“Gordon Raises the Kid”

By

Jamie Huston

      Gordon had recently mapped out a schedule of their favorite activities, “their” being him and his son Taylor Joe. There was time each week set aside for chores, doing Mad Libs, reading classics, listening to Mozart, playing Frisbee, coloring in homemade timelines of world history, wrestling on the big bed, acting out Shakespeare, “family yoga time,” and making up stories about dragons in outer space.

      T.J. loved it all, even the chores, unless he was tired. But there was one that he loved more than any other, than all the others put together. That’s why Gordon always saved it for last. And now T.J was curled up in Gordon’s lap as he sank into the overstuffed vinyl and duct tape-decor “patriarch chair” he’d bought at Goodwill. He opened the big orange cover slowly, and when T.J. sucked in an excited breath, he slowly closed it, smiled, jerked it open, and shut it again.

      “Dad!” he wailed, then exploded into giggles.

      Soundlessly, he adopted a solemn look and made a great show of opening to the first page of Dr. Seuss’s Horton Hatches the Egg. His flirtation with community theater in college certainly came in handy here. T.J. leaned in to look at the picture of the confused bird as Gordon began his performance.

      Sighed Mayzie, a lazy bird hatching an egg:

            “I’m tired and I’m bored

      And I’ve kinks in my leg

            From sitting, just sitting here day after day.

            It’s work! How I hate it!

            I’d much rather play!”

      “Boo!” T.J. yelled. This “spontaneous” outburst was a ritual. T.J. screwed up his face into a pre-school parody of righteous indignation. Gordon beamed at the reaction, but his smiled faded a bit when his son got up and ran down the hall, announcing how badly he had to pee. Gordon preferred more of a committed reverence during activities.

      Since he had a minute to kill, he left the book and opened the fridge, taking a big swig of milk straight from the carton—one of the few guilty pleasures he allowed himself. Closing the fridge he followed another ritual, scanning the two articles he’d put on the door. 

      The first was a summary of a network news report about an elephant preserve in Africa where a herd of fatherless young males had been attacking other animals. The leaders of the elephant “gangs” were identified and shot, but a permanent solution came only when the rangers imported several adult male elephants to live with the herd. After that, the violence stopped. That article was decorated with a sprinkling of smiley faces and exclamation points. 

      The other article was even older, so much so that the paper was already growing brittle. It had run in the local paper when T.J. had been six months old. Gordon remembered. It declared his state to lead the nation in households run by a single father, according to the last national census. 

      That clipping was several pages long but had only two sentences underlined: “There are situations in which the mom may not be capable or willing. Or might even be absent.” Not only underlined, but highlighted and worn as newsprint gets when rubbed often enough.

      The articles were held to the fridge by magnets reading “Family First” and “World’s Best Father.”

      “Dad!” T.J. was back from the bathroom, waiting for the story to resume. 

      “All right,” Gordon said calmly, and continued the story. Just as Mayzie was wallowing in self-pity, an elephant named Horton walked by. Mayzie begged him to watch her egg for a short while. Horton stammered, knowing how weird the arrangement would be, but gave in to her pleadings and committed to stay with the egg.

      The next page cut to a picture of Mayzie living it up on the beach, resolving never to go back to the responsibilities of the nest.

      The first time Gordon had read him the story, he’d stopped at this point, then flipped back to the front to check the book’s copyright date. 1980? 1990? Gordon guessed. When he saw the year he blinked to be sure he’d read it right. 1940? Wow, this guy was way ahead of his time.

      Turning the page again revealed an elephant now assailed by snow and ice but solidly planted on the nest.

      “He’s the good guy, right Daddy?” T.J. was always most interested in identifying the good guys and bad guys in stories. It made watching sports with him aggravating. 

      “He’s definitely trying his hardest to do what he thinks is best, buddy. And these days, I guess that does make him the good guy.”

      After a further parade of adversity for the poor beleaguered elephant, the inevitable confrontation came: Mayzie ran into Horton and the egg at the circus. Then it started to hatch and Mayzie had an instant change of heart.

      Just as Horton was backing off “with a sad, heavy heart” (probably another politically correct victory courtesy of Family Court, Gordon thought), the doorbell rang. Gordon had forgotten that noise was coming, but T.J. instantly ran to the door, throwing it open and bouncing up and down. “Yay!” Still, that eternally perfect enthusiasm that made Gordon love him even more. “Mommy’s here! It’s fun time!”

      “Hi, sweetie bug!” she cooed from the doorway, bending down and hugging T.J. “Go get your bag from your room and I’ll take you out to McDonald’s!”

      The promise was met with a cheer that hardly faded as the ran to his room, though Gordon soon heard him shout, “No more vegetables!”

      He had stood from his chair when the door had opened, setting the book on the arm spine up to save their place, but it had fallen to the floor. There was a silence and a stillness that he broke with the first thing he thought of to say: “You’re a little early.” 

      He thought he’d said it breezily enough but it elicited the same degree of change that the doorbell had brought to T.J. The tender matron was gone and an icy glare focused on him. “My new visitation order says five o’clock and my watch says it’s five o’clock so I’m here to pick him up and take him home.” He hated that last word, an argument in itself, but he let it slide. T.J. was coming back. 

      As he ran out the door, the matron returned long enough to remind him to say goodbye to Daddy. He walked back and gave Gordon a quick hug, but he held T.J. long enough to give a couple last-minute lectures, “O.K., Tiger, you keep working on your reading and try not to play too many video games. And take your vitamins!” 

      “Excuse me,” the mother said, and Gordon loosened his grip enough that his son squirmed out and bolted to his mother’s car. Then the door was closed, it was quiet, and he was alone.

      He stayed kneeling on the floor for a full five minutes, then did the only thing he could think of to do. He never could plan for this transition. He sat back down in his patriarch chair and found the page they’d been on in Horton Hatches the Egg. 

      The egg opened and out came a little bird with the ears, tail, and trunk of an elephant. 

      And it should be, it should be,

      It SHOULD be like that!

      Because Horton was faithful! 

      He sat and he sat!

      And because he was alone now Gordon held the book as gingerly as he’d held his son when he’d been a baby. Please oh please god let it happen. 

      He sat still and couldn’t tell if he was thinking anymore. Later he noticed that the apartment had grown dark. He stood tall and went to find something productive to do.