Proud of My Boy

I visited Dan today at his new apartment. His birthday is on Wednesday and I had a card for him. He showed me where to park then led me into his building and down a long, narrow hallway. We stopped in front of Apartment #7.

"Here it is, Dad. Lucky 7."

He unlocked the door and I followed him and Sarah inside. The first thing I noticed was the sickly odour of stale cigarette smoke.

"Sorry about the stink," he said. "The guy who lived here before was an old guy with no legs. He never went out. He just sat here and smoked his brains out. Me and Sarah spent a whole week cleaning the place and painting it."

They'd done a fabulous job, Ms J. They'd painted the entire place by themselves and it looked pretty good. Yellow kitchen. Pale green living room. Light blue bedroom. White bathroom. Two decrepit plastic lawn chairs sat alone in the tiny living room. A small portable television was near the wall. A plastic shelving unit held a larger TV, a VCR and some video movies. I pointed to the television on the floor.

"What's the deal with that little TV, Dan? Why don't you put it in the bedroom?"

"It doesn't work," said Sarah. "We just keep it there in case we have company."

I must have looked a bit confused because she continued then with, "You know. To sit on."

The place is tiny, Ms J. And they really haven't any furniture to speak of. The fridge leaks and contains only a carton of milk and some red juice in a plastic jug. The people upstairs are noisy. And the people downstairs are noisy. But it's Dan's home. It's a real, honest to goodness home. An address. A place he can call his own. He's proud of it.

And I'm proud of him. I offered him a hug and told him so.

"Thanks, Dad," he said and he was actually beaming. "That means a lot to me, you know."

His job is continuing at the chocolate factory. And Sarah goes off to high school every morning. They are safe for now. Content with very little. I am pleased to see them on the right track.

I wonder how my daughter is doing?

***