Sunday, March 06, 2005
FINN
Friday
8:48 a.m.
Somewhere Else
People often said Finn had my smile. Which, in turn (along with the family name and a nice brown jacket), I had inherited from my own old man.
But today, as he sat beside me on the passenger seat and stared ahead, Finn sure pouted like his mother.
The way she'd certainly pout on Sunday when she gets back from her team building seminar in Cebu. When she finds out that Finn got late for school because I didn't take the route she recommended.
I hadn't driven Finn to school (where my father and I were alumni) in two months, and had no idea that half of a street along my familiar route had been a stretch of rubble, heavy machinery, huge concrete pipes and SORRY FOR THE INCONVENIENCE signs for the past week. Traffic had moved about an inch per minute. The U2 (Best of 1980-1990) cd helped calm me down a bit, and made having to stare at the bumper-stickered back of a van for the past hour somewhat bearable. Though Bono and the gang couldn't quite change the fact that my son had already missed an entire period for this morning, and we were nowhere near the school.
"Finn," I said, turning down the volume on All I Want Is You just a bit.
He turned to look at me - a boy in a school uniform just like the ones I had worn two decades ago. Only different.
"Hey. Don't you worry, Kiddo. Dad's going to talk to the teacher when we get to school, okay? I'm very sorry you're late. "
"It's okay Dad," Finn looked away after a ghost of a smile. Then, he spoke once more in a voice that was barely above a whisper. "I don't wanna attend P.E. anyway."
Oh.
P.E.
I realized my fingers had been drumming on the steering wheel. I stopped, and adjusted the can of pine-scented air feshener instead.
"It's basketball this quarter, right?"
He looked down to trace the seatbelt buckle with a finger, and nodded.
Ah.
Basketball.
"Tell you what, Kiddo. Let's ask your Tito William to show you some basketball moves next time he drops by the house. That okay?"
Finn nods once more.
I reach out to ruffle his hair.
"Yeah. That's my Kiddo."
Basketball.
Sorry, Finn. My bad.
I sighed quietly.
Then I realized Finn was watching me.
I smiled at him.
He smiled back. With my smile.
And Bono started to wrap up the song.
8:48 a.m.
Somewhere Else
People often said Finn had my smile. Which, in turn (along with the family name and a nice brown jacket), I had inherited from my own old man.
But today, as he sat beside me on the passenger seat and stared ahead, Finn sure pouted like his mother.
The way she'd certainly pout on Sunday when she gets back from her team building seminar in Cebu. When she finds out that Finn got late for school because I didn't take the route she recommended.
I hadn't driven Finn to school (where my father and I were alumni) in two months, and had no idea that half of a street along my familiar route had been a stretch of rubble, heavy machinery, huge concrete pipes and SORRY FOR THE INCONVENIENCE signs for the past week. Traffic had moved about an inch per minute. The U2 (Best of 1980-1990) cd helped calm me down a bit, and made having to stare at the bumper-stickered back of a van for the past hour somewhat bearable. Though Bono and the gang couldn't quite change the fact that my son had already missed an entire period for this morning, and we were nowhere near the school.
"Finn," I said, turning down the volume on All I Want Is You just a bit.
He turned to look at me - a boy in a school uniform just like the ones I had worn two decades ago. Only different.
"Hey. Don't you worry, Kiddo. Dad's going to talk to the teacher when we get to school, okay? I'm very sorry you're late. "
"It's okay Dad," Finn looked away after a ghost of a smile. Then, he spoke once more in a voice that was barely above a whisper. "I don't wanna attend P.E. anyway."
Oh.
P.E.
I realized my fingers had been drumming on the steering wheel. I stopped, and adjusted the can of pine-scented air feshener instead.
"It's basketball this quarter, right?"
He looked down to trace the seatbelt buckle with a finger, and nodded.
Ah.
Basketball.
"Tell you what, Kiddo. Let's ask your Tito William to show you some basketball moves next time he drops by the house. That okay?"
Finn nods once more.
I reach out to ruffle his hair.
"Yeah. That's my Kiddo."
Basketball.
Sorry, Finn. My bad.
I sighed quietly.
Then I realized Finn was watching me.
I smiled at him.
He smiled back. With my smile.
And Bono started to wrap up the song.
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Yeah. Tito Souljacker knows his basketball. Heh. Of course, Tito Is It Safe is more than welcome to teach Finn a thing or two about the game as well...if the kid actually existed.
Thanks for the kind words, dawg!
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Thanks for the kind words, dawg!
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