Return II

Chapter 1

Joseph's POV

Everyone seems to be overwhelmed and excited about Michael's sudden return. It is understandable, as I am too, but he has not made an effort to speak to me since he has been embracing everyone. I do not blame him, though. I gave him a pretty complex childhood; one no child should ever have to endure. I have heard him tell people in interviews that he forgives me, but I can see deep in his eyes that hatred that still burns in him. When he looked at me for the first time since he had left, it took me back.

Do it like Michael!

"We're trying, dad." 

I am Joseph to you. Now do it again.

I sit back in my chair slowly caressing a leather belt with both hands as I watch five of my sons rehearse for their Motown concert coming up in a couple weeks.

Seeing the nervousness in each of the boys' eyes, I watched them with warning. Michael slipped up on a step and tried to cover it up, but I saw.

Michael! Come here, boy! I yell and his eyes widen. The rest of the boys stop dancing and stare between him and I.

Did I stutter? Get your ass over here, boy!

He turns around and looks at his brothers, then back to me. He runs past me and slams the door behind him.

Damn it! I yell and stand. Gasps from my other four sons fill the room as I stomp toward the door. It turn around and glare at them.

I didn't say stop! I yell and the other boys begin rehearsing once again.

Michael! Damn it! 

I walk to his room and find him hiding in the closet. I yank him out by his arm and throw him against the wall. 

Don't you ever run away from me! Don't you ever hide from me! I yell as I whip him over and over and over again.

"Mommy!" He screams through tears. His voice makes me angrier and the anger makes me beat him harder. 

Katherine enters the room and screams. She grabs me by the arm, but I shove her back. "Stop it Joseph!" she screams. "You're gonna kill him!"

Some days I feel such strong regret for what I had done to my sons. I used to always tell them that if they do not get every step perfect every time, they would never get better; and beating them was my way of getting them where they needed to be.

They did not understand it, but to me, beating them taught them to do it right every time; and the more they got it right, the happier and more satisfied I would be. And it is not that I liked beating them—I really did not—but nobody wants to see a show where the performers mess up. They come to be entertained, not to be bored.

Looking at my son ever since he became a huge star has been difficult for me. All the false stories and allegations being thrown at him are consumed by me. I always secretly take the blame for everything that man has been through because I play a large role in his low self esteem and confidence. 

You have a huge nose, Michael. 

You need to go wash your face, it is disgusting me.

Go shave your face and pluck your eyebrows.

You didn't get any of that from me.

...

It is hard to admit, but watching Michael hug and kiss the rest of the family and bypass me hurts a little. I had missed my son as much as everyone else had, but nobody paid attention to me when he first arrived back home. 

He looked at me and gave me a slight nod, but nothing more. I nodded back of course, and he turned away as fast as he could. My heart wanted me to get up and hug him without warning—to tell him I am sorry for everything and that I really do love him and that I am proud of everything he has accomplished so far, but my brain told me to leave it alone. The last thing him or I would be expecting is love between the two of us. It had not existed in so long and there seemed to be no point in starting now.

Except Natalie. She is the point. She would want to see us act like father and son. And so would Katherine. And the children.

I have to come through to him, and he has to come through to me.

...

"Mike." I stand from my chair. I am sure not to say it too loudly; as no one besides the people in the room should hear. He turns around and he swallows as I make my way to him. Without warning, I carefully wrap my arms around him and he flinches under my touch. The reaction upsets me but I ignore it because I understand how this may feel to him. The last time I hugged my son was when he was a baby.

Michael slowly brings his arms up and places them around me. I quickly pull away, trying not to feel any emotion.

"We are glad you are back," I say and he thanks me. "And I want you to know I'm proud of you." The words taste bitter on my tongue and I can tell that he is as uncomfortable as I am. He nods and mouths what seems to be a "Thank you," and I take my seat in the chair once again.

Katherine gives me a proud, yet sympathetic look. She half smiles and I look away. She knows how hard it is for me to make amends with people; and since Michael and my other children have some form of hatred for me still, it makes it even more difficult.

Katherine slowly walks over and pulls a chair next to me. She nods and places her hand on my forearm: a gesture she usually does when words cannot explain what she is trying to say. I turn to her and she smiles.

"Baby steps."