Published: 4 Nov 2019
Walk a Mile in His Shoes
As we entered the house, after seeing Sally off, the boys went into the family room to watch their favorite Friday night sit-coms, so I went to my office to check my email. I was just reading one of my messages when Pat walked in and closed the door behind him.
“Why are you doing this?” he asked me, seeming more than just a little agitated.
“Doing what?” I countered, totally confused by his question.
“Taking their kind in,” he screeched back. “First, you bring home a couple of chinks and now you welcome a nigger. They don’t belong in our family.” I was completely shocked by Pat’s statement. I had never seen any indication that he was a bigot, well, maybe that first night he was with us when he called all of the boys ‘fags’. But that was based on a hurtful experience with one of his mother’s boyfriends. I had no idea what brought this on.
“Pat, why don’t you think they belong here with us?” I pressed, trying to clarify the problem.
“Are you kidding? They’re not white,” he informed me, quite forcefully, while looking at me like I was out of my mind. “They’re not like us and they don’t belong here.”
“Patrick, I don’t know what you’ve been told or what brought this on,” I countered, “but they’re just boys like the rest of you. They may be a different color and they may look a little different, but they’re still boys who need a home and plenty of love.”
“But they need to be with their own kind,” he replied.
“They are with their own kind,” I said defiantly. “They’re human and we’re human.”
“You know what I mean,” he spat back. You could almost see the venom in his words.
“I do, but I wish I didn’t,” I responded. “I thought you boys knew how I felt about things like this. I don’t turn boys down because they’re gay, I don’t turn boys down because they have a different religion than mine and I certainly don’t and WON’T turn down a boy because of his eye, hair or skin color.” He glared at me and I knew he wasn’t buying into what I was telling him. I stood up, put my arm over his shoulder, guided him over to the bed and forced him to sit down next to me.
“Patrick, do you remember the first day you came here?” He shook his head up and down, while he continued to glare at me.
“I didn’t ask you if you were Hispanic, Mediterranean or Native American, did I?” He shook his head from side to side, although his expression never softened.
“I didn’t ask you if you were Protestant, Catholic or Jewish either, did I?” Again, he shook his head from side to side, but I could tell he was becoming slightly exasperated.
“And I didn’t ask you if you’d been raped by an older man, did I?” Suddenly, a look of horror crossed his face.
“But that’s not the same. I… I… I couldn’t help that,” he stammered. “I didn’t want to do it with him. He made me.”
“And Sammy and Andrew can’t help that they’re part oriental and Dion can’t help it if he’s black,” I informed him, hoping he’d see the similarity in their situations. “They shouldn’t be penalized because of an accident of birth, any more than you should have been penalized for whom your mother chose as her friends. None of those things should play a part in any decision about helping someone else.”
“But some of the boys at school have been giving me grief, because they say I have chink brothers,” he explained, which suddenly gave me a different perspective on the situation.
“Then they have a problem, not us,” I stated. “Let me make something else perfectly clear to you. I will not accept derogatory comments about anybody else, nor will I tolerate any type of racial or ethical slurs being used in my house or in my presence. I don’t want to hear you refer to Sammy and Andrew as chinks, gooks, slant-eyes or any other such things, nor do I want to discover that you called Dion a mud-person, jungle bunny, nigger or anything else to put him down. Is that clear?”
“But they are…” Pat began to protest, but I cut him off.
“No, Sammy and Andrew are Japanese or oriental and Dion is black or Afro-American and that is the only acceptable way for you to refer to them and their heritage. NOW, do you understand?” This time he meekly nodded his head up and down, but his expression had barely changed.
“Good,” I announced. “Pat, I know there are people in this world that feel the same way you just indicated, but I hope by now they are in the minority of the population. Whatever they might say or do is usually a reflection of their upbringing. I often find that people who feel that way are either responding to a lack of contact with other groups or a bad experience with a member of that group that they’ve blown out of proportion and then use to label the entire group. It could also have been caused by their being brainwashed by others or merely from a lack of education about such things. I sincerely hope you don’t fall into one of those groups.” He looked up at me, but there wasn’t really any indication that his position had changed, so I continued.
“Over time, I have learned you can find good and bad in any group you look at, whether it be a race of people, a religious group or an entire nationality. You can’t label the whole group, because of a few bad apples. What would you think if people labeled all white people as rapists, because of what your mother’s old boyfriend did to you?”
“That wouldn’t be fair. He was only one person,” Pat snapped back.
“Exactly, and you can’t label whole groups as bad or want to stay away from them because of what a few of their group have done or because of what others say about them,” I informed him. “You are nearly a man now, and you need to learn to think for yourself and not let your friends make up your mind for you. They are reacting only to how the boys look, but I’m asking you to base your judgment on the individual. Get to know them first, so you’ll be able to judge them for whom they truly are. You seem to like Sammy and Andrew well enough when you’re home and it’s only in public when I see you acting differently. You do like those boys, don’t you?”
“Yes, they’re nice enough and I don’t mind playing with them when we’re here. It’s just…” but I interrupted him again. I knew what he was going to say next and I didn’t want to give him the chance to spit it out.
“Would you promise me that you’ll give them a chance, spend time with them and learn who they are on the inside and then judge them on their own merits?”
“I’ll try, but it will be hard,” he acknowledged. “What I am going to say to those other guys when they find out I also have a nig… a black for a brother?”
“You can tell them what I told you,” I suggested. “You could also tell them that they are your brothers and you don’t want anyone speaking that way about them, or you can just stop hanging around people who are so narrow-minded. If you make that choice, I would still hope you would let them know why you no longer wish to be their friend.”
“Okay, I’ll do this for you,” he offered, “but I want you to know I’m only doing this because all of the other boys say you are usually right about most things. It’s not going to be easy, but I’ll try to do what you ask.”
“Just do me one favor though, will you?” I asked him.
“What’s that?” he quickly countered.
“Just promise me that you’ll do this for yourself, and not for me.” He looked at me slightly puzzled, so I explained.
“I want you to do it because you now think it’s the right thing to do, not just because you’re trying to humor me,” I added. “If you do that much, I know you’ll make me as proud of you as you have in the past. Just keep an open mind. I think you’ll discover those three boys may look a little different from the rest of us, but down deep we’re all pretty much the same.”
“Okay, I’ll try,” he conceded. “I guess if you can give all of us a chance, then I can too.”
“That’s all I ask,” I explained. “Maybe it’s time for you to join the others, so you can see if you can get to know who Dion really is.” He nodded his head and left my room. I knew this was only the beginning in our fight against bigotry, but I hoped, from the very core of my being, that the rest of these types of battles would take place away from our home and not include my sons.
I stayed in my room and didn’t get to the family room for nearly an hour, as I was kept going over the discussion with Pat in my mind. Since he gave in so quickly and was willing to do as I asked, I suspected these views hadn’t been instilled in him since childhood. Yes, he could have heard comments like that while he was growing up, but since he lived with so many different people, I have a feeling this is more about peer pressure. I think at least one of the groups he’s been hanging around with might be racially paranoid and had made comments to Pat about the situation. Since most teens tend to prefer to listen to their peer group about such things, rather than to adults, I suspect he had succumbed to their pressure. That doesn’t take him off the hook for what he said by any means, but it does tend to make it clearer why he reacted the way he did.
This caused me to wonder if some of the others might be inclined to think along those same lines or if people they knew at school might start making comments to them about our newest additions. I now thought about each of my sons and attempted to see if I had a gut feeling about how they might react to such things and considered what I’d do if more of these types of issues arose in the future. After I had reflected upon all of the possible scenarios and considered how to best respond to each of them, I went out to join the boys. When I walked into the family room, I noticed Dion wasn’t there and immediately began to wonder why.
“Where’s Dion?” I asked calmly, yet still somewhat forcefully.
“Oh, he and Trey went up to work on the computer,” Kevin informed me. “Trey was going to teach him some things on it.” My body relaxed slightly.
“Oh, the two of them hit it off?” I asked, wanting to learn more.
“Yeah, big time,” Dustin added. “We were talking and they found out that they like a lot of the same things. They both like to read and they’ve both even read many of the same books. Besides that, neither one of them care for sports, they’re both shy and kind of loners at times and they’re only about a year apart in age. Not only that, but Dion wants to learn more about the computer and Trey was willing to teach him.”
“Well, that’s sounds like a good start,” I responded. “I’m glad they’ve found someone they can share their interests with.”
“You should have seen them,” Ricky added. “They couldn’t shut up and just kept talking about books and stuff. We had to ask them to leave the room, just so we could hear our show.”
I could just picture Ricky doing that in his whiny, little child voice that he liked to use to make his point. They probably felt they had to leave or suffer the consequences. I decided to go upstairs and see what they were up to. As I walked up to the door of the little office, I could hear Trey explaining to Dion how to navigate the Internet. I peeked through the door and they were sitting close together and Dion was listening intently to every word Trey was saying.
“Well, it looks like you two are hitting it off,” I stated, as I walked in the door.
“Yeah, Trey was teaching me about the computer,” Dion offered, enthusiastically.
“Well, that’s very nice of you, Trey. I hear you two have a lot in common,” I added, to see what else they might tell me.
“We do, Pop. We’ve even read most of the same books. It’s really great,” Trey confessed. “Now, I have someone to talk to about some of the other things I enjoy the most and stuff most of the other guys aren’t interested in.”
“That’s fantastic,” I assured him. “I guess I’ll leave you two alone, so you can get back to whatever you were doing.”
“You don’t have to,” Dion chirped. “You can join us, if you want.” I thought that was very sweet of him.
“Thanks for the offer, but you don’t look like you need my help,” I replied, gracefully backing out of his offer. “I’ll see you both later.”
“Pop,” Trey added, “would you mind if Dion and I showered together tonight?”
“I don’t mind, but what does Dion think about that idea?” I responded, wondering whose idea this really was and if it had been discussed before I arrived.
“I don’t mind,” Dion confirmed. “I’ve showered a few times with the other guys at school and I think it would be neat to try it here. I’ve never had anyone I could do that with before.”
“Well, have fun then,” I answered, implying my consent, “but remember that no one does anything unless the other person agrees.”
“I know, Pop,” Trey responded. “I already told Dion that, too, when I asked him if he wanted to shower together.” That answered my earlier question, about whether or not they’d discussed that particular issue before I arrived on the scene.
“Good. I just wanted to make sure both of you understood that. I’ll see you after you’re done,” I informed them, as I went back downstairs. I heard the two of them scurry down the hallway behind me, hurrying toward the old master bathroom. I could also hear someone in the other upstairs bathroom and assumed shower time had officially begun.
I went back into the family room and rejoined the others, and no sooner had I sat down in my chair, when Andrew came over and crawled onto my lap.
“What’s up, kid?” I asked him, wondering what had precipitated his action.
“I just wanted to sit with you for a while. Okay?” he asked me.
“Sure it’s okay, little man,” I told him. That’s all he needed to hear and he immediately rested the side of his head against my chest and draped his legs over my lap. I put my arms around him and gave him a hug.
“This is nice,” I told him.
“Yeah, it is,” he answered. I think my littlest and youngest son is going to be a cuddler, but that certainly isn’t going to be a problem.
Andrew felt so small and vulnerable in my embrace and I could only think about the pain he had already been made to endure in his young life. I rested my cheek on the top of head and we sat like that through a couple of shows. I saw Ricky, Cole and Graham grinning at us on several different occasions, as they noted how close Andrew was getting to me. After the second program ended, they asked Andrew if he wanted to join them for a shower. He looked up at me, as if he were silently asking for my permission, and I smacked him on his tiny bottom and told him to go ahead. He smiled up at me, gave me a kiss on the cheek, and then jumped off of my lap. He waved back at me, as he headed through the doorway.
The Castaway Hotel series of stories have almost become a classic in Gay Fiction. The Castle is proud to be able to host this story. Please send Bill W your thanks and if this is the first time you are reading, let him know. Bill W at CastleRoland dot net.
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