Its hard being a father.
I grew up in New York State. Three brothers; two older and one younger. My Mom was a nurse, and my Father owned a garage. We weren't rich, but I always felt comfortable. Although now when I think about it, I realise how little I saw them. They provided for us, sure, but work always came first. Mom was quiet, sweet, and shy. Its a wonder how she married Father, who was brash, head strong, proud. I only saw him on two occasions; the first when he took my brothers and I to football matches on Saturdays, afterwards sitting with a beer and silently watching us wrestle in the garden. The second was when I would join my brothers in his garage and he'd bark at us about the ways of fixing cars. I remember thinking, that's a father. That's how fathers need to be. We were terrified of him, but it felt right. Fathers should command respect.
When I graduated from College, Father surveyed me at my graduation ceremony, passing a swift nod of acceptance before making his excuses to get back to work. It was enough, I never expected anything more. When I joined the firm and decided to move to Ohio, we didn't hug. Mom cried, but Father curtly told her to stop making a scene, it wasn't like they could never see me. After all, Ohio is just a plane ride away. And that's how he was. That's what he taught me; realism. Don't fantasise, don't over-react. Stare a situation square in the face, and never let it see you weaken.
So I didn't cry when my first son, Cooper, was born. I held him, I smiled. When my second son, Blaine, was born, I smiled as my wife held him. Children were a mandatory accessory for a marriage, not something to gush over. Naturally I had begun to fall into the same pattern as my own father. I would work hard, either in the office or tinkering in my own little garage, and come home late thinking that I was doing my best to provide for them. Blaine would clap his chubby hands at me, and I would call for my wife to play with him. I complied with my wife's orders of eating together, but I would remain quiet as they chatted, never really listening, my mind on the figures back in my office. Sometimes I would return to the office in the evening, thinking that even with our five bedroom house and two cars we could use a little extra. It was all for them, I'd convinced myself.
My wife would keep me updated on how the boys were doing in school. I didn't notice when she stopped talking about Blaine. Cooper this, Cooper that. Then when he was eighteen it was time for him to go to College. I was offered $4,000 to go and negotiate with the Chinese ambassadors of the firm over two weeks. On the second Wednesday it was Coopers graduation day. I took the trip. I took it so that Cooper could have a nest egg. It didn't enter my mind how he had just received his trust fund.
Eventually my wife had to talk about Blaine again. I could vaguely recall her telling me he'd joined the football team in elementary school. So when he was eleven and I learned that he'd been going to singing lessons since he was five, my reply was to ask if he was still on the football team. She looked shocked that I'd remembered. She said no. I asked why. She said he enjoys singing more. I couldn't understand it. Boys don't sing. My Father taught me that boys watch and play football, that's all my brothers did, and so did I. I'd planned to explain this to her, so that she could pass it on to him, but the company hit some trouble, and it was pushed from my mind.
While I was blind to most of what was happening in my own home, I noticed when Blaine started becoming a teenager. He held a maturity that Cooper never had. When he was thirteen he started requesting meetings with me to 'discuss things'. I didn't know how to handle it, with this boy, my son, who I'd never been close to. I made my excuses, and eventually he gave up. My wife became concerned when he started spending a lot of time out of the house at this age. I made a quip about him having a girlfriend.
If only I'd have known what my wife did, what she was too afraid to tell me. If only I'd asked a simple "How's school?" every once in a while. Maybe then I'd have known, and could have protected him. I sat for hours in that hospital room, with every bruise, cut, and broken bone reminding me of my failures as a parent. It made me think of all the times I had the opportunity to be his dad, not his father. The heart rate monitor marked the beats of my own heart, and I knew mine would come to an equal halt if his ever did. I couldn't handle what I was feeling. It felt wrong. If Blaine saw me weak, he'd never respect me again. So I left. I went to work. By putting it out of my mind, I felt I'd won.
But my curiosity about Blaine increased. My wife insisted he change schools, and I agreed immediately. I spent hours scouring every private school in Ohio and the surrounding states, taking my very first days off work to visit these schools on my own. Dalton, with its zero tolerance bullying and acapella choir, was the twenty third I visited, and I visited eight more after just to be sure. Still, every time Blaine wasn't in the house I asked about him. I would sit at my desk checking his Facebook page for anything out of the ordinary. Once I managed to ask if he wanted to help me fix up an old Chevy in the garage. We awkwardly worked around each other, my mutterings of directions falling on deaf ears as his judging eyes searched for a reason to stay. Eventually I ran out of things to say, not daring to bring up anything that might be too painful, and he left silently. I didn't ask again.
Eventually his relationship status changed, and my co-workers spent weeks nagging me about my joyous mood. My boy was happy enough to be in a relationship. It was a miracle. But I couldn't summon a way to talk to him about what I was feeling. I didn't know how to reach out to him. Years slipped by, and I silently watched him grow into a man. I'd never been more proud of anything.
Blaine's transfer to McKinley worried me every day. I wanted him to be where he was happy, and he told my wife that he was only ever happy when with Kurt. I saw them together in the yard, sunbathing and talking, hands loosely linked. I wanted that kind of bliss for Blaine, but I couldn't help but have nightmares about the last time he was in a regular high school environment. I told them to call me even if he so much as had a nosebleed, and to immediately notify me if his teachers reported him unhappy in any way. He never knew that I had eyes everywhere, watching his every move. I felt stupid, practically stalking my own son, but I couldn't shake the concern.
When the Principal rang me to tell me the school was on lock down after hearing gunshots and it appeared Blaine was still in the choir room, my world imploded. I'd spent so much time and effort protecting him as I never had before, but nothing could have prepared me for this possibility. Guilt crawled through my veins hotly, and I bolted it from my office to the school.
I hugged my son for the first time that day. I became his parent when I explained why I was so cruel, and how his injuries had affected me. I confessed that I was worried he would end up like me, and my father before me. But he took my hand and forgave me, with that admirable maturity, and I realised he wasn't me. He was his mother, and my mother. He was kind, intelligent, and special. He was my boy, but he'd never make my mistakes.

Signed,
Devon Cooper Anderson