Chapter Text
“Before you leave, I have an announcement,” said the teacher. “Coming Friday, you will be writing letters for Father’s Day. You can take the next two days to discuss with each other, or ask your mothers for advice. On Friday, I will help you write the letters.”
Father’s Day letter? Thought Anya. So, for all pat-turners*. Got it. I have an idea.
“Becky, do you know how to make that flower thing we saw yesterday? The one that the 3rd-year girls were making?”
“You mean flower crowns and rings?”
“I want to make one for Papa for Father’s Day.”
“Awwww!” Becky squealed. “That’s so cute! Of course, I will help you make it for my Loid.”
Papa said the ring is to ask Mama to be his wife, thought Anya. I will give him a ring and ask him to be my Papa.
Becky led Anya to the garden to collect flowers for her ring. On learning what they were trying to do, Meg, Connie, and Alice also joined them. After collecting a heap full, the girls started building flower rings and crowns.
“What are you doing?” asked Bill. “That looks fun.”
“Making flower crowns,” replied Becky. “Have you tried it?”
“Nope. Can we join?” asked George.
The girls nodded, and the two boys flopped down next to them, borrowing some flowers and copying the girls to make pretty crowns of their own.
At some distance, Emile and Ewen looked at Damian, wishing to join the others in the merrymaking. But Damian was lost in his own thoughts. Ever since the incident at the movie hall, he couldn’t figure out how he felt about his father.
Write a letter to Father? For what? To thank him for being my father? He doesn’t even live in the same house as me. He barely looks at me! What am I doing it all for? The perfect conduct, perfect performances? For Stellas? For father’s attention? What can I achieve that Demy hasn’t already?
All I have always wanted is for Father to say he is proud of me. But would he even notice if I didn’t send this letter? If I had died that day at the movie hall, would Father have cared? Or would he have continued as if nothing had happened?
He heard the giggles of a pink-haired girl.
That Shrimp! Everyone fawns over her. All. The. Time! She has parents who hug her, kiss her, hold her, and spend time with her. Why does SHE get to have such parents when I get a father who doesn’t even care that I exist?
Anya had looked up when he’d called her “Shrimp” in his head. She could hear him spiralling; his fists were clenched in anguish. She walked over to him with a few flower crowns, placing one on his head and the rest next to the three boys.
“You can play with us too!”
Damian looked up at her and turned the characteristic pink he always does. Emile and Ewen expected him to explode at her, but Damian simply exhaled loudly, picked up the flower crown on his head, and started picking it apart absent-mindedly.
Watching him destroy one of Anya’s crowns, Becky got up to yell at him, but Anya walked back unbothered.
“Sy-on boy is probably upset about Father’s Day, Becky,” she whispered. “Let him be.”
Anya sat down and started playing with the flowers again, and others followed her lead. Damian had not noticed any of these activities around him.
“He is the real terrorist!” The sentence had echoed over and over in his head.
Who is Father? What has he actually done? Is he really the person I was told he is? Or is there more? Is Father a… good person?
Pops said that people aren’t good or bad; their actions are. So, did Father do good things? Did he do more good things than bad things? If he did good things, then I want to be like him. But if he did bad things, what should I do? What do I work hard for?
A (grating) voice broke Damian out of his reverie, and he looked up.
“Hello, Milady,” said Tertius. “What a beautiful crown! Fit for a princess. Can I have one too?”
Becky, Alice, and Bill turned to watch Damian, and he did not disappoint. He pushed himself to his feet and stalked angrily towards their next class. As he walked past them, he chucked the crumbled flowers from Anya’s crown into Tertius’ face and marched away.
“Hey, watch it!” the third prince of Septevia yelled, but Damian did not look back.
Becky turned to Emile and Ewen. “What are the two of you doing? You’ll let him go alone?”
The two exchanged a look and ran after him.
At the end of their last class of the day, Damian was asked to collect assignments from everyone. He dragged himself from desk to desk, gathering the assignments and handing them over to their teacher. He sluggishly packed his bag and staggered out of the classroom at a snail’s pace.
Emile and Ewen were with their Classical Language teacher, and Damian walked back alone.
“Don’t you think Sy-on boy is sulking for too long?”
“Maybe you should cheer him up?”
“Nope. I am very good at making him angry. Not great at cheering him up.”
Becky and Anya had almost reached the gates of the school, and Damian hadn’t even made it halfway to the dorms.
“Come on, Anya. The car will be waiting.”
“You go, Becky. I want to see if he reaches the dorms.”
Maybe I can get him to talk when we are alone? Thought Anya. He shouts less when other people aren’t around.
Becky held back a squeal, but Anya could read her thoughts.
OHMYGODTHATISSOCUTE! Yes! I am rooting for you!
Anya wasn’t sure why Becky was rooting for anything, but she understood that Becky would agree with Anya’s request.
“Okay, Anya. All the best!”
Anya followed Damian towards his dorm, hiding behind bushes and trees on the way. He was about to trip over a stair when Demetrius grabbed him.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing. Going back.”
Damian began walking away.
This is why I don’t like interacting with people. I can’t understand anyone! Thought Demetrius.
Super Sy-on Boy has more thoughts in his head than usual, thought Anya. But after that one thought, Demetrius’ mind was blank again – just like TV static.
“Wait, Damian. I heard you made Mother a card for Mother’s Day.”
Damian turned around and nodded.
“Father’s Day is coming. Are you planning to make one for Father?”
Damian nodded again.
“Don’t do it.”
Damian’s head jolted up to look at his brother. He had expected Demy to list the flaws in his Mother’s Day card or give advice on writing a good letter. He did not expect this.
“Why not?”
“Father doesn’t like such sentimental actions. He thinks they’re performative.”
An image flashed through Demetrius’ mind, and Anya was able to see it:
A boy, maybe 9 or 10 years old, looking at his father with adoring eyes and handing him a card with a very neatly drawn flower. In a beautiful script were the words written,
‘Thank you for being the best father. Happy Father’s Day.
Love, Demi.’
Unlike the previous years, Father took it, made the sound “hmm”, and tore it into two. He threw it into the bin and said, “Don’t waste paper, Demetrius. This is performative.”
The little boy clutched his father’s trousers and said, “But father, you had liked–”
The father interrupted. “Not anymore.”
“Performative?” asked Damian.
“Yes. He considers such expressions a waste of paper and time. Don’t put in unnecessary effort.”
You’ll only get hurt, he added in his mind.
“Do you plan to give one?”
“No.”
“I see. Are you worried that Father might like my letter? Or are you worried that if I give the letter and you don’t, it would make you look bad? What is your problem, Demy? You ignore me all the time, anyway! Just continue doing that. Don’t go out of your way to interfere in my life!”
Tears flowed down Damian's cheek as he screamed at his older brother. When Demetrius did not respond, he ran away.
He will learn the lesson himself, I suppose, thought Demetrius, shaking his head and setting off to his own destination.
Anya ran to the bus stop. She had to go home and think of how to convince Damian not to write the letter.
If Sy-on boy’s letter makes the evil super-boss hate him, everything will be useless.
“Sy-on boy!”
Damian looked up, startled. Anya was waiting outside their class.
“What do you want?”
Does she want to punch me again? He thought.
“Don’t write the letter to your father.”
“And why not?”
Anya had spent the entire previous evening thinking of the perfect answer to this question.
“Commoners celebrate these things. They are invented to make people waste money.”
“Actually, Father’s and Mother’s Day are centuries-old traditions. They are a celebration of the efforts, sacrifices, and guidance of a parent. We don’t do much in modern times, but writing a letter is actually a very traditional method of celebration.”
Anya stared at him open-mouthed.
“So, you’re done, right? Move. I need to go in.”
“B-but, uh…”
“Move.”
Damian shoved past her to his desk.
Well, if he’s fighting with me, he’s already in a better mood than yesterday, thought Anya.
As Damian finished taking out his writing supplies, the teacher walked in and began discussing ideas and encouraging the students to start their letters.
Damian had slept over it. While he didn’t think Demetrius would be trying to sabotage his relationship with Father, he still felt uneasy at the idea of not writing the letter. After all, he’d given Mother a card.
He had concluded that he should write a letter, but without ignoring Demy’s advice. Damian had written multiple practice drafts the day before in his dorm. Today, he noted down the final version and was satisfied with the result. There were no signs of sentiment in his letter.
Respected Father,
A Parent guides their children, provides direction and example, and shows them what their family name stands for. I uphold the tradition of Father’s Day and thank you for setting that example for me. I will strive not to besmirch the Desmond name.
Regards,
Damian Desmond.
Damian had also considered Anya’s actions on Mother’s Day and remembered what their teacher had said. He’d seen her make four cards and give one to Becky’s bodyguard. If a Mother’s Day card could be given to any maternal figure, he was sure he could give a Father’s Day letter to any paternal figure.
He finished the rest of his letters and sat down, pleased with his decision. He remembered Pops’ words – “You can choose to do the right thing.” So, that’s what he was doing.
He watched Anya gleefully make her own set of cards.
I am jealous of her. I have accepted that. I am jealous of her because she has done nothing to earn the love she gets from her parents. They love her even when she messes everything up. They love her even when she gets a Tonitrus or bad marks.
But that’s not her fault.
In the face of taunts (mostly from me), bullying, and even danger, she does what she believes. Everyone learned to tolerate her and like her for the way she is. She never tries to be someone she is not. Not even when someone shoves a gun in her face.
I can’t get that attention from my parents. But I can learn to choose myself. I will figure out who I want to be and stay true to it. I will find what I need to do so that I can be proud of myself.
“Bossman? Are you planning a prank on Stubby Legs? You've been staring at her for the past five minutes.”
“What!? No! Of course not! Why would I look at that– that–”
Damian sighed. He had a long way to go.
Mr Henderson walked into his office to close out for the day.
There were days he wondered if he was cut out to be a teacher, and today was one of those days. Two boys had tried to gouge out each other’s eyes because one thought the other was trying to steal his presentation idea. Fifth-year kids should have more sense than that!
Mr Henderson placed his books on his table and noticed an envelope addressed to him. He fished out the neatly folded paper inside and opened it.
Dear Mr Henderson,
As I understand, we can thank all paternal figures today. You are our teacher, so maybe you are just trying to do your job. But you have given me guidance when I felt sad. You have taught us elegance, loyalty, and integrity. I hope I will follow it properly. At least when I grow up.
Thanking you,
Damian.
He felt a smile on his face. Elegance! Absolute elegance!
He folded the letter, slid it back into the envelope, and placed it in his personal drawer.
I suppose, this is why I want to be a teacher.
“Hi, Jeeves. Will you be able to come to my dorm?”
“Sure, Master. Is there anything you need?”
“I… I just need to talk to you.”
There was a pause on the other end.
“Okay, Master Damian. I’ll be there as soon as possible.”
Fifteen minutes later, the dorm master called Damian down. Jeeves was waiting outside.
Damian walked over to him and looked at the ground.
“Hi Jeeves. I just wanted to give you this. Don’t read it now! Read it when you reach home. Alone. Okay. Bye!”
Damian ran back up before Jeeves could stop him.
On his drive back, he was filled with concern. As soon as he reached, he hurried into his room, hoping it wasn’t anything serious.
Is he okay?
Jeeves opened the envelope as quickly as he could without tearing it and skimmed through the letter. He calmed down and read it properly a second time.
Dear Jeeves,
My teacher told me that a paternal figure is anyone who nurtures, cares, protects, and guides us. You are one person who does that all. Thank you for keeping me safe, trying to teach me some good things, and for always being there for me. Even if it is your job.
Love,
Damian.
Jeeves ran a thumb over the little boy’s name and smiled sadly.
The boy is six. Six! Why can’t they– No. It’s not my place. I can only do my best. I hope ... I hope he grows up happy.