Boy Story: The Road Taken - 46. Sunday, Sunday

Sunday, Sunday

My father wasn’t a bad guy. Most people who met him liked his encouraging way and sense of humor. However, he was also very conservative and set in his ways. He was ex-military, Navy to be exact, and led a regimented existence instilled in him during his years on a ship. Dad also had a very sharp mind. He always thought things through and seemed to be two steps ahead in every discussion he had with anybody. There was no one who understood the futility of entering into a debate with him more than me. In my family it was always “father knows best” because it was usually true.

Where my Dad’s approach to most things was very methodical, disciplined, and well thought out, my personal style was more shoot from the hip where you throw everything against the wall to see what sticks. Then proceed from there. These two methodologies are usually incompatible. When a debate ensued, I would eventually be forced to back down…except one time in particular.

We were in a hotel room changing into our tuxes for a wedding we were participating in.

Dad: What are you doing?

Me: What do mean…I’m getting dressed.

Dad: Why are you putting your shirt on when you don’t even have your pants on yet?

Me: I don’t know. I always put my shirt on first.

Dad: That makes no sense! You’re always supposed to put your pants on first. Everybody knows that! What if there’s a fire in the building? Are you going to run out in public wearing a shirt and no pants?

Me: Well, Dad, there’s no fire here. I’m just being efficient.

Dad: Efficient? I was in the Navy for eight years and they are the top of the food chain when it comes to efficiency. And in the Navy, you always put your pants on first. Everyone puts their pants on first… everyone except you.

Me: I guess I’m the only one being truly efficient then.

Dad: How in God’s name is your way more efficient?

Me: Look, when you get dressed, you put your pants on first. Then you put your shirt on. You undo your belt, button, and fly to tuck your shirt in. And finally re-button your pants, pull up the zipper, and buckle your belt.

Dad: Yes, that’s the way it’s done.

Me: OK, wait. With my way, the shirt goes on first and then the pants go on over the shirt. Everything is already tucked in. I just fasten my pants and off I go.

Dad: [blank look on face for a few seconds] Bah!

Me: So while you are standing there pulling your pants back down to tuck everything in and then re-fastening your pants and belt, I’ve got my shoes on and I’m out the door. I’ve got a stopwatch if you care to race me.

Dad: [long indignant sigh]

Me: [shit-eating grin]

My Dad was a man’s man, a veteran, a husband, a father, and one day soon a grandfather (courtesy of my brother). When it came to homosexuality, he was not all that aware. Why would he need to be? I think the only time I remember him saying something about gays was when he ran into town when they were having the gay pride parade. He came home angry because he had to go out of his way to avoid the parade. “God damn fruit parade’s tying up the street on the day that I have to get new tires. Can’t they take that foolishness somewhere else?”

Meanwhile, Dad was paying my tuition, room, and board and I wasn’t in a position to risk losing that. There was no way I could afford college on my own even with a good summer job like I had. So to get what I wanted, I had to at least appear to be the person that Dad wanted me to be.

Sunday morning began with us loading the pieces of the guest bed, which we had broken down the night before, into my father’s pickup truck. Once we had everything tied down, my father followed me in my car to the campus. We arrived at the dorm in just over 85 minutes and had to wait in line for a space out front. There were paid volunteer students out front directing traffic. I think one of them saw that we’d be in and out because we only had a bed, so he let us skip up in line. We unloaded the frame, headboard, and mattress onto the sidewalk and Dad parked the car while I stayed with the bed. We eventually made three quick trips to get everything outside the elevator and waited our turn. Eventually, we made it to the dorm room.

“It looks like Joe already has himself moved in,” my father commented when we first entered the room.

“Yes, it does look that way,” I replied being cagey.

“Alright, let’s tackle the frame first,” my dad said as we moved the frame into position. And then we began assembling the pieces with Dad's wrenches in hand. We temporarily kept the mattress and box spring out in the hall to give us more room to put the bed together. We left the door to the room open in case someone needed us to move the mattresses.

As I was tightening the bolts to the headboard and had my back to the door, there was a knock on the open door. I turned around and there he was.

“Hey! Need a hand…or two?” Parker said holding out his empty hands.

“Hey, Parker!” I got up and walked across the room to shake his hand. We made some brief small talk.

“Parker, this is my father, James Bancroft. Dad, Parker is one of my best friends on campus,” I explained.

“Hello, Parker. It’s great to meet you!” my father said getting up to shake Parker’s hand.

“Uh, likewise Mr. Bancroft,” Parker managed to spit out as he was shaking hands.

“Oh, you can just call me Jim,” my father corrected him.

“OK, Jim.”

My brain was going a mile a minute. I scanned my memory banks to make a connection here. “Dad, Parker was the friend I was living with over the summer while I was working at the country club.”

“Oh, you're that friend. I hope he wasn’t too much trouble and he paid his fair share,” my father commented.

“He was no trouble at all. Everything was fine. My mother was happy to have the extra set of hands around,” Parker replied.

“Matt said you had extra space due to a divorce,” my father stated.

“Yeah, my father left when I was like 12. He seemed to have a thing for one of the secretaries at his firm. Now they’re married.”

“And your mother has been able to move on successfully?”

“Yes, my mom has always had her own career as an RN at one of the big hospitals in town, so she makes a decent living. There's also a guy from work who she’s been seeing for a while. They’re both getting over a divorce, so they can commiserate,” Parker explained.

“Ah, kindred spirits. Well, life goes on. Divorce can be such a messy business. But as long as you are both doing OK, that’s what matters.”

“Um, yeah. Things are pretty good right now,” Parker assured him. “And that's why we have extra space.”

“Well, glad to hear. Keep a positive attitude I always say.”

“Yes sir.”

“Good lad.”

“Here, I’ll finish with these last bolts and you and Parker can bring in the mattresses,” my father said to me.

In just a couple of minutes we had the mattresses in place and the bed was almost ready for action. Parker and I then worked to get the bedding in place...all the while discretely trading glances and smiles. He was throwing everything into his part of playing my best friend to put me at ease while my father was there. When done setting up the bed, Parker enjoyed teasing me a bit by saying, “Gee Jim, I wish I had a bed as nice as this to sleep on.”

“Oh, this at one time was my mother's bed...uh, Matthew's grandmother, so it's almost like a family heirloom now. So where is your ever-popular roommate, Joe?” my father asked brushing the dust off his hands.

“Oh, I was with him earlier,” Parker began. “I think he’s busy helping some friends move in over in another building.”

“Well, that’s a shame,” he said with a sigh. “There’s this diner I like to take Matt to when I’m here in town.” I think my dad liked helping me move in just so he could visit that diner. He claimed it was the most authentic diner in the state and the food was surprisingly good. “In that case, Parker, would you care to join us for lunch? My treat,” my father offered.

Parker’s eyes locked onto mine to gauge how he should answer. I discretely shook my head “yes.”

“Oh, yeah, sure. That would be great!” Parker enthused.

“Well, let’s get out of here then. We’ll take my truck,” Dad declared. So we walked out to the truck and drove to the diner. We took our seats, placed our orders, and that’s when the fun began.

“So Parker, are you a football fan?” my father asked.

“Well, I watch here and there when it’s important,” Parker answered. “You know, like when the Patriots play and stuff.”

“What do you think about the team this year?” Dad asked.

“Well, I really like the tight ends. That’s my favorite part.”

“Oh yeah, you’ve got a good eye. The tight ends this year are probably the best they’ve had.”

“I’ll say! Although if I was a player, I would probably be a wide receiver.”

“You’re good with your hands, are you?”

“I dunno. Ask Matt.”

“Uh, sure. I see you don’t want to toot your own horn,” I tried.

“Oh, I do plenty of that too.”

“You know, Matt used to play some baseball,” my father mentioned.

“Yeah, he did mention that,” Parker replied.

“He used to be quite a pitcher.“

“He still is!” Parker confirmed.

“Yeah, it’s too bad he was injured toward the end,” my father bemoaned.

“I know…that happens sometimes. You just have to go easy and not push too hard,” Parker replied.

This is the way the whole lunch went. I was caught somewhere between confounded and laughing out loud. Everything was going right over my father’s head because he didn’t realize Parker wasn’t necessarily talking sports. He didn’t know that Parker mainly watched football because he enjoyed watching athletic men running around in skin-tight bottoms. (And this is American Football. We would refer to European Football as Soccer.)

I’d gotten used to watching football on TV with the occasional “Look at the butt on that one!” or “My god, he’s not wearing a cup. You can see his whole package!” Of course, maybe in mixed company, Parker wouldn’t shout out his perverse observations. But it certainly made for some interesting game day commentary when we watched together.

But the one thing that came out of this day was that my father really liked Parker. How could he not? But would Dad still like Parker if he knew the whole story? Then the scene from A Few Good Men popped into my head: “You want the truth? You can’t handle the truth!”

My father drove us back and dropped us off at our dorm. “Alright boys, this is where the real work begins.”

“Thanks for everything, Dad!”

“And thanks for lunch Mister…I mean, Jim!” Parker added.

“It was my pleasure on both counts boys. And it was a pleasure meeting you, Parker!”

“Yes sir. Same here!” Parker replied.

“Alright then. Matt, I’ll expect to see you at Thanksgiving if not before. Call your mother once in a while to let us know you’re alive.”

“OK, Dad. See you later!”

“Bye.”

As we walked back into the dorm, Parker said, “Man, your Dad’s a real trip.”

“You know what…I don’t even want to get into it,” I replied. “Somehow everything worked out and I’m not going to tempt fate.”

“But I like your dad. He’s cool,” Parker declared.

“You like him and he likes you and I love you and you love me and somehow it all worked out,” I asserted.

“See, Matt, you worry too much.”

“Maybe I do,” I confessed as we arrived at our room.

He slipped off his shoes. “C’mon let’s try out our new bed!”

So I slipped off my shoes and lay down beside him.

“Yeah, this is much better than sleeping on that small bed. Good choice,” he acknowledged. “Actually, two good choices,” he added.

“Two? The bed…and…” I knew there was a riddle in there somewhere I was trying to decipher. “The bed and…you!”

“Ding, ding, ding, we have a winner!” Parker called out.

“Yes, we do,” I replied.

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