want?â
âHe heard how sick your mama is. He wants to see her.â
âWhy? He think he gonna get something out of her?â
My grandpa didnât answer. I was still hurt, and now I was getting angry.
âThat man werenât no father to me,â I said.
âWell, thatâs true,â my grandpa said.
âWhat do you mean?â
âHe and your mother, they was never married.â
Jesus. I canât even begin to tell you how bad that felt. My parents had never married. I was crushed.
âI donât believe you,â I said.
âGo ask your mother,â he said.
I was angry-hot inside, but I didnât want to show it. I couldnât ask my mother, the condition she was in. And if it was true, youâd think the old bastard would have found a nicer way to tell me.
Â
My father came over later that day, and he spent a few minutes outside, talking to my mama. I watched them from the kitchen window. When he came inside, he smiled at me like he was happy to see me or something.
âHow you doinâ, son?â he said.
I felt like punching him. âHow you think?â I said. I didnât even try to hide my anger.
âWhy donât you walk me to the bus stop?â he said. âWeâll talk.â
I nodded. Sure. Fine. Suddenly I wanted to go. Suddenly we had something to talk about.
We left the house and made our way down to 103rd Street, and before weâd gone a hundred yards I cut in front of him and made him stop. âI got to ask you something,â I said, âand I want you to give it to me straight. Are you married to my mother or not?â
He tilted his head to the side, like he was carrying some terrible burden. âDid she say that?â he asked.
âNever mind what she said,â I snapped. âIâm asking you.â
âAsk your mother,â he said.
âWhat the fuck you tellinâ me to ask my mother for? Sheâs so weak she can hardly talk. Iâm asking you. â
He saw the bus in the distance, approaching, and kept walking. I fell into step beside him, shaking with anger. âYou gonna tell me or what?â
âSon, thatâs not important.â
âThe fuck it isnât! Itâs important to me. â
He turned and grabbed my arm and I pulled away from him. I had to stop myself from hitting him, and it wasnât easy.
âListen to me,â he said, âno matter what you hear tell, Iâm still your father, and my blood runs through your veins.â
âGet the hell out of here,â I said.
He looked at me hard, like Iâd hurt his feelings, then turned and hurried off to meet the bus. I watched him go. I saw my father for the punk he wasâa no-good coward. But it didnât make me feel any better.
Â
I went back home and my grandfather looked up as I came in.
âWhatâd he say, son?â he asked.
âNothing,â I said.
âNothing?â
âI just walked him to his bus.â
I went outside to see how my mama was doing. She looked up at me and smiled a sad smile.
âHow you doinâ, Mama?â
She lay there on her chair, studying me for a while. She must have seen something on my face.
âYou know, Beanie, as you go through life, youâre going to meet all sorts of people. And many of those people, most of those people, sometimes your own blood even, they donât have your best interests at heart.â
âI know that, Mama.â
âIf you learn to listen, if you really hear whatâs being said, good and bad, youâll see that most times itâs got nothing to do with you. At the end of the day, son, the loudest, clearest voiceneeds to be the one inside your own self.â
Thatâs what my mama had been trying to teach me my whole life. To listen to that voice above all others.
âI love you, Mama,â I said.
âI love you too, Beanie.â
She closed her eyes and I