Page 20 of Snuggle Bug

"My home life wasn’t as good as I let on. My father had panic disorder, and so many mornings, he’d stomp and scream as he got ready for work. At times, he was so loud that he woke me up by banging on the wall to the left of my bedroom, and my door would rattle on the hinges. Those days, I’d pull my blanket up to my chin, stay as still as possible, and try to pretend like everything was okay. I’d dream of another life, one where my father got therapy and counseling, and perhaps even medication. He always resisted seeing a therapist, and for the longest time, I said that I understood his decision, yet deep down, I wish he’d been given anti-anxiety medication. His stomping scared me so much as a boy. Sometimes, I’d be in the bathroom brushing my teeth, and he’d randomly pound on the door and scream as he smacked it, and it’d jolt me out of the present so much that I’d wet myself."

"Oh no, sweet boy. I had no idea you went through that. That breaks my heart."

"I’d make lemonade in my pants, and I’d burst into tears as I waited for him to leave. I had to pull my school shorts off in the tub, rinse off with a washcloth so he wouldn’t hear, and then poke my head out when the house grew quiet so I could tiptoe to my bedroom. When he left for work, I’d quickly change into new clothes, but I always was paranoid in classes that I didn’t wash thoroughly. That didn’t happen every morning, luckily. But it occurred so often that it’s how I began thinking of my childhood."

I rub Calloway’s neck. "You never told me. If you had, I would’ve taken you to speak to someone. A professional who helps boys process these things."

"No, Daddy." Calloway bursts into tears. They roll down my chin, trickling past my neck before pooling on my chest. "I can’t talk to anyone about it. It’s far too humiliating, and I don't want anyone to stop me from caring about my father. He’s not a bad man—he had panic disorder, and when he’d scare me so badly that I wet myself, I knew it was only because of his mental illness. Your mental illness doesn’t make you a bad person. When my mother was around, he calmed down, and now that he’s getting older, he’s relaxed quite a bit more. I’d never want a therapist to make me start hating my dad. I couldn’t deal with that. I’d much rather tell you about it."

Rage. It hits my sternum, making me see black with spots of red.

I force Calloway’s chin up. This time, I don't give him the luxury of not staying in the present with me. "Hey, boy. Come back to me. Get out of the past."

Calloway blinks hard, then stares into my eyes. "I’m here."

"What your father put you through wasn’t all right. I’m starting to connect the dots about why you wet yourself sometimes, especially when you’re anxious at the kitchen table when you’re studying. I hear you when you say you don't want to see a therapist, and if that’s your wish, I’m not going to force you to. However, I’d love to talk about this with you further, so I can understand what I can do to help you best. I wish you would’ve confided in me earlier. There are resources I could’ve shared with you. Members of the Hug Club whose parents also dealt with mental illness who you could’ve talked to."

"Really?"

"Once a week, certain Hug Club members meet in the playroom and talk about their pasts. They hold hands, relax because they understand that they’re in a safe environment, and speak freely and honestly. We know that not every person feels comfortable in a therapist's office. Sometimes, our members have gone to therapy, only to leave feeling judged. Some of our founding members are actually licensed kink counsellors, and they’re very familiar with helping boys like you who’ve experienced trauma work through their pain."

Calloway’s eyes turn dewy with fresh tears. "That sounds wonderful. Oh, Daddy, I feel so awful that I wasn’t honest. Good boys should always be honest with their Daddies, and never keep secrets. I wanted to tell you the truth about my childhood multiple times. I let you assume that everything was all right and normal. You only heard the good things."

"I had rough moments growing up, too, beautiful boy."

Calloway furrows his brow. "Really?"

"My grandfather was a smoker. When I was a boy, I used to spend my Mays at his house. He’d go through the roof when he didn’t have a packet of cigarettes. One time, I forgot my teddy bear on the bed where I slept when I stayed there, and when I ran back inside to get it, he was smoking in the house. Now, my grandmother didn’t permit him to do this. She’d had a scare with second-hand smoke complications before, and needed to have a spot in her lung removed. When my grandfather saw that I’d caught him, he screamed at me and frantically tried to put the cigarette out. He demanded to know why I was in the house, and when I confessed that I’d forgotten my teddy bear, he called me a baby. My grandmother came in at that precise moment, and when I told her what my grandfather called me, I burst into tears. She took me in her arms and gave my grandfather a piece of her mind. I vowed that I’d never turn into that type of man. I’d respect everyone regardless of whether they played with teddies even though they weren’t little kids. In fact, the teddy, Constable Charlie, that I keep at the Hug Club—the same one you’ve played with many times—is the same teddy I had when I was a boy. He’s stayed in excellent shape, and now I lend him out to needy Littles who feel judged by the world."

This blows Calloway’s mind. "Constable Charlie is your old teddy? How come I didn’t know this?!"

I let out a laugh. "I guess the subject never came up. Yes, Constable Charlie is mine, and here at the hug Club, he never has to worry about mean grandfathers yelling at the Littles who play with him. He provides joy to many, which is what he’s always wanted."

Calloway quivers in my arms. He blinks hard, nervousness and excitement swirling through his veins. "You never told me."

"I could’ve sworn that I did. I apologize."

Calloway giggles as he hits my arm. "Don't say sorry. All I mean is that, I wish I would’ve known." He beams. "I’ve played with Constable Charlie countless times. I always hog him when I come to the Club before the other Littles get to him, because I like to think of him as my personal teddy. It’s wrong, but I don't enjoy sharing him. More than once, I’ve thought about sneaking him into my coveralls when we go home and stealing him for myself. Something drew me to him. I couldn’t put my finger on it all this past year. Now, I know that the reason I liked him so much was because he was your old teddy. The teddy you played with as a little boy, one you’ve had forever. I love how worn and ancient he is, so unlike the newer stuffies that you can get anywhere. It’s rare to find a teddy bear who’s known that much love in his life."

I trace a tear that trails down Calloway’s cheek with my pinky. My cuticle is a little sharp, and so it accidentally creates a tiny scratch on his skin, which horrifies me so much that I instantly withdraw my hand and kiss his cheek to make it all better. "I’ve seen you playing with Constable Charlie before, and every time, I think to myself: The two great guy in my life found each other at last. Your connection seemed so natural that I didn’t think to explain it. Now, you know why Constable Charlie prefers you to all the other boys at the Club. It’s because I love you and you love me."

Calloway lets out a sniffle. "When we go home, I think about Constable Charlie on his shelf, all alone with the other stuffies. The thought makes me so sad, that sometimes I start to cry."

My heart cracks into pieces. "Why didn’t you tell me?"

"You’d have thought I was ridiculous. Here I was, an eighteen-year-old grown-ass man, who can’t bear to leave a teddy alone. It made me feel too Little—and not in a fun way. In a I’m not mature enough for this lifestyle sort of way, one that would draw your sympathy, not understanding."

"Constable Charlie would love to come home with you."

Calloway’s two front teeth sink into his plush lower lip, almost as if he’s biting into a sugary, rich slice of red velvet cake. "What about the other Littles who enjoy playing with him?"

I boop Calloway’s nose. "You love him the most. A good teddy always knows who needs him, Calloway. They sense these things. That’s why Constable Charlie never resists when you take him into your arms. The other Littles can find plenty of other stuffies to play with. We have caterpillars, horsies, zebras, hearts, and even dinosaurs. I’ll be honest—I’m not sure I’ve seen anyone other than you play with my old teddy in the past year. Before I met you, a few Littles enjoyed his company, but they left him for newer stuffies. This hurt Constable Charlie’s heart, and he worried that he was too old for a boy to love him. When you make believe with him, and sometimes even feed him a bite of your ice cream or cheese and crackers during snack time, his heart melts. I feel it in my heart, too, and it’s the same sensation we both got when I played with him all those years ago."

Calloway takes my hand in his. "So, you’re not upset that I wasn’t truthful about my past?" He can’t bring himself to make eye contact with me. "I haven’t wanted to admit this, but I think wetting myself when my father scared me contributed to why I wet myself around you. Now that I’m a big boy, I’m not afraid anyone will scream at me, and when I’m stressed, I can wet in peace."

"I’m not upset at all."

"Sometimes, my father even threatened to spank me." Calloway’s voice drops a notch. "He never did, but he told me he would if I acted up. That’s why I cleaned myself off as quickly as I could with a washcloth, scrubbing my bits as fast as lightning. If my father knew I wet myself, he’d spank me."

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