Evan Hunter - Sons

“Where do you want to go?” my father said.

“Well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Well, that’s what we’re doing is talking,” he said, and smiled, and puffed on the cigar, and said, “I have a feeling this is going to cost me money.”

“No, no,” I said, “no.” I cleared my throat again. “You see, these arc, you know, changing times in America, and I thought, you see, I didn’t want to just lay around on some beach all summer, though that would be nice, still...”

“You don’t want to come to Fire Island, is that it?”

“I love Fire Island, it isn’t that.”

“It’s some girl.”

“No, no, I’m not serious about anybody right now. But the idea of just laying around all summer isn’t too appealing to me right now. I want to do something.”

“Like what?”

“You agree these are changing times?” I said, figuring I’d start my buildup now, get him to agree in principle the way I’d planned it, and then ask him for permission.

“Yes, these are changing times,” he agreed.

“Okay,” I said, “I want to go south this summer and help with voter registration. Negro voter registration.”

My father puffed on his cigar.

“A guy I know from school is going,” I said, “and I want to go with him. They pay a salary. I can earn between fifteen and twenty-five dollars a week.”

“Is he colored or white?” my father asked.

“He’s colored,” I said. “His name is Larry Peters, I think you met him once.”

“I don’t remember meeting him,” my father said.

“After one of the dances. He was helping us load the wagon.”

“I don’t remember.”

“Well, that’s who, anyway. He’s leaving for Mississippi in July. If I’m going with him, I’ve got to sign up as a task force worker right away. That’s why I wanted to discuss it with you first.”

“A task forcer worker, huh?”

“That’s right.”

“And that’s why you came into the city today?”

“No, I looked at a new amp at Manny’s, too. But while I was in, I figured I’d call you and we could talk about it here. I haven’t told Mom yet, I wanted to dear it with you first.”

“She’ll say no.”

“Well, not if you’ve already given permission.”

“She’ll say no because it’s dangerous down there. You can get hurt down there.”

“Pop, you can get hurt crossing the street right here in New York.”

“Why do you want to go down there, anyway?”

“I already told you. These are changing times...”

“Yes, yes...”

“... and I want to help.”

“You can help right here. If you want to do something for the Negro, why don’t you get a job in Harlem this summer? At a playground or a youth center. Help them start a band, coach them in some sport, you’re good at those things, Wat, you could be very useful in an area like Harlem.”

“I can be more useful in the South.”

“Your friend can be more useful there.”

“No, I think it’s important that some while people go down there.”

“Why?”

“To show them we’re interested. I mean, Pop, this isn’t just their problem, it’s our problem, too. If we care enough about what the hell’s going on in this country.”

“All right, don’t get excited,” my father said.

“Well, this means a lot to me.”

“Did I say no?”

“You’re going to say no, I can tell.”

“I didn’t know you were a mind reader.”

“Anyway, I think I ought to tell you I’ll be eighteen in October...”

“July isn’t October. When did you say? You said July, didn’t you?”

“Well, when school ends.”

“That’s not October.”

“I know it’s not October. Anyway, I may not even need your 7 0 permission. I haven’t really looked into the requirements yet, but I think...”

“I would imagine you’d have to be eighteen,” my father said.

“Maybe and maybe not,” I said. “Larry has all the information, I’ll have to check...”

“If you’re so serious about this, why haven’t you checked already?”

“I am serious about it. I didn’t think I was going to get such static here, that’s all.”

“I wasn’t aware...”

“I’m not asking for your permission because I need it, Pop.”

“No? Then why are you asking?”

“As a goddamn courtesy.”

“This isn’t a locker room,” my father said.

“Okay, it isn’t a locker room.”

“I’m sure your mother wouldn’t want you traipsing all over the South where you can possibly get your head busted by some rednecked farmer!”

“The reason I want to go traipsing all over the South is so that people can traipse all over the South without getting their heads busted.”

“And if you run into trouble?”

“I won’t.”

“Suppose you do?”

“I can take care of myself.”

“That’s another country down there.”

“Is that supposed to be a pun?”

“What?” he said. “I’m telling you that’s a foreign country down there. I was there during the war, and it’s worse now. You’ll need a passport to get in, it’s a foreign country.”

“It’s America,” I said.

“Don’t give me any of that patriotic bullshit,” my father said.

“This isn’t a locker room,” I said, and tried a smile.

My father picked up his cigar and began puffing on it. He didn’t say anything. One of De Gaulle’s pictures caught his eye, and he moved it over next to another lovely shot of the general.

“Well,” I said, “how about it?”

“The answer is no,” he said flatly.

“I figured.”

“You figured correctly.”

“Why?”

“Because voter registration in the South is a dangerous occupation for a seventeen-year-old boy.”

“I’ll be eighteen in October.”

“Then go in October.”

“Pop, I have to be in New Haven on September fourteenth, you know that.”

“Right. So spend your summer on the beach, take it easy. You think Yale’s going to be a lark?”

“What about Larry?”

“Who the hell is Larry?”

“Larry, Larry, my friend. How can I spend the summer sitting on my ass when I know he’ll be down South fighting for his life!”

“Invite him to the beach.”

“Pop!”

“It’s not your battle,” my father said.

“Will you at least think about it?”

“I’ve already thought about it.”

“I’ll go without your permission, you know. If I have to be eighteen, I’ll lie about my age, I’ll get a phony draft card, there’re millions of them around.”

“Then why’d you ask me in the first place?” my father said. “Because I thought you’d be proud to say yes.”

I went out of his office and down the corridor to the elevator, angry as hell. Mrs. Green came from behind her desk and fluttered up to me.

“Oh, Wat,” she said, “your father told me about your being accepted at Yale, that’s just wonderful.”

“Yeah,” I said.

“I guess you’re all excited about graduation.”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Do you have something in mind?” she asked.

“Huh?”

“Something special?”

“What do you mean?”

“For graduation. A present.”

“Oh,” I said, and suddenly realized she was here on a specific mission, she had been told earlier that I’d be coming up, and had been instructed by my father to find out what I wanted as a graduation gift. In what she had doubtlessly considered a subtle manner, she had led the conversation to the point where she could pop the big question, and now she stood studying my face eagerly, hoping against hope that I would reveal my desire before the elevator arrived. I did not want to disappoint her. and yet I could not think of a single thing I wanted or needed. I began wishing that something extravagant would occur to me, but nothing did, and I stood in mute embarrassment as the approaching elevator whined up the shaft, feeling terribly sorry for Mrs. Green, but feeling even sorrier for my father, who could not personally ask his own son what he wanted most for graduation.