Daddy's Baby

by Landis Lain

  “You don’t understand,” said Damon.

  “Yeah, I do,” said Mr. Tally. “I was a lot younger once.”

  “I’ll bet you weren’t this stupid when you were sixteen or seventeen.”

  “You’d lose that bet, Damon,” said Mr. Tally.

  “Yeah but,-”

  “What, you thought I came into the world with a degree and a three piece suit?”

  “No sir, but,-,”

  “Let me tell you a story, Mr. Hamilton,” said Mr. Tally. “When I was sixteen, I met what I thought was the love of my life. I loved that girl so much. Make a long story short she got pregnant.”

  “Did you marry her?”

  “I wanted to,” said Mr. Tally. “She said no. We were too young. After a while, I realized that she was right, but that came later. First, we had to tell our parents and go through the fire. Her father wanted to kill me. My parents wanted to kill me. She was a preacher’s kid and abortion was out of the question.”

  “So, what happened?”

  “Well, she had the baby,” said Mr. Tally. “I grew up overnight. I worked at McDonald’s and bought diapers and finished high school. Karen decided that she didn’t want to keep dating after she got pregnant. It was like she hated me, like it was all my fault. We didn’t get to go to prom or football games, stuff like that. She had the baby and I had to work. My parents would not let me quit school, so both of us went away to different colleges the next year. She took my daughter with her.”

  “Then what happened?” asked Damon.

  “I visited every weekend, until she let me know that I wasn’t welcome, because she’d met somebody else. He was in the service. She got married when we were nineteen and moved away and I only saw my daughter on the holidays for a few years. Finally, I got finished with school and moved here to be closer to my daughter. I went to court and got joint custody and she stayed with me three nights a week and at her mother’s four nights a week. Now, she’s twenty-two and finishing up college this year.”

  “That makes sense,” said Damon.

  “Yeah, but if I had given up my dream of education, I’d still be flipping burgers at McDonald’s, trying to pay back child support. I might never have gotten to know my daughter. The way we raised her wasn’t the ideal, but my daughter accepted it because she didn’t know anything different. It was hard but we made it through.”

  “You’re telling me I shouldn’t quit school,” said Damon looking stubborn. “But then how would I take care of my baby?”

  “No,” said Mr. Tally. “I’m telling you that you are seventeen and you’re not competent to make decisions about the rest of your life. You need to go home and talk to your parents about this and decide what you are going to do with the young lady and your baby, with them. This will not go away, even if you don’t go to college. I’m telling you that there two ways you can go in this life. The easy way, where you give up because everything is not going your way, or the right way. You got to decide which way you want to go there even if the right way is the hard way to go.”

  “My parents are going to flip straight out,” said Damon. “They can’t really afford another mouth to feed.”

  “They might surprise you,” said Mr. Tally. “But you have to give them the chance to help you.”

  “Okay.”

  “If you think it would make it easier or they are going to get violent or something, we can have the meeting in my office,” said Mr. Tally.

  “Naw,” said Damon, shaking his head. “I have to do it at home. It’s just so unfair that my whole life is about to get wrecked.”

  “Damon, let me ask you a question,” said Mr. Tally.

  “Sir?” said Damon, meeting his eyes.

  “What if this was your sister and some boy was trying to walk away from her?”

  Damon felt rage sweep over him and had the grace to look ashamed.

  “I’d want to kill him,” said Damon.

  “This girl is somebody’s sister or daughter, right?”

  “Yes, sir,” he said, feeling his shirt collar tighten and his dreams wither. Stuck. “I understand.”

  Sasha

  Sasha sat waiting with her cell phone. Her mother hadn’t spoken more than a few words to her since she had come home. They lived in a precarious cease fire that neither one of them wanted to break. Sasha was still a bit queasy, but feeling better, stronger, since she was home and had let Damon know about the baby. Now, she just had to wait.

  Damon

  “Dad,” said Damon, stepping into his father’s office. He figured he should just get it over with. The talk with Mr. Tally had given him a little courage to face the fire. That didn’t mean he wasn’t terrified, though. He stopped and took a deep breath.

  He’d waited until his mother left to take Jada to a debutante meeting. It was ten days since he’d found out that he was going to be a father and a week until Christmas. He’d not said anything to Brielle, just told her that he was distracted by his applications, finals and work. He told her that he was anxious about getting into college and she’d believed him.

  “It’ll be okay,” Brielle had said. “You are brilliant, you’ll get into anyplace you apply to and probably get some money, too.”

  Damon had never felt worse about a lie in his life. He’d had two asthma attacks since, which had his mother looking at him all concerned, so he’d stayed in his room even more than usual, to avoid the confrontation that he knew that he’d have to face sooner rather than later, since Sasha was threatening to come over and tell his parents if he didn’t. He figured if his father wanted to beat him to death, he could do it and get it over with. Then he wouldn’t have to face his mother.

  He cleared his throat.

  “Dad?” his voice came out tentative and choked. Damon’s father looked up from his desk.

  “Yes, Damon,” said Mr. Hamilton. He took his glasses off and cleaned them with a chamois cloth. He put his glasses back on. “I’m kind of busy. I’ve got to get these reports done by Friday. What do you need, son?”

  Damon bit his lip and said nothing. He couldn’t get the words past his tight throat. His father was his hero and Damon was crushed to have to disappoint him. None of his older brothers had made this monumental of a mistake and Damon felt like he was dying inside. But he had to step up. He squared his shoulders.

  Mr. Hamilton gave his son his full attention.

  “What is it?”

  “Dad,” he repeated and his voiced cracked. He dropped his eyes to the floor and mumbled.

  “What did you say, boy?” his father asked sharply. He had Damon pinned to the wall with one big hand in a move so fast Damon didn’t have time to blink. His father had never called him boy before. Mr. Hamilton always said that boy lived in the jungle with Tarzan and not in the house with black men. Boy was a slave master’s epithet used to belittle black men. Damon could feel dread spiral up his spine. This was going to be more difficult than he’d ever thought possible.

  Damon tried to take a deep breath.

  “I said,” said Damon. “Dad, you’re choking me.” His father loosened his hold.

  “That you got that little girl pregnant,” said his father, slumping in his chair. “I thought that I taught you better than that. How could you be so careless, boy? That girl is too young. You’re too young. Do Brielle’s parents know?”

  “I don’t know if Brielle’s parents know,” said Damon, bewildered. “I haven’t told anybody but you. I didn’t tell Brielle, yet.”

  Now it was his father’s turn to look bewildered.

  “Doesn’t she know?” he asked.

  “No,” said Damon, still puzzled.

  “Then how do you know that Brielle is pregnant if she didn’t tell you?” asked Mr. Hamilton, throwing up his hands. “Give me some doggoned information, boy.”

  “It’s not Brielle,” Damon mumbled, still looking at the floor.

  “It’s not Brielle,” said Mr. Hamilton. He sat back in his chair and it creaked under the weigh
t shift. He breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s good; because I didn’t want Bronson to kill you and he sets a store by those girls-, wait a minute, if it’s not Brielle, then who? Look at me boy, when you talking to me.”

  Damon’s head snapped up. He’d just counted the third or fourth boy to come out of his father’s mouth in as many statements. His father was mad as fire. Damon could feel the sweat roll down his back underneath his sweatshirt. He didn’t know why he’d thought that his father would be easier to tell than his mother.

  “It’s Sasha,” said Damon.

  Damon’s father looked flabbergasted. He was silent for a full minute, blinking his eyes and not breathing. The old fashioned wall mounted grandfather clock ticked loudly.

  “I thought,” said his father, very quietly, “That I told you to leave that girl alone.”

  “I did, sir,” squeaked Damon, absolutely terrified that his father was about to pounce on him again. He’d only heard that tone of voice in his father’s once before and that was when his oldest brother Dexter came home from college and had told Mr. Hamilton to his face that he was a man and didn’t have to do what his parents said. He’d even pushed his father with his shoulder. Damon’s mother had started to cry and call on God to save her foolish son. Right before the punch to the chest, Mr. Hamilton’s voice had dropped to a Clint Eastwood, make my day punk, whisper.

  “No man lives at my house,” his father had said. “But me.” Dexter had hit the wall with a thud that reverberated throughout the entire house. Dexter had never lived at home again after that, and had never challenged his father openly again. No one else had ever challenged his father openly after that either.

  “If you left her alone how did this happen?” asked Mr. Hamilton, still in that dirty Harry cadence. “How do you know that you are the father?”

  “She told me that she is seven months pregnant,” said Damon, blinking back tears. “She said I’m the only one she was with.”

  “Why didn’t she tell you before?” asked his father, tilting his head to the side.

  “She said she got kicked out when she found out. She was living in a homeless shelter up by Grand Rapids,” said Damon, feeling his eyes well up in relief.

  “Her mother took her house key and her phone and kicked her out. She hitchhiked to her father’s house in Grand Rapids, but his new wife didn’t want her there, either. She just got back to Lansing this week, when her mother felt sorry for her and told her she could come back home.”

  Damon wiped the tear that escaped from his right eye. Silence stretched on for so long that Damon thought that he father must have turned to stone. Damon looked down at the tan carpet of his father’s office and listened to himself breathe.

  “Heaven Help us,” said Mr. Hamilton, on a sigh. Damon looked up and met his father’s eyes. “Don’t be sniveling now, Damon. It’s too late. We need to tell your mother right away.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Damon, tears rolling. He wiped his eyes again and took a shuddering breath, feeling somewhat relieved. His father was not going to kill him after all.

  Damon

  After his father, telling his mother was a piece of cake. Maybe because his father already knew and had pledged his support, Damon thought. They’d had a long talk while waiting for her to come home. His mother was seated, folding laundry when Damon dragged his courage out of the murky depths. Damon sat down next to her on the couch. His father hovered by the door, thinking to protect Damon if his wife went berserk.

  “Mom,” he said, without preamble. “Sasha is pregnant and she said it’s my baby.”

  His mother gave him a long look.

  “So,” she said, like he’d just told him that it was raining outside. ‘What are you two planning to do?”

  Damon was dumbfounded.

  “That’s all you’ve got to say?”

  His mother rolled her eyes at him and held up her right hand.

  “I’m not stupid,” she said.

  “What?”

  “You have been moping around here like you lost your last friend,” she said, ticking off reasons with her left hand. “You haven’t been arrested so I figured you’re not into drugs. You like Brielle too much to be gay. You young folks are not very creative. It was either you got some girl pregnant or you flunked all your classes and can’t graduate in June.”

  “Oh,” said Damon. His mother was scary sometimes.

  “I knew something was wrong. I saw Brielle yesterday and she was fine. So I’ve been waiting for you to drop a bomb on me.”

  He kept staring at his mother, not daring to breathe.

  “What, you expected me to start crying and acting crazy?” she asked. She rolled her eyes. “Breathe before you pass out.”

  “I don’t know,” said Damon, still wary. Usually his mother was very emotional.

  “I’d like to smack you in the nuts for being stupid. But it’s too late for that. So, I repeat,” she said. “What are you two going to do?”

  “I don’t know yet,” said Damon, wincing at the thought of being smacked in the nuts. His father still hovered in the doorway.

  “You knew about this?” she asked him, eyes narrowing.

  “Damon just told me about two hours ago,” said Mr. Hamilton, defensively. “I had to regroup before we told you.”

  “I thought your daddy told you to leave that girl alone,” said Mrs. Hamilton, eyeing Damon just as narrowly.

  “I did,” said Damon.

  Mrs. Hamilton snorted.

  “How far along is she?”

  “Seven months,” Damon said. His mother’s eyes bulged out.

  “Oh,” she said. “So this is from last school year, huh? And you’re just now telling us.” She looked like she was going make good on the left ball smash.

  “Yep, but I didn’t know,” said Damon, hastily. “She was living in a shelter up in Grand Rapids by her father. She just came back here and told me.”

  “So, you do know what you are going to do,” said Mrs. Hamilton, looking disgusted. “You are getting ready to have a baby. Have you talked to her parents?”

  “Her mom,” said Damon, nodding. “But she is really angry. She had kicked her out, but she let Sasha come back recently. She hit Sasha and I thought that she was going to hit me, too. She acted like she hated me.”

  “I’ll bet she was angry. And she probably does hate you. You got her teenaged daughter pregnant,” said Mrs. Hamilton. “She now has another mouth to feed.”

  “I’m going to take care of my own baby,” said Damon, fiercely.

  “Boy, please,” said his mother, with a derisive snort. “You make a hundred and twelve dollars a week. How much formula and diapers do you think that will buy? You still have to finish high school. You are going to college.”

  “I don’t know how I can do that and still take care of my baby,” said Damon, squaring his shoulders. “I was thinking I could quit school for a year and work at the laundry full time.” His father groaned from the doorway.

  “Boy,” said his mother, standing up. She dumped white socks all over the floor in her agitation. Unlike his father, she didn’t think Boy was in the jungle with Tarzan, and had no problem using slave master epithets. She poked him in the chest with one long finger. She spoke to him through clenched teeth.

  “You are not eighteen yet. You cannot take care of a baby without our help. You can barely wash your own behind. You are going to finish school and take advantage of all the help the school can give you to further your education. Now, I think that I am taking this whole situation pretty well. Don’t mess with me on this. I don’t want to have to kill you.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said. He felt some of his tension ease but he was still deeply ashamed.

  “Now,” said his mother, rubbing her forehead with her hand to stave off a headache. “You bring that girl over here so we can meet her properly. We will sit down and figure out how we are going to work this out. Lord, last semester you were trying to get stabbed and this one you’re going
to become a father. Could you try to save something for adulthood? When you’re on your own dime?” Damon leaned over to give his mother a hug.

  “Thank you, mama,” he said. She rolled her eyes at him and he left the room, after he hugged his father. His father returned the hug warmly.

  “I need a drink,” Mama said, as Damon walked down the hall to his room.

  Damon collapsed onto his bed in relief. He clapped his hand over his mouth to stifle hysterical laughter. His mother almost never drank.

  Abruptly, he lost the desire to laugh and felt tears forming. He could feel his mother’s hurt and disappointment in him. He could feel the oppression another mouth to feed was going to have on his father’s already overburdened shoulders. For a moment, Damon wanted to die. He ran through a litany of ways. He shuddered at the thought of cutting his wrists and he didn’t think he could hang himself. He didn’t have access to any guns. A knock at the door interrupted his macabre thoughts.

  “Damon,’ said his father, opening the door and peering in.

  “Yes, sir,” said Damon, sitting up.

  “Your mother and I are very upset about this,” he said.

  “I know,” said Damon, feeling even worse.

  “Well, don’t be killing yourself or anything stupid like that,” said his father. “We’ll be fine. It will take us some time but we’ll get past this.” Damon looked at him, surprised that this father had read his mind.

  “I’m sorry, dad,” said Damon, around the Africa sized knot in his throat.

  “Yes,” said his father. “I know. Everybody is entitled to make mistakes, Damon. You just gotta pay the bill when it comes due.”

  Damon blinked back the tears that had been standing in his eyes for an eternal minute. Like his dad had said, the time for sniveling was over. It was time for manhood.