Page 40 of Free to Believe
First. Now. Always.
23
Jake
“Give me a break, Dad. Aren’t we past the point where you think we need to have this conversation? I realize not all men are jerks. And I’m not ready to talk about the other. If we have to have this talk”—Jenna buries herself deeper into the couch—“can’t I have it with Dani?”
“Honey, it’s my responsibility as your parent to sit down with you to talk about these things.” I scrub a hand down my face because I’d rather talk to my daughter about boys, sex, and respecting herself as much as much as I want her to actually be having sex. In other words, not at all. But since Michelle decided that being a part of this family didn’t matter to her and I booted her ass out years ago, the job falls to me.
Yet another thing to hold against my ex-wife.
“Dad, you know they teach this at school. I mean, you’re a teacher!” Jenna exclaims, jumping up from the mounds of cushions she’d tried to bury herself under.
“I’m a music teacher, Jenna. Not a health teacher,” I say exasperatedly. “How am I supposed to know what they teach and don’t teach?”
“I don’t know!” she cries. “Don’t they talk about it in meetings at school?”
“I try to tune that part out,” I mutter, much to my daughter’s delight.
“This is seriously humiliating. Can’t I just go search the internet or something? Maybe watch a video on YouTube?” My face must show how absolutely horrifying that thought is because Jenna cracks up laughing. “Calm down, Dad. I’m not that crazy. Knowing me, I’d find some sex tape between Dani and Brendan and I’d be scarred for life.”
“Jen, stop. Please, I’m begging you.” She’s killing me, one word at a time. If I make it to my thirty-eighth birthday, it will be a miracle.
She giggles, the sound the purest music, lighting my soul even in the darkest corners. There are times when I might wonder, “What if?” about the music career I could have risked it all for. Especially when Dani comes to visit with Brendan. It brings up a whole host of doubt in my mind. Could I have been more than just a music teacher? Could I have had it all with Jenna at my side? Then I see the beautiful—if aggravating—young woman she’s become and I realize it’s no contest. No amount of awards on any mantel, no amount of money in the bank, could ever compete with the honor of being “Dad” or on the rare occasion these days, “Daddy.”
Narrowing my eyes on her, I realize there’s something different. It isn’t the missing rainbow hues to her hair. I noticed that right away. There’s a burden that’s lifted that wasn’t there a few days ago. Shit. Normally this means… “Jenna, did you meet someone?” I demand.
It must be an art they teach to all females in the womb, that perfect condescending eye roll. “Not in the way you think, Dad. But…” Her voice trails off.
Reaching behind me, I grab another throw pillow and toss it at her. “Come on. You know you can talk to me.” Until the last year, when she started hanging out with kids who spent more time in trouble than out of it, Jenna knew she could always come to me with whatever was on her mind.
“Lynne’s awesome, Dad. I don’t know how to explain her.” Jenna’s contemplative. Suddenly a different thought crosses my mind.
“Jen, are you and Lynne together?” My voice is completely neutral. I have plenty of acquaintances who are happily married to their longtime partners. It wasn’t an easy path, and if this is the road my daughter’s choosing to take…
I don’t have to worry long. Jenna’s eyes get comically wide. She sputters when she starts to talk before she falls back into the pillows laughing. When she lifts her head, there are tears of laughter streaming down her face. “No, but thank you for asking me versus lecturing me.” Her face looks sad for a minute. “A lot of my friends aren’t so fortunate.”
Seriously, I look at her. “Jenna, if that’s the path your life takes you on, you know I’ll always support you, right?”
Her face softens. “Yeah, I know. I’m really lucky like that.” Her face gets sad. “Unlike Lynne.”
Uh-oh. My parental alarm bells go clanging. “What’s wrong with Lynne, Jen?”
Curling her legs under her, she explains, “You’ve actually met her.”
“I have?” I honestly don’t remember.
Nodding, Jenna confirms, “At Sacred Grinds. We share hours.”
The light dawns. “The pretty dark-haired girl with the blue eyes.”
Jenna nods soberly. “See, Dad, that’s the thing. Her parents berate her for being a little overweight. All the time. She’s got such low self-esteem, she can’t see how pretty she is. I was hoping at first Dani might be able to talk to her, but that might be the wrong person. I just don’t know.” Jenna’s hurting and frustrated for all the right reasons.
The pride I have in my daughter at this moment wants to burst out of me. I know I was instrumental in how she sees people, but I didn’t do it alone. My parents and Dani’s had a huge part, especially in the early days after I threw Michelle out. I don’t know what I would have done if I couldn’t have called one of them up when she was running a high temperature or throwing up or having a temper tantrum. I remember texting all of them photos of outfits when we couldn’t settle disputes in a store shopping, and on my salary—well before things changed—they helped make sure Christmases and vacations were never wanting.
In between, I’ve been able to exercise my creative juices in the best way I know how—teaching kids to find that burning love of music. For me, the ability to teach—while having the time to keep playing—has been my refuge all these years. I’ve burned out hours of anger at my ex on a drum set. I’ve strummed away frustration on my guitar. I’ve sang when I’ve felt particularly joyous. And on rare occasions I’ve picked up the gleaming restored sax that stands proudly in the corner. But my sax is special, and it takes the right set of emotions to get me to pick it up these days.
Back in college, I wrote a paper about the rights of musicians and the protection of their work. I remember using a quote from Plato where he stated that music is moral law that gives soul to the universe. I remember being thunderstruck but finally feeling someone understood how I felt, even if he died about sixteen hundred years ago. And yet, that too is insane. That a man who sat and looked at the stars and dreamed could feel the same way then about something that I do today.
