The Principal's Office

He was just getting down to lunch when he got the call. The other officers at the Chicago Police Department's 22nd precinct, patrolling the Beverly and Morgan Park neighborhoods on the far southwest side, didn't pay Brian O'Callahan's phone call much mind. But the 30-something Irish-born officer did. "Hello? ... Oh, no. Again? How many times? Fifth!?" Brian gasped in disbelief. His 10-year-old son Sean had gotten into a fight at recess during school. "What happened? ... Oh, dear. Don't worry, I'll be there in a few minutes."

"What was that, O'Callahan?" one of his fellow officers asked.

"Sean got into a fight at school," said Brian, "He's in the principal's office."

"Again? Are you telling the Chief?"

"Of course," Brian said while putting his jacket on. "I'll be heading over to St. Barnabas now."

"Why can't his mom pick him up?"

"She lives up in Lincoln Park and she's working downtown," said Brian. "She's too busy."

"Right, I see."

So Brian left in his patrol car to go to St. Barnabas. He just didn't understand why Sean kept on fighting kids. They were Irish, and even on his mother's Slovak/German side, they could be pretty intense, but he had other suspicions.

When he arrived, he found out he caught the nuns off guard.

"Oh, Officer O'Callahan. I did not know you would be here so soon."

"Thank you, Sister McCauley," said Brian. "I was off-duty, but I had to get here as soon as possible." His still-faint Irish accent was detectable. "Where's Sean?"

"He's in the principal's office," said Sister McCauley. The old nun sighed when she heard the name of Brian's son. "I'm sorry about him, it's just... we don't know what to do with him."

"I'll see what I can do," he said. "May I?"

"Oh, of course. Come in, please." her hand gestured to the principal's office at St. Barnabas School, and he followed the kindly old nun. Whatever behavioral issues they suspected, he didn't think they were as valid as the reason he was thinking of. "This is the fifth fight he's gotten in this month," she said.

"I know," he groaned. He rubbed his hand through short light brown hair. "I still don't understand."

"I know," she said. "I would suspect Bridget's move to Lincoln Park may have been a trigger for his behavior."

"We'll see," said Brian, "But I doubt it."

Once the nun had opened the door, he came across a sad sight; there was Sean, his ten-year-old son.

And he was a mess. His brown hair was messed up and he could see bruises all over his face. The boy's eyes were lowered. He didn't even bother to look at Sister McCauley. "Sean? Your father's here to see you," said Sister McCauley. The boy looked up. Brian could see a mixture of feelings in his eyes; rage, hurt and sadness.

"Hello, Sean," said Brian. Sitting down next to him, he placed his arm around his son's shoulders. "What's wrong?"

Sean didn't answer. He looked away. "Five fights in a month; what's going on?" Again, he didn't talk. "Do you have any remorse?" Again, no answer. "Is there something you're trying to tell us?" Sean was silent again.

Brian sighed and rubbed his head. He kept wondering what to say. "Perhaps we should call your mother and Julie. Maybe we should take you out of the hockey program."

Suddenly, he heard a choke and a sob coming from his son. "What is it?" asked Brian. He could see the kid was trying to hold it in. The boy loved hockey. Perhaps that was why he was choking up. He wrapped his arm around Sean's shoulder again. He was barely able to hold it in.

"They... c-called me... a..." He couldn't finish. He broke down into heavy tears and hugged his dad tightly. With a heavy heart, Brian hugged his son back, letting him cry it out.

"Just let it out," he said.

"They called me a fag!" Sean shouted.

"Thanum an Dhul," Brian said to himself. "Why?"

"Cuz of m-mom and J-Julie," he replied. Brian could already tell his son was not gay. But his mother, well... she'd been partners with another woman since he was about 3 or 4. It was not Klaudia or Julie's fault he was apparently being bullied. To blame them was not only wrong and bigoted, among other things, it absolved the actual bullies from blame. He wanted to be a good cop, so he could be a role model for Sean. But he could understand there was so much a kid like him could take.

"What have they been saying about you and your moms?" asked Brian. He listened as Sean listed off several offenses; truly horrible things to say, that no one, especially not 10-year-old kids, should be saying. "And how long has this been going on?"

"Since I was 7," said Sean.

That long? This is too much. And since he already knew Klaudia and Julie had moved to Lincoln Park, perhaps it was better for Sean that he attend school there. "We'll get you out of here," he said.

Sean looked up at his father, who pulled him up and back into the office. "You don't have to worry about Sean's punishment," said Brian.

"Why not?" asked Sister McCauley.

"I think it's best if he attends a public school," he said. "I'll have him enrolled at a school in Lincoln Park. I could get a transfer from the force so I can patrol that neighborhood."

"Oh, that's such a shame," said Sister McCauley. "What else?"

"I'll keep him in the hockey program he's in," said Brian. "He loves that game and his friends are in that program. You don't mind, do you, Sister McCauley?"

"I suppose if it's the wishes of his father," said Sister McCauley, "I will pray for you."

"Thank you very much," said Brian. With a nod, he led Sean out of the office of the parish school and out to his police cruiser.

"I think you do need some discipline," said Brian. "Perhaps we could find a karate class for you to take. That could give you some strength and discipline." He didn't know it, but Sean's life had changed... forever.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:

A short story about one of my characters, named Sean. His backstory had him being bullied as a kid because his mom is in a lesbian relationship. Again, his moms are not to blame for him getting bullied; it's the cruel bullies who are to blame. They're the ones bullying him, after all.