The Ghost of Memories.
Preschool Flashbacks.
When I got home, back to New Jersey, I stayed homeschooled. I loved being taught everything by my Dad, but I had no friends my own age. I missed the few friends I had in my nursery school and my preschool. All my friends were Sophie, Ray, Frank, Matt, Mikey, Donna, Debbie and Gerard. I real mother, Jenny, I had still never met. At that age, of course, I didn’t know that I actually had a mother. I thought that I appeared, to my Dad. The only time I had ever really missed having a mother, was once in preschool, where we did a family project.
The class all had to bring in a photo of their families, and write their names on a piece of paper, then make a photo frame with their family’s help. Everyone in my class brought in a picture which their mommy, and their daddy featured on it, but some had brothers, sisters, grandparents, aunties and uncles, and cousins too. Hell, one girl brought in a picture from a wedding.
I brought in a picture of Gerard and I, with my pet goldfish, Finny, that Sophie had taken. Everyone stared intently at the little photograph I held up in the show and tell time. Many asked, “where’s your mommy?” some wondered aloud whether my mommy had taken the picture. The teacher, immediately realised what was going on; a twenty two year old man with a five year old girl, without a mother present, in what looked, by the background of the picture, like a really messy, dirty house (although in reality, our apartment was always generally tidy. Not immaculate, like Donna’s house, of course, but still tidy); and she looked disgusted. I was kept behind after school, and as I waited in the reception, my teacher phoned my father and asked for an urgent meeting. He drove to the school in ten minutes.
I sat on my daddy’s knee while the teacher complained about how tragic it was that a little girl would grow up without a feminine figure in her life, and how young people these days take no responsibility for their actions, etc, etc.
My father remained calm, despite the torrent of abuse. He was always calm. He never lost his temper completely with me.
He replied, “But, Mrs Phillips, surely I should have a chance for my defence?”
She looked dumbstruck. He continued.
“Audrey has always had a female present in her life, albeit, not her biological mother. Firstly, as a baby, she was cared for by my mother, and then, when I finished high school, we moved to New York, and one of my best friends, Sophie, took care of her while I was at work.”
“So you had a baby, when you were not even out of high school?”
“Yes, I did, and I have no regrets.”
“But you surely weren’t emotionally mature enough, at seventeen, Mr Way.”
“People can become mature very quickly when need be.”
“What will she eat when she gets home tonight?” Mrs Phillips quickly fired at him.
“Depends what she wants. Sausage, beans and chips, fish fingers, mash and peas, pasta salad, cheese on toast?”
“From a take away?”
“From my kitchen.”
The old woman continued to fire questions at him, about his work, Sophie, and other things. He answered them all, calmly and truthfully.
Then the killer question.
“Who is her mother?”
“A woman I met once, called Jenny.” He said, as Mrs Phillips glared at him, as if to say, ‘was she a call girl?’ “She works in the World Trade Centre. She’s giving up her job next month, and she’s going to travel around the world.”
“So you still have contact?”
“Rarely. She occasionally comes to visit, but I bet Audrey can’t even remember the last time she did. She’ll tell me of any major changes in her life.”
They continued, when eventually, we were dismissed from the school. My dad breathed a sigh of relief as we stepped outside.
The class all had to bring in a photo of their families, and write their names on a piece of paper, then make a photo frame with their family’s help. Everyone in my class brought in a picture which their mommy, and their daddy featured on it, but some had brothers, sisters, grandparents, aunties and uncles, and cousins too. Hell, one girl brought in a picture from a wedding.
I brought in a picture of Gerard and I, with my pet goldfish, Finny, that Sophie had taken. Everyone stared intently at the little photograph I held up in the show and tell time. Many asked, “where’s your mommy?” some wondered aloud whether my mommy had taken the picture. The teacher, immediately realised what was going on; a twenty two year old man with a five year old girl, without a mother present, in what looked, by the background of the picture, like a really messy, dirty house (although in reality, our apartment was always generally tidy. Not immaculate, like Donna’s house, of course, but still tidy); and she looked disgusted. I was kept behind after school, and as I waited in the reception, my teacher phoned my father and asked for an urgent meeting. He drove to the school in ten minutes.
I sat on my daddy’s knee while the teacher complained about how tragic it was that a little girl would grow up without a feminine figure in her life, and how young people these days take no responsibility for their actions, etc, etc.
My father remained calm, despite the torrent of abuse. He was always calm. He never lost his temper completely with me.
He replied, “But, Mrs Phillips, surely I should have a chance for my defence?”
She looked dumbstruck. He continued.
“Audrey has always had a female present in her life, albeit, not her biological mother. Firstly, as a baby, she was cared for by my mother, and then, when I finished high school, we moved to New York, and one of my best friends, Sophie, took care of her while I was at work.”
“So you had a baby, when you were not even out of high school?”
“Yes, I did, and I have no regrets.”
“But you surely weren’t emotionally mature enough, at seventeen, Mr Way.”
“People can become mature very quickly when need be.”
“What will she eat when she gets home tonight?” Mrs Phillips quickly fired at him.
“Depends what she wants. Sausage, beans and chips, fish fingers, mash and peas, pasta salad, cheese on toast?”
“From a take away?”
“From my kitchen.”
The old woman continued to fire questions at him, about his work, Sophie, and other things. He answered them all, calmly and truthfully.
Then the killer question.
“Who is her mother?”
“A woman I met once, called Jenny.” He said, as Mrs Phillips glared at him, as if to say, ‘was she a call girl?’ “She works in the World Trade Centre. She’s giving up her job next month, and she’s going to travel around the world.”
“So you still have contact?”
“Rarely. She occasionally comes to visit, but I bet Audrey can’t even remember the last time she did. She’ll tell me of any major changes in her life.”
They continued, when eventually, we were dismissed from the school. My dad breathed a sigh of relief as we stepped outside.