The Father I Chose

Less than six months after the divorce, Mom got married again.

Her new husband was a divorcee too, and three years younger than she was.

On their wedding day, Mom locked me in a storage closet and warned, "If you cause trouble for me, I swear I'll beat you to death!"

By evening, the guests had left and the house had finally grown quiet. Only then did I sneak into the kitchen.

I was making a cup of instant mac and cheese when I knocked over the electric kettle and boiling water splashed across me. I screamed. A door creaked open across the hall, and a man hurried in. "What happened? Where did it burn you?"

He helped me up. He smelled faintly of tobacco and clean laundry, and somehow it wasn't unpleasant. "You're Andrew, right?"

I nodded, swallowing as I stared at the bowls of nuts and snacks on his table. He offered me an armful of food, but after hesitating for several seconds, I didn't dare take any.

"Can you please not tell my mom?"

"Why not?"

"I broke the kettle. She'll hit me."

The man gave a quiet hum. "I won't tell her."

I still didn't trust him. "Pinky promise?"

"All right. Pinky promise."

I ate like I had been starving for days. He watched me for a while, then smiled. "Do you know who I am?"

I said nothing.

"Starting today, I'm your father."

My hands froze. Every story I had ever heard about stepfathers flashed through my mind. I was doomed. Completely doomed.

I stared at him blankly. He frowned and asked, "Why are your pants so filthy?"

My chest tightened. I jumped from the chair and saw the dark stain I had left across the clean cushion.

I lowered my head and rushed toward the bathroom, but my stepfather caught my arm. "Why are your clothes dirty and torn? Does nobody wash them, or do you not have anything else to wear?"

My entire face burned as though someone had slapped me. "Don't talk about that!"

He looked confused. "Talk about what?"

"About... about my dirty clothes."

"Clothes get dirty and tear. That's normal. Has nobody ever taught you how to take care of them?"

I stayed silent, and the look in his eyes slowly changed.

The first time I ruined a new outfit playing in the mud, a neighbor told me boys were supposed to get messy. He said clothes could be washed and suggested Mom make me something good to eat.

I ran home excited, but before I could speak, a slap cracked across my face.

My father planted his hands on his hips and kicked me onto the floor, his booming voice drilling into my ears.

"Have you no shame? Running around all day like a filthy animal, making sure everyone knows you were born to cause trouble?

"If you love making messes so much, why bother going to school? Tomorrow I'll tell your teacher you're quitting and send you to carry bricks. Maybe some blind contractor will hire you!"

I clutched my aching stomach and slowly pushed myself up, trying to explain, but Dad cut me off immediately.

"Who do you expect to wash those pants? Who? You think your mother is your servant and the whole family exists to wait on you? You can't go one day without acting disgusting!"

I was ten years old. My punishment for dirtying my clothes was standing in the yard for an entire day.

"Dad, my pants are dirty. I'm covered in mud too..."

"Then stay dirty. Why are you telling me? Get to your room, you embarrassment!"

I had no clean clothes to change into. Every stain became another humiliating test.

When my clothes tore, I patched them myself, only to be mocked for looking poor. When they were dirty, girls at school covered their noses. Dad would sneer, "Why pretend? A beggar asking for new clothes is still a beggar. You're pathetic."

I learned later that my brother had gotten into a fight that day and bruised his face, threatening the commercial he was supposed to film the next morning. Dad had been furious and frightened, so he used me as his punching bag.

My stepfather was the first person who taught me to wash my own clothes. He told me boys played, ran, and got dirty, and that keeping myself clean was nothing to be ashamed of.

He helped me stand and looked straight into my eyes. "From now on, I'm your dad. Do you understand?"