Magic in Costa Rica

Three Fathers

The rest of the day was more or less uneventful. In all of my classes we went over the syllabus and class rules, which were 90% identical for all courses. At lunch, I went to the library to start reading To Kill A Mockingbird, but couldn't find a good place to sit down before the bell rang and I had to get back to class.

When I arrived home, my dad asked how my day was, and I told him that I had to read a book for my English class by Friday.

"Homework on the first day? Seems like a tough class," he mumbled.

"Yeah, well, it is advanced," I shrugged. My dad looked up from his computer.

"Did you make any new friends?"

"Yeah, a couple," I lied. My dad smiled and returned his gaze to his computer. He hadn't done magic ever since my mother died, and now worked from home for some computer company. To be honest, I had no idea what he did, but he never talked about it, and I never asked, which perfectly aligned with the rest of our relationship. I nodded and went to my room to start reading. I was immediately enraptured by the adventures of Scout, Jem, Dill, and Atticus in Maycomb County. I paused at the part where Scout said her mother died when she was two. I couldn't decide if she was lucky that she was too young to remember her death, or if she was unlucky that she was too young to remember her mother at all. In the end, I decided it was both. I also thought she was very lucky to have a father like Atticus. He respected and cared for his children, while at the same time maintaining his status as a respected lawyer. He led Scout and Jem through adversity by being an example of an upstanding citizen, and he treated everyone as his equal: young, old, black, white, rich, or poor. I thought about my own dad, and how he could barely keep his life together after my mom died, and I thought that maybe fathers like Atticus only existed in books.

* * *

When my dad called me to the kitchen for dinner, I realized that I had already read over one hundred pages, and thought it was a good idea to take a break. I sat down at the table and we started to eat. I paused and looked down at my plate.

"Have you ever read To Kill A Mockingbird? By Harper Lee?" I asked, breaking the usual silence. My dad looked up, surprised that I was making conversation.

"Yes," he said, "It's a good book."

"Which character do you like best?" I asked. My dad paused for a moment, thinking.

"Tom Robinson."

"I haven't really gotten to his part yet. I like Atticus," I nodded decisively.

"Yeah," my dad shrugged, "he's good too."

* * *

After dinner I went back to reading. I didn't stop until I reached the end, and when I looked up the clock read 11:04 pm. I had to wake up in seven hours. Still, I found it hard to fall asleep with Scout's words whirling around in my head. I sat up and broke out my laptop. For two hours I wrote, about Atticus, and about Tom Robinson. I wrote about how they were both good men, good fathers, good husbands, but that life just wasn't on Tom's side. I questioned how many bad things had to happen to a good man until he was no longer good. I thought that Tom was a good man until the end, but I criticized him for trying to escape prison, although I understood how hopeless he must have felt. I wondered how hopeless my own father must have felt when my mother died, and if it ever occurred to him that I was just as lost. After I was finished, I closed my laptop and laid back in my bed. I fell into a troublesome sleep, and when my alarm went off five hours later, I awoke to find my cheeks stained with bitter tears.