV and reminded him what my dad had said.
"You do the dishes" he said flatly.
"Dad told you to do it" I said.
"Well, I'm telling you to do them. Get in there" he said belligerently.
"Yeah, right" I said, and walked out of the room.
About an hour later my parents came home, and as I went downstairs to greet them I came upon my dad and Michael arguing.
"I told Ryan to do it" Michael was saying to my dad.
"You told Ryan?" asked my dad.
"Yeah" said Michael.
"Was something -- did something happen that you couldn't do them?" asked my dad.
"No" said Michael. "The kid wasn't doing anything and I was watching the game and I knew you'd be mad if you got home and they weren't done so I told him but he didn't listen."
I started to speak, but my dad held up his finger and, still looking at Michael said, "Be quiet." I slouched against the wall, but kept still.
"Michael" said my dad, "I told you to do the dishes, not Ryan. When I tell you to do something I expect you to do it, son. I don't want you shrugging your responsibilities off on someone else."
"Fine" said Michael belligerently and pushed passed my dad.
"Hold it" said my dad, grabbing his arm.
Michael yanked his arm out of my dad's grip in a wide arc and said, "Get your hands off me."
"Hey" said my dad. "What's the matter with you?"
"Nothing's wrong with ME" said Michael. "It's your spoiled brat who was too busy to help out a little."
My dad's face went dark then and as he said, "Sit down, Michael" my mother crossed the room and put her hand on my back, leading me out of the kitchen and into the diningroom. What followed was a shouting match between my dad and his nephew who I now disliked intensely.
My dad told him that as long as he lived with us he was subject to the rules of the house or he'd have to leave. When he told him that he was grounded for the week Michael laughed at him and told my dad he couldn't do that. My dad said he could and that he had, and if Michael broke the grounding he'd get paddled. They then argued over that, and my dad told him that he was too old to go over his knee, but not too old for the paddle.
Their fight ended with Michael laughing at him again and my dad telling him that it was no joking matter. At least the prick started to do the dishes as my dad walked out to the diningroom. When my dad saw us standing there in the diningroom he pointed at me angrily and said, "I don't want you eavesdropping like that again."
I ducked my head, embarrassed, and said, "Yes, sir."
"Honey -- " my mom started, and grabbed his upper arm.
He interrupted her with a quick kiss on the cheek and said, "I need to go for a little walk. You want to come?"
"Sure" she said. "Why don't you take a shower now?" she said to me.
As they turned to leave I said, "Dad?"
He looked at me impatiently, and then his face softened and he walked up to me and kissed my forehead. I glanced over at the kitchen door and said, "Sorry."
He squeezed my shoulders hard and said, "Got your keys?" I smiled broadly, bumped my forehead on his chest and turned to go up the stairs. "Got your keys" was something he only ever said to me outside the house. It was our code word for "I love you."
Right after I started calling Glen "dad" he became embarrassingly affectionate in public. We'd be at my school or at the market and he'd just hug me or kiss the side of my head out of the blue, and when it happened in front of the guys on my track team I had to pull him aside later that night and tell him how he was embarrassing me. It was hard, because I didn't want to hurt his feelings and I really did like what he did. I just didn't want to be hugged or kissed in front of my friends.
I didn't know if he'd be mad or not, but he said, "Well, I'm sorry for embarrassing you."
"Okay" I said, and I put my hand up on his shoulder.
"You know that's just me showing you I love you?" he asked.
"Yes, sir" I said.
"I wish that didn't bother you" he said.
"It's just -- it's just that in front of the guys -- it's just" I didn't want to say more for fear of making him angry or hurting his feelings.
"I've seen that blonde kid's dad kiss him" he said. "The one with the -- "
"Tim Reese" I said. "And he gets razzed about it, dad."
"Really?"
"Yes, sir" I said, looking at the floor.
He put his hand under my chin and gently pushed my head up so that I was looking him in the eye. "I'll tell you what" he said. "Whenever we're out in public and I want to kiss or hug you I'll just say something like, 'got your keys on you' and that'll be our code word for 'I-love-my-son-that-I-wish-I-had-gotten-sooner-but-at-least-I-have-him-now.' Okay?"
I laughed and said, "Yeah, okay. Sure."
For the next couple of days he must have said, "Got your keys?" like, a thousand times. The joke wore out pretty quickly, but it was still nice in the months since then when I'd go for pizza with my teammates after a meet and my dad would give me money and ask, "Got your keys?" No one had a clue that it meant anything, and it did make me feel good.
Anyway, I went upstairs and took a shower. I hadn't closed the door, and as I was drying Michael walked in and lifted the toilet seat. I had been taking showers at school all year, so I wasn't really that embarrassed to be naked and drying off in front of him. It was just that I didn't like the way he had laughed at my dad, and I really didn't like him now.
As he was shaking the last drops out he said, "Why do you call Glen 'dad?'"
"'Cause he is" I said, pulling on my underwear.
"No, he's not" said Michael.
I frowned and said, "Yes, he is. He adopted me."
"Well big deal" he said. "That was probably just for your mom's sake; put you on his insurance and stuff like that."
"You're an asshole" I said and pushed passed him.
He shoved me back against the wall hard and kept his hand on my chest. "What'd you call me?" he said.
"An asshole" I said and shoved him as hard as I could. He only stepped back a couple of steps (he was a lot bigger than me), and then he tried to grab at my chest but I wasn't wearing a shirt. I quickly ducked out of the bathroom, went into my room and slammed and locked the door.
"You're just pissed 'cause you know I'm right!" he said through my door. "I bet he told you he loves you and that it was his idea to adopt you, when it was really that cunt he's married to."
That did it. I threw my door open and, without thinking, blindly tackled him in the hall. I got a couple of good punches into his gut or chest (not sure now) before he was able to land a hell of a blow in my own gut and a glancing WHACK across my face. I was in a lot of pain, but I made myself get up before he did and I let my knee drop onto his stomach and started to hit him again as hard as I could.
Neither of us was doing the other much damage at that point, and I suddenly felt a hand on the back of my neck and my mother was shouting, "Stop it!"
My dad yanked me to my feet and pushed me against the wall and stood between me and Michael. "What the hell are you doing?!?" he shouted at both of us as Michael stood.
I angrily wiped tears out of my eyes, painfully self conscious of the fact that I was standing there in front of all of them in just my jockeys and crying. "Dad -- " I began, but he spun around and said, "Go to your room!"
"Dad, he -- "
"Now!" my dad barked, and I wiped more tears out of my eyes and stomped away toward my room. I heard my dad say, "Get your ass downstairs" and Michael mumbled something unintelligible.
I slammed my bedroom door and angrily pulled a t-shirt on over my head. Why was my dad being so unfair? Couldn't he see what a jerk Michael was? Several minutes passed and then my dad knocked on my door as he was opening it. I had been sitting on my bed, and I stood up as he entered. I wanted to tell him what happened, but he looked so mad I was suddenly worried I was in trouble for fighting. I was already in my underwear, which was how he usually spanked me, and the unfairness of it all suddenly came crashing in on me and I again had to angrily wipe at my face.
My dad pulled the chair out from under my desk and sat down in it with his arms resting on the back. "What happened?" he asked, calmly.
I was suddenly relieved that he was letting me tell my side of it, and I told him most of what Michael had said and how he had called mom the "c" word. I didn't go into the things he had said about my adoption or Glen being my dad. Just thinking about it made me want to cry, and I was struggling as it was so that he wouldn't think I was a big baby.
He stood up and I was momentarily scared, but he said, "Come here, son" and I walked up to him and he hugged me tightly. "I'm sorry you had to hear that. Now listen, if anything like that ever happens with anyone again you let me handle it, understand? If someone says something insulting about your mom or me or our family you come to me and you let me handle it."
"I hate him, dad" I said. "I don't want him to stay here anymore."
"Michael's leaving tomorrow morning; it's already taken care of" he said.
"Good" I retorted.
My dad let out a long, sad sigh and said, "I'm sorry about Michael, son" and he patted my back and pointed at my bed, indicating that I should get in. As I walked over to my bed and climbed in he continued. "He was a really good little kid. I don't know what happened. I have to talk to his mom."
"He's a jerk!" I said as I yanked my covers up to my chest.
My dad sat on the edge of my bed and ran his fingers through my hair once, then let his hand rest on my chest. "I'm glad you're a good boy" he said. "I'm very proud of you."
The whole bathroom incident came back to me then full force, and I blinked back tears and I reached up and weakly hit his chest. "You're really my dad" I said. It came out as a statement, which is what I meant, but it sounded kind of weak even to me.
"OF COURSE I'm 'really' your dad. What do you mean by that?"
I smiled and said, "Nothing."
"Was it something Michael said?" he asked, and rubbed circles on my chest.
"Just some stupid stuff" I said.
He tapped his lower lip and said, "Gimme kiss" and, embarrassed, I sat up and quickly kissed him and laid back down. On the rare occasion when I kissed him it was on the cheek, but sometimes he'd tap his lip like that and tell me to kiss him and I felt like it was as much for him as it was for me so I'd do it if we were alone.
"Who's my favorite son?" he asked, poking me in the side.
I jerked sideways and said, "Hey!"
"Huh?" he asked. "Who?" and he poked me again.
"I'm your only son" I said, laughing and trying to grab his hands as they tickled me more. I was only strong enough to hold one of his hands back with both of my own, so when he tickled me I was always relegated to trapping his one hand and trying to squirm away from the other.
"Don't cloud the issue with facts" he said as he wrestled my hand away and tickled me more.
"Stop!" I said through my laughter, and when I was laughing uncontrollably he finally did stop.
His hand rested on my belly and I suddenly sobered and said, "Dad, when I'm older will you send me away if I'm bad?"
"No, of course not" he said.
I bit my lip, unsure of how to ask what was on my mind. "You told Michael he wasn't too old for the paddle."
"Mm, hm" said my dad and rubbed circles on my tummy.
"How old is too old?" I asked.
"Depends on the person, I guess" he said. "When you're that age son, and if you do something really bad, I'd probably just ground you. But if you broke your grounding, yeah, I think I'd paddle you. It would be up to you though."
"So I could refuse?" I said.
"No, you could decide to go through with your grounding or to take a paddling" he said.
I frowned, but he said, "Come on" and shook me a little. "Why even talk about that? I've got such a good kid it'll probably never happen."
I laughed then and said, almost to myself, "Not on purpose."
He kissed me good night and left.
Michael was gone the next day, but my mom told me at breakfast that there had been another fight that morning while I slept and that she was glad he wouldn't be coming back. She looked really stressed out over the whole thing, and I felt bad for her and hated Michael more.
Michael, it turned out, was to be the least of our problems that day.
School started out as a normal, average, calm Thursday. During my fourth period class, however, all hell broke lose. The alarm for an earthquake drill went off and we all dove under our desks in the "duck and cover" position we had done since grammar school. It went on and on, and even Mrs. Beachum, our teacher, looked bewildered and told us to just stay under our desks until it stopped. Suddenly, two police officers with rifles suddenly burst into our class making some of the kids scream.
"Quiet! All of you pipe down!" said one of them. The other looked at Mrs. Beachum and said, "You're all in danger. We're evacuating the classes one at a time." We all obediently followed the officers to a side gate that was never open. The chain that kept it closed had been cut and there were two more officers standing on either side of it. Mrs. Beachum pushed us all through ahead of her, and then walked with us and one of the four officers to a gathering place around the corner from the school where there were already a bunch of students gathered.
To make a very long story short, some kid I had never even heard of had brought a gun to school and had held an entire study hall captive for almost an hour before breaking down in hysterical tears and letting the teacher take the gun from him.
We had all heard about this kind of thing in the news, but no one ever thought it could happen at our school. Parents were called, and we were herded into groups by last name out in the school's parking lot.
The parents, not the kids, were really out of control. Most mothers and quite a few fathers burst into tears as they came to collect their children. My dad was calm as he signed for me, put his hand on my back, and led me out to the street where he had parked his truck. The street was littered with cars, most illegally parked. Dad looked really sick to me -- like when my uncle Phil had the flu, only worse -- and I asked him if he was okay.
He just shook his head yes, put me in the truck ahead of him, and locked my door. When he came around to the driver's side he was acting really weird. He seemed to be pointedly not looking at me, and he was making me edgy.
"Are you sure you're okay, dad?" I said. "I'm sorry you had to leave work to come get me. They're really blowing this out of proportion."
He reached over and grabbed my hand without looking at me and said, "They're NOT blowing this out of proportion. They should never let this kind of thing happen in the first place!" He rubbed my hand in his own for a little bit as we drove down Third Street, and I saw that every few thousands feet a car was pulled over on the side of the road going AWAY from the school and it made me wonder why they were stopped; it was too far to be parked. I was more concerned about my dad at that moment, though.
He squeezed my hand and said, "You don't have to go back there if you don't want to."
"Dad!" I said, exasperated. "I'm fine! Everyone's fine. Nothing happened. Why is everyone making such a big deal out of this?"
My dad started to pull over then and illegally parked on the side of Third Street. As we quickly skidded to a stop I nervously said, "What are you doing?"
"Out" he said, and pushed my shoulder toward the door.
"What?" I asked, startled.
"Out." he said. "Get out" and then he opened his own door and walked around the front of the truck to my side of the car. He looked really pissed, and I quickly jumped out of the truck and slammed the door behind me, leaning on it.
"Dad, what -- " I said, but he suddenly was hugging me tightly to him; so tight that it was hard for me to breathe. "I can't breathe" I whispered, and his arms relaxed, but only slightly. His body started to shake then, and I was really scared and I said, "Dad?"
I heard him sob then and I suddenly realized that he was crying and it broke my heart. My throat worked painfully and I said, "I'm okay, Dad. It's okay. I'm okay" and I was totally at a loss for how to comfort him as his whole body shook with silent tears. Eventually his arms relaxed some more, but he didn't let go. He kissed my head and my face and I was embarrassed because anyone could have seen us there on the side of the road and we were both crying.
He finally let me go and stepped back just a bit. He held my head in both his hands and I was startled to see how red and puffy his eyes were, and seeing tears run down his face was deeply disturbing to me. "I'm sorry!" I said, and threw my arms around his neck. I don't know why I did that, but I felt so bad just then and he hugged me and laughed.
"Sorry for what?" he said, and laughed and cried at the same time.
I laughed, too, then. "Don't know" I said, and laughed some more.
We eventually got back in the truck and went straight home. My mom's car was pulling into the driveway just as we got there. She worked a lot farther away than my dad, and if I thought he had put on an emotional display near the corners of Camper and Third, it was nothing compared to my mother. As she held me and cried -- out there on the front lawn in front of God and everybody -- my dad wrapped his arms around both of us and said, "Let's go inside now" for which I was very thankful.
Later that night after I had taken a shower I caught them both in the kitchen, kissing and crying, and I was embarrassed when they both jumped, startled, at my entrance. "Oh, knock it off already!" I said, and they both laughed and wiped at their eyes.
"Come here, kid" my dad said, and pulled me to him so that I was leaning up against him, his arms wrapped around me from behind. My mother stood directly in front of me and rubbed my head and my ears and kissed me and then rubbed my chest.
"I'm fine!" I said, and tried to laugh it off.
"Well, we're not yet" said my mother, and she brushed a tear out of her eye. I rolled my eyes at the ceiling and she laughed and said, "Some day you'll understand" and poked me hard in the chest.
My dad squeezed me tighter and let go and then said, "Some one's in a little trouble" and he patted my back in a way that made me feel suddenly very uneasy.
"What?" I said, turning to look at him. He nodded at my mother, who held up my report card.
"This says you got a B minus in English" she said, "but the temporary cards you brought home said you got a B plus." My school sent out temporary grade cards with students, and then the final cards at the end of the term through the mail. It was just so that you didn't have to wait to get grades, and the mailed ones were official. I had changed mine from a minus to a plus just in an attempt to ensure that I'd be able to go on a ski weekend with my friend Peter and his family. Almost an "A" looked a lot better than almost a "C" and it worked and I did get to go skiing.
My parents were standing together now, leaning on the opposite counter from me. "Can you explain that?" asked my mom.
"Well, maybe -- " I started to make up a lie, but then felt very ashamed and just looked at the floor and said, "I'm sorry."
"Did you change your grade card, son?" asked my dad.
"Yes, sir" I whispered. I was so embarrassed, and I felt so stupid.
"Why?" asked my mother.
I didn't know how to answer her. It sounded so stupid to me now. I shifted uneasily from one foot to the other, still looking at the floor.
"Look at your mother and answer her question" said my dad, in 'that' tone. I was in deep _s_h_i_t_ now.
"I don't know" I said. "I guess I was afraid you wouldn't let me go skiing with Peter." My voice trailed off at the end, and now I really was ashamed for having lied to them; more so than for being caught.
"Well that's just fine" said my dad. "What do you have to say for yourself?"
I looked at him and swallowed hard and said quietly, "Please don't spank me too hard?"
He grabbed me by the upper arm and led me out to the diningroom saying, "Well, that's the right attitude, at least."
He pulled out one of the diningroom chairs, sat down, and started to undo my belt buckle.
"No, dad!" I said. "Not here! Please! Please. Okay? Please."
I grabbed his hands, but he said, "Put your hands at your sides."
I looked miserably at my mother, who was standing in the doorway with her arms crossed. I couldn't bear the thought of being spanked in front of her, especially on the bare. When I continued to hold my dad's wrists he said, "I expect your obedience right now, son" and my stomach turned over and I let my hands drop to my sides.
My dad undid my pants and pushed them to the floor, just as if I were a little kid and I was so humiliated. I wanted to ask him not to pull down my underwear, but I knew I'd cry for sure if I did. It was just that I couldn't take being spanked bare so I quickly gave in to my tears and said, "Please don't pull my underwear down" and grabbed his hands again as they reached for the waistband of my jockeys.
He glanced at my mother, then back at me, and without saying anything yanked me over his lap with my underpants still up. "I" SMACK "expect" SMACK "better" SMACK "behavior" SMACK "from" -- and then, suddenly, the whole house started to shake violently.
"Oh, you've gotta be kidding me!" I heard my mom say, and in the next instant she was dragging me off my dad's lap and onto the floor down next to her. Together, the three of us scooted under the diningroom table as the shaking subsided, and then suddenly came back even stronger. I clung to both of them there under the table as the quake again subsided. When we were sure it had stopped we stood up, me with my pants down around my ankles.
My parents both looked at me, and I reached back and rubbed the sting out of one cheek. For some reason that cracked them both up, and my dad reached down and yanked my pants off my feet as he helped me to balance standing, and then gently half shoved, half carried me toward the stairs.
"Let's just go to bed!" he said, exasperated, and my mother laughed and picked up my pants and followed us up the stairs. Instead of going to my bedroom, he led me to theirs and, flopping down on the bed pulled me to him and said, "Lay down with me for a little bit while your mother gets ready for bed."
"Yes, sir" I said, quietly, hoping that my spanking really wouldn't resume.
My mother got her nightgown and some other things and walked down to the bathroom, and my dad kicked off his shoes, socks, and pants, and laid down next to me in his boxers and a t-shirt. "You ever do anything like that again and I will spank your bare butt AND in front of your mom, you understand me?" he said. He didn't really look all that mad, but I was still embarrassed.
"Yes, sir" I said. "It won't happen again." He pulled me to him then, and I let my head rest on his chest. We stayed like that in silence until my mother came in. She rubbed my back for a little bit, then they both kissed me good night and told me to close the door when I left.
The earthquake damaged the main sewer line to our neighborhood and we were without water for a day-and-a-half, and for half the next day the power was out as well. The neighbor's chimney collapsed and shattered on their driveway and one of the pieces bounced all the way over to our driveway and cracked the windshield of my mom's car.
Most of the people on our block got together and had a pot luck out on the Wilson's front lawn, and The Week From Hell ended with my dad getting violently sick on something he ate.