Daddy Business

Chapter 10: Daddy and Child

Chapter 10: Daddy and Child

A classroom of thirty-two students peered at me as I stood at the head of them. Ages ranged from eighteen to sixty-eight. Each had a notebook in front of them, their cellphones (the chosen textbook for the American Literature class could be found on the college’s website for a small fee), and a writing instrument. Three windows overlooking Oliver Street were positioned to my right. A dry erase board sat on the wall behind me. The desk I used looked like faux mahogany.

I wrote on the dry erase board: Dorothy Parker. August 22, 1893. Long Branch, New Jersey. American poet. The Garter. Cousin Larry. The Custard Heart. Big Blonde. Horsie. From the Diary of a New York Lady. Men I’m Not Married To. Arrangement in Black and White.

I spun around and told my students, “Welcome to our cocktail party. Dorothy Parker, the famed, witty, and free-tongued poet, will be joining us for the next two weeks. Prepare to laugh and cry. Parker liked to write about death, her lost lovers, and enjoyed drinking. She also…”

A child sat in my classroom. I saw him for the first time approximately four minutes into my seventy-five-minute lecture. He had blond hair and blue eyes. Couldn’t be more than six years old. The child had a coloring book on the desk in front of him with a box of crayons from a dollar store. He colored away, ignoring my Dorothy Parker rant. His feet didn’t reach the floor, and he kicked them to and fro in his childlike way.

The boy’s father had beautiful lips and brown scruff on his chin and cheeks. Matthew Hildebrand. Twenty-three years old. Adorable. Sweet to look at. Pearl-white teeth. Trip-over gray eyes. Cocoa-colored hair. Tall at six-two. Daddy wore a tight T-shirt the color of mustard. The cotton clung to his firm pecs and wide shoulders. An eye-catching and head-turning man, but so young. Sexy for all the wrong desires that another man could have for him, of course.

I had a knapsack and a pack of cheese and crackers inside. The knapsack leaned against one of the desk’s legs. I retrieved the pack while blabbering about Parker’s “sweet” poems. Then I walked up to the little boy, made eye contact with his daddy, which basically asked if I could give the pack of crackers to his son. Daddy nodded, so I passed the crackers to my newest, coloring student and walked back to the front of the class.

Of course, Daddy opened the pack of crackers for his child. And there, tucked in his oversized seat, barely capable of seeing over the desk, the boy chewed away at a cracker, blinked a number of times, and continued coloring.

* * * *

Following my lecture, and after all of the students exited my class, Daddy moved up to my desk. “Professor Avery, I’m sorry for bringing Aiden today.”

“Don’t apologize for being a good father. Aiden was a delight today. I enjoyed having him here.”

“It won’t happen again,” he said, looking petrified and embarrassed.

“Not to worry if it does. As I said, you’re a good father for taking care of him.”

We shook hands, and off he went with his kid. A smile formed on my face for some unknown reason at the sight of their two different figures: one small and one large, holding hands.