When you feel the cold metal restraints click around your wrist, regret begins to settle in for its long stay. When you see the devastated, utterly confused glance of the child you have failed, over his shoulder as he is carried out of the courthouse, by a stranger appointed by the state with rehearsed sympathy, you are haunted by the ever-increasing list of your short comings with it’s never ending string of implications and tears that will never dry.
It has been 15 years, but still, I cannot go out into the city without the fear of running into my son, and the shame I’d feel if he recognized me, the blame and anger I’d see in his eyes. As awful as it sounds, I can't even remember his birthday. What kind of father am I? Well, according to the state, I'm not a father, I gave up that right the moment I gave into my addictions and urges. How foolish I was, how self-centered. I once had such promise, such potential. I graduated high school with a 3.9 GPA, received a scholarship to Boston College, and then my life began to unravel. College began to change me, power started to drive me, control steered me, and the drugs consumed me. I am not proud of the way I treated his mother, the substances I put in my body, or the person I became, but when you suddenly lose everything you've had in life, no matter how much or little they meant to you at the time, you begin to reevaluate the life you choose to live. When you are in jail, you are positively made of time, time in which you have to sit with the choices you made, and time to figure out what you will do differently when you get out.
After my 12 month stay at rock bottom I moved out of the city to a small coastal town, stripped of my potential, scarred by my mistakes, and I took to fishing. I was determined to not repeat my mistakes, so I began going to therapy, where I learned I can't control what had happened, only what will happen. And so I was again changed, though this time by the passing years, and this time for the better. Somewhere along the way I met a girl that could not only look past who I once was, but by the grace of God could love me for who I am. My wife and I have been married for ten years, and not a day goes by that I am not on my knees praying to God that I don't fall back into the man I once was.
Sometimes when I am alone out on the boat fishing, I can't keep from reliving that day in the court room. No matter how hard I close my eyes or how hard I grit my teeth I can't get the look on my son's face as he was carried out of that courtroom. Those days, I come home and I can't even look My wife in the eye. I know she wants so badly to have children, but I can't help feeling like I don't deserve a second chance to be a father again. I want so badly not to shut her out in those times, but these days it is the one thing I cannot control.
On boat this morning, I begin to picture the scene in the courtroom, and was filled with so much regret, such a sense of guilt and shame about what Tom's life must have become, scared that he would follow in my foot steps. I turned the boat towards the shore, in search of a distraction. I got in my pick up truck and drove to the general store to buy a copy of today's Boston Globe and a coffee. I sat down and flipped to the sports page to read about the Red Sox when I saw it. A face time has aged, brought to maturity, a face so familiar. I saw my son.
In a quarter page spread, was a story about a high school baseball team winning the state championship, with a large picture of him being lifted up by his teammates. Arms raised in the air in triumph the look on his face was not of resentment or anger, but that of joy, of contentment, with that smile he has had since the days when I was his father. Through tear filled eyes, I read the story on the page held by my trembling hands. He had hit a walk-off triple to win the championship. The story went on to tell of all the heroics he did both on the field and off, of how involved he is in his school and community.
I tore the story off of the page, and folded it gently and placed it in my wallet, and threw the rest of the paper away, and ran towards my truck. I sat in the driver seat, holding my keys, thanking God for the good man he had become. I turn the key and drive home instead of back to the docks, to find My wife's car in the driveway. I walk into my house to find her pacing our living room, a concealed smile on her face. Had she seen the story? How could she even know that was my ?
"I have great news!" I said walking up to her, placing my arms around her.
She smiled, pressing her hands to her mouth, "So do I!" she manages to say through her excitement, returning her hands to her mouth. She sits down on the couch. "You first!"
"Well I went to the general store today to read the paper and have a coffee, and right there in the sports--" I began to get choked up. I cleared my throat and continued. "In the sports page I saw this." I took the page out of my wallet and handed it to her.
"What is this?"
"This, is my son, or was my son." I wiped tears from my eyes, "His team won the state championship. Look how happy he looks! The story tells all about how he helped his team win, and how active he is in the community... He's not-- He didn't turn out like me. He's not resentful, he has turned into a fine young man... I didn't--" I clear my throat again, "I didn't ruin his life."
"Oh honey, that's-- That's so wonderful!" She wraps her arms around me, and I bury my eyes into her shoulder, to dry off all my tears.
"So, what's your news?" I ask, as she grabs my hands.
"I'm pregnant!"
My hands raise to my hands to my brow, and a smile fills my face.
That night, after a dinner consisting of--well we were so excited, I can't exactly tell you what we had--We went to the beach to walk along the shore. All I could think about was how I get a second chance of being a father, a chance to do things different. We walk hand in hand, talking about our hopes and dreams for this new life we are bringing into this world, as the waves wash over our feet, wiping away all of my guilt and shame.
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