Petey's Wish   Sports? What about sewing? What about scrapbooks? I wish they’d listen. I wish they’d care about how I feel.

Geneva, New York...Youth Soccer Field Complex...

Petey Weber sat on the knoll overlooking the soccer field. Tryouts, such as they were, consisted of showing up and basically not falling down too much. He had gotten a late start in the sport since almost all of the kids had been playing since they were five. At ten, he was pretty much as average a child as you could find at first glance, even if a bit small. He was, however, very awkward; some might even have called him clumsy. Nevertheless there he was; fulfilling someone else’s life-long dream of having a sports hero, even down to his nickname.

“Hey Champ…how did practice go?” He turned to his father’s voice.

“Okay, I guess. Everybody knows what they’re doing, Dad.” His voice begged off having to keep going and his father anticipated his plea.

“Listen, Pete…you gotta hang in there. You can’t just give up when things don’t go your way. I know you can do this, Champ, so keep at it.” Justin Weber wasn’t a harsh father at all. He wasn’t even the one who had put the mantel of sports hero on the boy’s back. That had been his own father’s idea. He hoped that by letting the boy just play and get his feet wet, so to speak, that everyone would just let the boy be, but that wasn’t going to happen. A figure came up behind him and placed his hand on Justin’s shoulder.

“You’ve got a budding star here, Junior. You’ve got to stay on him…he’s got to understand that success comes through discipline and hard work. Maybe he can show you a thing or two before long, right?”

Justin Sr. wasn’t a harsh man either, but he was inflexible. Justin had grown up under his father’s idea of discipline, and had sone his best not to pass along his father’s insistent demands.

“It’s a wonder that he’s even able to kick a ball, considering his background.” Justin’s Dad thought that being demanding and unrealistic was helpful. At least he hadn’t said it loud enough for the napping boy in the back seat. If there was a wonder, and it truly was, it was that Justin turned out to be a great Dad married to a great woman and raising a great….child.

On the ride back, things went relatively well until Justin's dad reached into his wallet and produced a twenty.

"Here...get the boy a haircut...he's starting to look like his sister!"

Nothing more was said.

After they dropped Senior off at home, the Weber boys decided to go out to lunch. Bridgette was working her weekend on at the hospital and Cindy was at her cousin's for a sleepover, so that left them all by themselves both Saturday and Sunday.

MacDonald's...a while later...

“Dad…can I ask you something?”

“Sure, Champ.” He actually had a lot to ask, but at ten, he was unsure of himself and how far his father could go to understand.

“Will you still love me if I don’t play soccer?” Justin looked at his son and shook his head; not at the boy but at himself that he would even feel the need to ask.

“Of course.” He smiled but the boy continued as if he hadn’t heard the response.

“’Cause like I don’t wanna play but I will ‘cause I don’t want you to be like him…you know? Grandpa Weber? You don’t hate me, do you?” No tears, no crying…just matter of fact.

“Why do you say that?” Justin said and took a breath and bit his lip.

“’Cause I see you when he talks to you and you look sad, Dad. I mean I don’t want be sad like you are, okay?”

“You think I treat you like he…like he treats me?”

“Well…you don’t yell and you sometimes want me to do stuff I can’t, but no…I’m just afraid, Dad.”

“You’re afraid…of me?”

“No…I’m afraid ‘cause I got other stuff I gotta ask you and you’re already crying.” The boy reached over and grabbed his father’s hand. Justin only realized that the boy’s questions had hurt enough to cause him to cry in public; something he hadn’t done since his father yelled at him in front of his friends.

“And Dad…could you call me Petey like Mom does…I don’t like ‘Champ,’ Okay?”

“Shh…sure, Pete…Petey. What else did you want to ask me?” He asked and wondered what else the boy could want to talk about, as if his first question hadn’t been enough.”

“I…like other things…you know…besides soccer.” He really didn’t like soccer at all, and hoped his father understood that even if he hadn’t said it aloud.

“You like other things…I know you like pets; you take care of your rabbit real good…” He caught himself.

“Petey!”

“Yeah… Bugsy is a good rabbit. He’s fun…and I think I can do a good job at other stuff, you know?”

“Like what, Petey?”

“Well…Cindy showed me how to do something, you know. And I’m pretty good at it.” Justin wondered where the boy was going.

“I can sew clothes. I helped her with her skirt and she let me…” The boy’s voice drifted off and he turned away. Sewing wasn’t the issue even if that’s what he was talking about. Justin was shocked; what father would be if he had to ask the question he was going to ask his son. He breathed out, fearing the worst, which wasn’t even bad, but still something brand new and hard to wrap his brain around.

“She let you do what, Champ?” The boy turned toward him but turned away quickly. Justin touched the boy’s shoulder and said softly,

“I’m sorry, Petey. It’s not easy to remember after all the times I called you the other name. I’ll try harder, I promise. What did Cindy let you do?”

The boy turned to face Justin and tears were streaming down his cheeks.

“She…she let me try on the skirt.” He didn’t have to finish with ‘I liked it,’ since it was etched on his face, along with embarrassment, shame, guilt, and the fear that his father would reject him.

“What?” Justin said loudly. He hadn’t meant to react the way he did, but it was a shock even if it was something that would never come between them. Nevertheless, Petey took his father both at his volume and tone. Despite being in a public place, the boy burst into tears. He got up and ran to the restroom. Justin quickly followed.

A few seconds later, Justin was leaning against the men’s room door.

“Petey…I’m sorry…please…I didn’t mean it…but…” Justin caught himself trying to justify his reaction. The boy didn’t need explanations or excuses.

“Petey…I’m sorry I got so upset. It’s okay. I…I don’t mind.” He did mind, but only because it was something that required more than just a nod of the head or a smile. He had to conciously make an effort to accept and even embrace what Petey had just told him.

“You hate me! Just like Grandpa Weber hates you.” The boy sobbed from behind the locked door. The commotion brought a woman in her thirties who said,

“I’m sorry? We heard the boy. Is everything okay?” The look of concern on her face indicated more than just concern. He looked up and spoke.

“I just said something to my son that was very hurtful and he’s really upset. Can you give me a few more minutes?”

“Go ahead; don’t worry.” The tears in his own eyes convinced her that everything would indeed be okay.

“Listen, Petey…I love you. I can’t think of a single more exciting and wonderful thing than to be your dad, okay? Please come out?” His voice was halting and he had to choke back a sob in the middle, but a moment later he heard the door unlock.

“You…you don’t…hate me?” The look on Petey’s face was more of recognition and relief than surprise.

“No, Petey, I don’t hate you. I love you…very much, okay?” He didn’t ask to reassure himself, but to let the boy know it was okay to ask and doubt and wonder.

“Okay.” He put his hand out and Justin took it. It’s usually embarrassing for a ten year old boy to get a hug at a MacDonald’s in front of twenty or so people. But Justin picked the boy up and hugged him nonetheless, and the boy hugged back.

The boy sat in the passenger seat up front next to his father, finishing his french fries. He looked over at Justin and smiled, and Justin smiled back, even though he was still fighting through several decades worth of delayed tears of shame and guilt of his own. He breathed out and smiled again and asked,

“So…do you have any more questions for me?”

“A couple, if that’s alright.”

“Sure, Petey, sure.”

“Does Granpa Weber really hate you?” The question and all of the implications it brought made Justin shudder. He glanced back and forth between Petey and the road ahead before saying,

“No, Petey. He doesn’t hate me.”

“Does he love you?”

“In his own way. He just never learned how to love me, but he’s been trying awfully hard.”

It was true. While old habits were far from broken, Justin Senior had apologized after a fashion to him a few years back. And Justin never held it against his father when he failed, as hard as that was. His heart and spirit, the very things that enabled him to forgive his father, were the very things that made him a good father himself.

“I guess Grandpa is to being a dad like I am to soccer.”

“How’s that, Petey?”

“He just needs a lot of practice.” The joke was welcome and fun, and it brought the two
of them closer together, as if the day’s bonding hadn’t already done that. But things would get even more interesting with one last question.

“Dad?” The voice was almost ominous.

“What, Petey?”

“Is it okay for me to be a girl and still like baseball?”

Justin glanced quicky at Petey and back at the road before saying,

“Ummm….yes, Petey, it’s okay.” His expression changed enough to where Petey asked one last question.

“Dad?”

“Umm, yeah Petey?”

“We’ve got a lot more to talk about, don’t we?”

“Yep…that we do, suuh...Petey, that we do!” Justin sighed and smiled and thought to himself,

“That we do”

Next: Nina’s Wish