She didn't try to stop me when I stood up and bypassed her chair. The dominant mother look was gone from her eyes displaced by something else, maybe pain or despair; I wasn't sure, but her eyes no longer put her in control. As I exited the room, I heard her say softly, "One day when you have a child, you'll understand."

I didn't even dignify the statement with a response. "Another cop out," I thought. "Parents throw it out when they have no valid explanation."

I grabbed a bag of potato chips and a couple cans of coke and went to my room to write to Dad.

When Mom called me down for supper, my hunger overpowered my anger. When I arrived at the dinner table, I found a card in the middle of my plate. I got a marker and wrote," return to sender" on it and put it in Mom's plate.

"Wayne," Mom's plea was weak and uncertain.

"Now you know how he felt."

"No." She shook her head. "I don't, not really. He knew I was returning the cards, not you. So whatever emotions he felt were mostly directed at me. It's a different kind of hurt."

"Well, deal with it."

"All right." There was an edge to her voice that hadn't been there before. "You're here so I'll just tell you what it says. It says that I'm sorry that I hurt you. What's done is done. You don't understand my reasons for doing what I did. Right now you hate me for it. I will live with that. I won't stop you from corresponding with your father. You were right when you said you are old enough to make that choice. I won't take you to see him, though. They won't let children under 16 into a prison without an adult. I refuse to spend time with your father. I'm sure you'll hate me for that, too, but I just can't do it." She stopped and looked down at her hands.

"Are you done? Can we eat now?"

"Not quite."  I could tell by her tone that I was treading on thin ice, so I just sat stoically and stared at her. "You will have to be punished for your drinking binge and the redecorating job you did in the den. You are grounded for the next two months. That means no outside activities. Seth has agreed to be here from 4-11 on the days I work. If you are not home by 4PM, he will report to me. You are to go nowhere once you arrive home. To keep you from getting bored, you are assigned two jobs. You will clean out the shed and the attic. All of your Dad's things are stored in one place or another. I had planned to let you go through them sometime to see if there was anything you wanted to keep. Anything you want is yours. Anything you don't want, you can box up and donate to Goodwill. You say you want to know who he is. Maybe these projects will help." She held out her hand. "I want your house key. You won't need it for the next couple of months."

My teeth were clinched. I know my eyes threw daggers at Mom, but she didn't flinch. She just stood there with her hand out. I thought she was being hard on me. Two months with Seth! But, I didn't want her to change her mind about Dad's things and the letters. I took the key out of my pocket and slapped it into her palm.

She put a small key in my hand. "That's to the padlock on the shed." She gestured towards the table. "Now you can eat."

I couldn't connect the dots when it came to Mom. She was punishing me while giving me something I wanted very badly, a chance to get to know my Dad – even though it was a secondhand acquaintance. I knew she would not have stepped up had I not got in her face after my Dad's letter came. I didn't have to dig it to take advantage of it.

When I got home from school the next day, Seth was sitting on the porch swing. He nodded at me, "Wayne," he said.

"Seth," I replied.

As I opened the door to the house, he continued, "I brought donuts in case you want a snack. I know I was always hungry after a long day at school."

"Look, you don't need to spring for snacks. I know you don't like this anymore than me. Capiche? Just show up and wait for Mom to relieve you. I won't give you attitude. I've got an attic and a shed to clean out."

I didn't wait for an answer, but went into the house. I threw my backpack on the floor and headed to the attic, ignoring the donuts even though I really was hungry. Seth was not my homie, and he certainly wasn't going to be my Dad. I already had a Dad; I didn't need two.

In the hall, I pulled down the trap door that led to the attic. I flipped the switch that would give me some light and climbed up. On my left were the box that held an artificial Christmas tree and some smaller boxes with ornaments written on them. To my right were boxes that said Paul. I knew those were Dad's. Everyone called him Paul. He was the youngest in his family. His Mama called him Babe; his brother and sister mimicked her. One day, he informed them that he was not Babe and was to be addressed as Paul. When asked why Paul, he said, "Babe is a blue ox. Paul is the man in the story. I'm going to be a man, so I'm Paul."

The name stuck. Even though I was a junior, there was never any confusion in the name department. Dad never used his real name.

When I opened the first box, I found a file folder box on top. When I opened it, inside I found a bunch of pictures. Every picture had Dad in it. They ranged from a young couple grinning stupidly at a tiny bundle in a blanket to a picture of Dad and I at a Saint's Game. I remembered that game. It was the last time Mama let Dad and I go anywhere without her. Uncle Clarance had taken the picture. He went with us. Sitting in the bleachers caused Dad a lot of pain. He didn't want to disappoint his seven-year-old son, so he popped some Oxy. Between the pain pills and the booze, he was wasted by the time Uncle Clarence got us home. He met us at the Dome but wouldn't let Dad drive home. Mom had to take him back to get his car. She took me with them, after putting Dad to bed. I still remember the look in her eye and the way she gritted her teeth while she drove to the Dome.

"He was only trying to give the boy a good time, Patty. He couldn't help it that his back wouldn't cooperate," Uncle Clarence ventured.

"Don't defend him, Clarence. Sitting through a game with a drunken fool is embarrassing, no fun at all." Her answer shut him up. Silence reigned for the rest of the ride.

The next day, I awoke to the sound of voices. "Just go," Mama was saying. "You can come visit. If you get help and stay straight, maybe you can even come back. Right now, you're not what either one of us needs."

I heard Daddy say, "Please, Patty, one more chance. I'll flush all the pills and dump all the alcohol."

Maybe I should have tried to do something, but I was frozen in place. Mama telling Uncle Clarence that sitting through a game with a drunken fool was embarrassing kept looping through my mind. I remembered Daddy standing up and wiggling his hips while hollering at the cheerleaders. Everyone was hooting and yelling at him to sit down. At that moment I had wanted to sink into the bleachers and disappear.

After that, he didn't live at our house. He would come to visit. He would promise that he was going to go to rehab and get cleaned up so he could come back, but he didn't. After a few months, Mom filed for divorce. Dad didn't fight it. He told me that he loved Mama but wasn't good for her. That was all I was ever told.

About six months later, Dad was arrested for selling drugs in a school zone. He told the cops he was only there to talk to his son when school let out, but no one believed him. He got 20 years and was sent to prison.

Mama was waiting for me when I got home from school. She explained to me that Daddy was in jail and would go to trial. She said he was accused of selling drugs to kids. Even though Mama hid our paper, I read the one at school, and I heard the kids talk. I always thought it was my fault. If I had gotten up the day Mom bounced him, maybe she would have let him stay. If he was at the house, he wouldn't have become a potrepeneur to get money, and he wouldn't have been near my school with pockets full of product while waiting to talk to me.

Looking at the picture of Dad and me at the game brought the soul sucking guilt back. I had pushed it down when I believed Dad had abandoned me and didn't love me. Now that I knew differently, I was pissed all over again. I had failed Dad after the game and now I was failing him again.

Then I thought, "No, CW, you are not failing Dad. He knows it's Mama who is keeping us apart. This is all her fault."

I saw red. I wanted to hurt Mom all over again. As I stared at the pictures, I had an idea. Mom had a bunch of beautiful photo albums. I knew that these pictures had been removed from them. I thought about all the books with cutsey sayings and clip art interspersed. Those sayings and things were put in the holes left by these pictures. I considered getting the albums and putting all the pictures back in their places. Finally I decided I would get a blank photo album and make a book entitled "Dad and Me." I'd keep it in a on my desk so that Mama would see that I was looking at it and reliving my times with Dad.

For the next few weeks, whenever Mama was at work and Seth was at the house, I would go to my room and lock myself in. I put together a scrapbook of pictures of my Dad and me. I took my time and made sure it was as swank as any of Mama's prized photo albums. On the last page, I put the picture Dad had sent me with the letter on the facing page.

The day I finished the album, I was waiting when Mama got home from work. Seth was staying for supper; that was lagniappe. I brought the photo album to the dining table and put it in an empty chair.

After supper, I took the book out of the chair and laid it on the table. "I found a box of pictures in one of the boxes in the attic."  On the front was the picture from the Saints game. The words "Dad and Me" were under the picture. "I made a photo a album. It has all of the pictures from when I was a baby until he went away." I offered the book to Mama with a proud smile. "It looks as fine as any of yours, doesn't it, Mom."

Mama didn't know what to say. Her eyes were tight. She gave me a shaky smile. "That's lovely, honey." She flipped quickly through the pages. When she saw the last picture, she stood up abruptly. "I need to do the dishes," She picked up the plates and walked out.

"Can I see?" Seth asked.

I didn't know what his game was, but I figured it couldn't hurt for him to see how happy everyone looked. Mom and Dad were with me in a lot of pictures, and they looked like people in love. I handed him the book.

He turned the pages, making comments like, "You were a cute kid," and "Looks like you guys had some happy times."

When he got to the end, he started to read the letter. I grabbed the book. "That's private!"

"Your Dad looks like he's doing good." When I didn't respond, he continued. "Why don't you cut your Mom some slack. She's beating herself up enough without your help."

"Sure, she is," I sneered. "You don't get to play shrink with me. This has nothing to do with you."

"Indirectly, it does. When your Mom hurts, I hurt."

"Poor you." I stood. "Your two months of forced son detail are half over. All you have to do is chill while I clean out the shed."