A Nerd, a Tough Kid and the Wonder of Dance

Chapter 10: dealing with Dad

At the dinner table, we'd just finished eating.

"Mum, Dad, there's something I should tell you. My dance partner, Jena . . ."

Mum interrupted, "A lovely girl and very pretty too."

"Yeah, well, Jena is actually the transgender girl from school."

"What, you mean . . ."

"You know, the kid that changed from being a boy to a girl."

"My lord, she looks and acts just like a girl, completely." Mum had a surprised smile on her face. I had thought that she would handle the news alright, but my father was a different matter entirely.

He was sitting there, his eyes hard and his lips set in a thin line. I was staring at him and I knew that my own face was taking on a hard look. I spoke almost out of the corner of my mouth, "She's a nice person and a terrific dancer; we work really well together. I don't care what she used to be, only what she is now."

"You mean you're dancing with a . . . "

"Careful, Dad," I broke in.

We sat there glaring at each other for some moments. Mum made some sort of sound, it could have been 'please'.

He took a breath, got up and walked purposefully out the back. I thought he would slam the door, but he didn't. In turn, I got up and went and sat in the living room.

Normally, Dad or I, or both of us would help Mum with the clearing up, but tonight she had to do it by herself.

I sat there staring at the carpet. Shit, I had expected that it would not go down well, but this was not good, not good at all. My father and I had been very close to a physical fight, and that would have been terrible, especially for Mum.

I don't know how long I sat there, maybe thirty minutes or so. I had to deal with this; I couldn't leave it like it was. I had to deal with it, but without any anger.

I got up and headed for the back door. Mum intercepted me, "Garth, perhaps I should talk to Dad first."

"No Mum, It's up to me to sort it. I'm calm now; it'll be all right."

My father was sitting on the bench in the covered area out the back, just staring down at his hands folded in his lap.

"Dad, can we talk?"

He didn't look up or say anything. I got one of the other chairs and sat down opposite him. We sat there in silence for some time.

"I wanted my boy to grow up and become a real man." He spoke quietly, but I could hear the note of despair in his voice.

"You wanted him to be a tough kid, Dad, and you succeeded."

"Yeah, I guess so. Maybe I overdid it. Mum was always trying to get me to back up a bit. Perhaps she was right."

"I don't know, Dad. I'm glad I'm a tough kid. It means I can stand up for myself."

It was quiet again for a while.

"When you were getting into fights at school, I'd go down with Mum. I was always ready to back you up, provided that you weren't the one who started the fight."

I gave him a limp smile in the half-light.

"I was glad when I heard about you fronting bullies, giving weaker kids protection; you knew I liked it. I was proud of you, and I told you that."

"You did tell me. Thanks, Dad."

More quiet.

"I never did relate to you the story of how I got into dancing, Dad. I thought you probably didn't want to know. Would you like hear it now?"

He still didn't lift his head, but gave a small nod. I told him about it, adding, "At the time, Jena hadn't changed over. He was just a wimpy kid, a rather sissy-looking boy."

Dad was shaking his head, still staring down, "So you took on two louts, both older and bigger than you, gave them a dust-up, and rescued this Jena."

"Yeah."

"I'd have given you a slap on the back for that, but then this Jena led you down the path into dancing."

"Yeah, that's pretty much it."

"And you like it, don't you?"

"I love it, Dad."

Finally he lifted his head and surprised me by starting to laugh, although there wasn't a lot of mirth in it. "You could say," he snorted, "that I've been hoisted on my own petard; if I hadn't made you into a tough kid, encouraged you to protect others . . ."

He was shaking his head in what seemed to be resigned amusement.

"Dad," I asked earnestly, "I don't expect you to like it, but can you put up with it, tolerate it . . . the dancing, Jena . . .?"

He looked at me, "I've raised a tough kid alright, and not just physically tough. Yeah, Garth, I'll put up with it. I have to, it'll be awful otherwise."

"But," he said sternly as he got to his feet, "let me have a grumble from time to time; I'll try not to be too serious."

I gave him a hug.