“Children, your father’s home!” Winifred called from the living room where she’d gone to greet him, sending her children into a mad scramble to retrieve the gifts they’d made for their father. Rebecca managed to shove past her brothers and came galloping into the living room at top speed, skidding to a halt in front of her father.
“Well, hello there sweetie!” George said cheerily, smiling down at his daughter. “I was miffed about having to work on Father’s Day, but not anymore now that your lovely face is the first thing I get to see when I come home!” Rebecca beamed and wordlessly offered him the wrapped package in her arms. George took it with a smile and unwrapped it carefully. Out fell a hand knitted scarf in alternating stripes of dark and light blue.
“This is wonderful Rebecca,” George said, his tone warm. “Is this what you’ve been working on for the past few months?” Rebecca nodded enthusiastically.
“I thought you could wear it when gets chilly down at the docks,” she said in a rush. “The colors were Mom’s idea- she said the blue would bring out your eyes.”
“Your mother is a very smart lady,” George said, flashing a smile in Winifred’s direction. “Thank you Rebecca.” Rebecca smiled brightly and scampered off, and Bucky took her place. He didn’t so much as glance at his father, just shoved a card in his direction, his gaze fixed on his feet as if embarrassed. In was silent in the living room as George read the card.
“That was excellently written, James,” he finally said. He sounded choked up, as if he were trying not to cry. Winifred watched him, her expression concerned. His tone turning critical, he added, “I hope you’re planning on going to school for this. Be a shame to let all that talent go to waste.” Bucky mumbled something about how Steve had been pestering him to do so and shuffled off. Winifred glared at her husband, but didn’t get a chance to say anything before her two youngest children, Joey and Cecil, came racing into the room to occupy the space only recently vacated by their older brother. Like Bucky, they handed their father cards, but did so with considerably more enthusiasm than he had, practically vibrating with excitement as they waited for him to read them.
“These are very thoughtful,” George said. “Thank you boys. “ He leaned down to give each of them a hug in turn. It was when he was straightening back up that he noticed Steve hovering in the doorway. He’d been like that since he started living with them- alway on the edges, in the periphery, like a ghost.
“Steve, what are you doing over there?” George asked. “C’mon in here.” Steve stubbornly remained where he was. In that moment, George could see so much of his father Joseph in him, in the tension in his shoulders, in the obstinate set of his jaw, in the defiant gleam in his eyes.
“I made something,” he said, “but I don’t know if I have any right to give it to you, seeing as I’m not really your son.”
“Oh Steve,” George said empathetically. “Come here.” This time, Steve did as he was told. Crouching down, George wrapped him in his arms, holding him in a tight embrace.
“You listen here, Steve,” he murmured in his ear. “I am and always will be your father. The fact that we’re not blood related does not make you any of a less of a son to me. You will always have a place in my family and in my heart. I promise.” As he released him, he added silently, I promised Joe I’d take care of you.