Teenage Troubles (Prequel for Teenage Baby)

Chapter 1 | Aaron

Chapter 1 | Aaron

My dad is my hero

  That was what five-year-old Aaron would be taught to chant through childish poetry in preschool; a constant reminder for all the innocent kids gathered in the classroom that their dads were such incredible, selfless beings—fighting for them, loving them, protecting them.

Because my dad hugs me when I'm sad

  Aaron would tilt his head unsurely as the tall lady who called herself a teacher would usher them all to repeat after her. As everyone else would continue hollering at the top of their lungs the words written with big, distinct letters across the chalk-board, his own lips would press together confusedly and he'd remain quiet instead.

Because he kisses my owies until they stop hurting

  Aaron's confusion would grow further as the new line would be put out; everyone around him would seem so amused, so enraptured within the blissful memories that'd swamp their childish minds with each word they spoke. He wanted to relate, but he couldn't.

My dad is my hero-

  Once, and as the teacher had been teaching  the class-full of vivacious children the poetry for Father's Day, she had noticed how all them were teetering at the edges of their seats, leaning forwards excitedly as they'd fight for whose voice would be the most distinct midst the entire chorus, except Aaron, of course: he'd been the only she noticed sitting there with a frown across his dark brows and a confused tilt cocking his head aside. His facial expressions and body gestures had contradicted everyone else's.

"Aaron," she'd said, patting his little shoulder encouragingly. "Come on, sing with them. So you can go home and tell the poem to your dad! Tell him he's your hero."

"But-" Aaron had looked up at her, his bottom lip jutting out in a soft pout. "My dad doesn't do these things."

"What does he do then?"

"He hits me sometimes."

  The teacher had recoiled at the confrontation, her jaw dropping enough for her teeth to be revealed and a flustered breath to fill her lungs through her throat. She'd tutted at him as she knelt down by his side, shaking her head as if she had been trying to deny the reality of what she'd heard. Because she'd met his father; Mister David Williams, the respectful man whom she'd seen pick Aaron up after school several times before. That man had always been all warm smiles and fatherly love to his son, or at least that was what she was allowed to see. Hearing what Aaron had said rattled her brain, but she didn't have the desire to look deeper into the issue or invest time in figuring out what he meant.

So instead she'd chosen to bury her head in the sand. "Aaron, don't say that. It's bad to disrespect your dad, he's a good man."

  Aaron had watched her disapproving glance and as the five-year-old he was at that point, he simply nodded with tentative caution, the slump of his shoulders deepening as he'd slouched further in his seat. And perhaps it was at such a young age, the result of reckless behavior and fallacious claims out of supposedly responsible teachers, that Aaron's inclination to believe that he shouldn't express what he really felt began to develop.

Maybe dad is just a different kind of hero, he'd decided. 

  And now five-year-old Aaron sat by the window in his room, the pad of his small finger pressed flatly against the cool glass pane as he leisurely traced the top half of it; he carefully went over the blazing stars that scattered in far flickering dots amongst the deep, navy sky above. He liked to convince himself that he was touching the stars just like he tried to convince himself his dad was the hero they'd described earlier at school.