Chapter 13 - My Father Knew Exactly What the Camera Was For
Frank denied knowing the full plan until Derek admitted otherwise in therapy.
Then Dad requested to see me.
I agreed once.
Public park.
No Lucas.
Frank looked older.
“I didn’t know about the work messages.”
“You knew Derek wanted me on camera angry.”
“Yes.”
“Why did you help?”
He stared toward the trees.
“Because he was scared.”
“So you helped him scare my son.”
His face tightened.
“I didn’t think Derek would actually burn all of them.”
“But some would’ve been fine?”
Silence.
I let it sit.
Finally:
“My father did worse.”
There it was.
Frank’s father had been a violent man.
Punishments.
Belts.
Public humiliation.
At eight, Frank cried after a dog died.
His father burned the dog’s blanket and called grief feminine.
Frank joined the Army at seventeen.
Built a whole identity around never being helpless again.
Then handed the method down like family property.
He said:
“I thought pain prepared boys for the world.”
“Did it prepare you?”
He looked at me.
“I survived.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
He could not answer.
I continued.
“You keep presenting survival as proof the method worked.”
His eyes filled.
“What if you survived in spite of it?”
That landed somewhere deep.
Frank looked away.
“I failed Lucas.”
“Yes.”
“I failed you.”
I took longer with that one.
“Yes.”
He nodded.
No argument.
Then:
“Can I apologize to him?”
“Not yet.”
Frank flinched.
“He’s my grandson.”
“That doesn’t mean he owes you access.”
The old Frank would have erupted.
This one simply looked hurt.
Maybe consequence was finally doing what punishment never had.
“When?”
“When Lucas wants.”
“What if he never does?”
“Then that’s part of what you did.”
Dad cried quietly.
I had seen him cry twice in my life.
At his mother’s funeral.
And now.
I did not hug him.
That felt cruel for about three seconds.
Then I remembered that allowing someone to experience an emotion without rescuing them from it was not cruelty.
It was adulthood.
Before leaving, Frank said:
“I’m starting counseling.”
I looked at him.
“For Lucas?”
“No.”
He swallowed.
May you like
“For me.”
That was the first thing he said all afternoon that sounded like change rather than negotiation.
