Times are Changin’

Jack slowly opened the door to the study and looked in. ‘Are you in here, Dad?’ 

His voice was at once inquisitive and sheepish. It was not quite assertive yet not quite timid. It was caught somewhere between adult and child. This voice means he wants to talk to ask me for something, I thought. It is usually financial.  

And, of course, he knew I was in there. It was evening. I am always in the study on Sunday evenings, working at my laptop while taking in the beauty of the universe. 

‘Yes, I’m here. Come in.’ I used my soft voice so as not to scare him away. 

Over breakfast I had tried to speak about what he was going to do when he finished school. I had suggested studying history. He was getting reasonable marks in history. He had a Saturday job teaching Taekwondo, so perhaps he could be a history teacher, was my train of thought. 

Sitting at the breakfast bar, dressed only in his baggy pyjama shorts, Jack had looked up from his phone and blinked. ‘Yes, Dad.’ 

Thinking he had sought my company to discuss career options, I stopped typing and turned around. ‘Sit down, eh? What do you want to talk about?’ 

Still dressed in the same pyjama shorts, Jack dropped his lanky frame into the old rattan armchair that sat behind the dark wooden carved coffee table. ‘Dad, I was wondering ...’ 

He stopped and looked out through the sliding glass door with its sweeping views across Exile Bay. His bare hairy legs were bathed in sunlight. From the waist up he was cloaked in shadow. 

He turned his gaze back to me. ‘I was wondering if you would like to help pay for a party.’ 

Blood rose behind my eyes and my chest tightened. I fought to maintain a nonchalant countenance. 

Putting my head to one side, I touched my earlobe long enough to give me some breathing space. ‘Um, have you come top of the class in any subject?’ 

‘No.’ 

‘Have you graduated from high school?’ 

‘No. Not yet.’ 

'Have you decided on what you’ll be doing next year?’ 

'Not yet.’ 

‘Do I still have to remind you to flush the toilet and wash your hands?’ 

Jack groaned and placed his hand on his forehead. ‘Not always.’ 

I paused my questions and waited for him to look at me again. ‘Then, can you tell me what we have to celebrate?’ 

Jack kept my gaze. ‘I’m going to be eighteen. I’ll be an adult. I’ll be allowed to drink and I’m going to vote.’ 

A few seconds ticked by. I kept looking at him. ‘Where are you planning on having this party?’ 

‘At this bar in Summer Hill.’ 

‘And do you know how you’re going to get there on the night?’ 

Jack frowned. ‘What? No. I don’t know how I'm going to get there.’ 

I sat back in my chair. ‘You’re going to catch public transport or ask me for a lift because you don’t have a licence yet either.’ 

Copyright: text David Benn; photos: cv williams.

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