Ars Puniendi Part 3 (chapter 32)

By Terosk

terosk024@gmail.com

Copyright 2022 by Terosk, all rights reserved

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This work is intended for ADULTS ONLY. It may contain depictions of sexual activity involving minors. If you are not of a legal age in your locality to view such material or if such material does not appeal to you, do not read further, and do not save this story.
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Ars Puniendi - Part III

Chapter 32
Reconciling with Father

There, on the coffee table in the middle of the room was the box with my clothes. My heart skipped a beat; the sudden sight of it triggering unwanted emotions. Impotent anger once again swelled up within me. Motionless, I stared at the box as my mind replayed the horrifying events of the morning - the cruel choice my father forced upon me, and the agony and ignominy of having to strip off my clothes. The fact that the box was here awaiting me meant that he’d had his conversation with Mr. Innovata and that he’d given a positive report and father was now returning my clothes. Even so, anger had already barged its way back into my blood. I felt my breath quicken and my jaw clench even as I tried in vain to relax. I was suddenly determined not to let my father have the satisfaction of seeing me eager for the boxes return.

He, meanwhile, was at his desk focused on his laptop. I cleared my throat, and he looked up right away. He studied me in silence for a few seconds trying, no doubt, to assess my state of mind, while I did my best to hide the turmoil raging within. Eventually he directed me to take a seat on the couch across from his desk. Meanwhile, he got up from his desk chair and took a seat on the large armchair across from the sofa, which left the box almost directly between us. I took my seat on the front edge of the sofa with my hands in my lap, purposely ignoring the box and keeping my eyes on my father while waiting for him to begin the conversation.

Just then the muffled sound of a cell phone vibrating came from the box; it was clearly mine. It occurred to me that I shouldn’t be at all surprised that my classmates were eager to learn how I was dealing with all this. I glanced at my father unsure as to how to react.

Father spoke up softly, “That phone of yours has been vibrating nonstop the last hour or so. Go ahead, Tyler, the box now is yours, but please turn your phone off for now.” I quickly took hold of the box and extracted my phone from the breast pocket of my blazer and couldn’t help but see the long list of text messages that awaited me. I slid the phone to off and placed it face down on the sofa beside me. I deliberately pushed the box aside to the far side of the table; I wanted him to know that I wasn’t ready to forgive him. I tried to read his expression, which as best I could tell was one of cautious amusement. One of his eyebrows seemed to be raised ever so slightly as if he was trying to figure out how best to begin.

After a lengthy silence, he finally began, “I am glad to see you having such fun with your younger brothers - it is exciting to see how well you get along. It makes a father proud.” He paused for a bit clearly trying to see how I was responding to his opening positive sentiment. I remained impassive. He continued; his voice soft, “Listen Tyler, I think I owe you an apology.”
This wasn’t at all what I expected; I raised my eyebrows inviting him to go on and waited. After a brief pause, he explained himself, “I need to apologize for this morning. I shouldn’t have taken ownership of what was rightfully a school punishment - It wasn’t my place to step in the way I did. Even so, we do need to discuss your day and what you’ve learned from today’s experience. Are you ready to do that?” He was staring right at me and had locked eyes with mine. His head was tilted ever so slightly, and his expression made it clear that he was awaiting my response. I noted that for someone who was supposedly sorry for what he’d done, his voice and demeanor didn’t seem to lose one ounce of its command or authority.

After a bit, I gave a slight nod of my head and began, “Well, for one thing, it’s not easy being the center of unwanted attention for a whole day.” My voice, I noted, did not fully hide the edge of anger that I felt within me. I suppose I wanted him to feel that anger, but he had just apologized so I softened my tone as I added, “but you were right when you told me it would go better for me if I fully embraced the experience. Since it was impossible to be inconspicuous, I did my best to accept my role on center stage. It wasn’t easy, but I got better at dealing with it as the hours passed.”

He nodded, acknowledging what I’d said, but remained silent clearly waiting for me to go on. I wasn’t sure what to say next; I wasn’t about to recount a play by play of the day’s events. After a very long awkward silence, he finally repeated his question, “And what did you learn about the school’s core value?” His right eyebrow was raised letting the question linger in the silence after his words.

“Oh, Empathy, you mean? …walking in someone else’s shoes? …to experience the world through another’s eyes? Well, how else was I to navigate the day and keep some semblance of dignity; I had to figure out what others might be thinking about having a classmate parading around naked. I spent the entire day thinking about what others were thinking so I could figure out a way to outthink them.” I took a long breath before continuing, “It wasn’t easy as I said, but I did get better at it as the day wore on.” He nodded to acknowledge what I’d said, but still seemed to be looking for something more. I wasn’t sure what more to say. Finally, I changed the subject, “So how did your conversation with Mr. Innovata go?”

He seemed amused as he responded, “It went well I suppose given the circumstances. He filled me in on a few of your day’s more challenging moments.” and he laughed gently as he added, “I must confess that I liked your clever response to the English assignment. I understand that you had to read it aloud to your classmates. That must have been quite a scene.” I felt myself blushing as I recalled what I’d written and knowing that it had been shared with father. “I must confess, Tyler, that you’re a gifted writer. I can’t help but think you got a few laughs as you read it aloud to them.”

“Well, as I said, it was an effort to “fully embrace” my circumstances. Besides, I was egged on by Samantha. Did Mr. Innovata share with you what she wrote as well?”

“No, just your response. But it doesn’t matter what triggered your essay, only that your essay was really quite good. I enjoyed it; I mean it.”

“I find it a little embarrassing to know that you, my father, know what I wrote.

“Well, …I suppose so. But that doesn’t change the fact that it was a clever essay and very well written.”

“Thanks, …I guess.” This conversation wasn’t going at all the way I anticipated. Here I was, sitting naked in his office, and here he was complimenting me on my almost X-rated essay. Ironic to say the least. I didn’t know what else to say so I just sat there, hands in my lap and waited.

“Listen Tyler,” he suddenly looked serious. “I want to apologize.”

“Apologize? Again?” I asked more confused than ever.

“Yes. I owe you another apology.”

“For what exactly?”

“For being such an absent father. It’s hard balancing a high-profile job and being a good parent. I think I’ve allowed my job to supersede what should always have been my top priority - you and your brothers. Time flies - It seems that only yesterday you were just a fun loving, slightly mischievous little kid. And now, seemingly in the blink of an eye, you’ve grown up,” he paused a brief second before adding, “and become very much a young man.” He looked at me with an intensity that made me very much aware of my state of undress. He then continued with a sad sigh, “I somehow missed that transition and now feel the need to make up for lost time and become more involved in your life. …which explains perhaps why I made my mistake this morning at school. While I still believe that compelling you to endure the same embarrassment that you forced upon your poor classmate was an appropriate punishment, it wasn’t my place to enforce it. I got carried away.”

I wasn’t at all sure what he wanted me to say to all this; I wasn’t at all sure how I should feel, or even how I was feeling. I was confused to say the least; I therefore remained motionless and waited. He meanwhile was trying to see beneath my deadpan expression to figure out what I was thinking. There was a very long silence which I was not about to break. Eventually he continued, “I want you to know that despite your ill-advised prank earlier this week, and the series of recent misdemeanors before that, your mother and I are exceedingly proud of you and your notable achievements at school. Straight A’s is a real accomplishment; you’ve been working hard. So too is the unusual feat of making the varsity tennis team as an 8th grader. Even though I’ve been off on business for weeks on end, your mother keeps me up to date daily with your doings.” Again, he paused for a bit and looked at me before continuing.

“There is, I must confess, another reason why I did what I did this morning. You see, I looked carefully at the varsity tennis schedule and saw that St. Francis is playing archrival Georgetown in another two weeks. It’ll also be your 16th birthday that weekend. Your mother and I are so proud of you and the fact that you earned a spot on the varsity team, we thought we’d celebrate your success and your birthday with a surprise visit from your Italian grandparents. I took the liberty to book flights for my parents, and maybe your cousin Antony as well - he’s on vacation for the week and thought a trip to America would be fun. I’ve even arranged to take a few days off myself, I need it - I’ve been globetrotting for months now.

So, I hope you can now better understand that, with those arrangements made, I was so keen on ensuring that your punishment was over and you’d be fully eligible to play in that contest.” He then paused. looking at me as if expecting me now to forgive all. While his sort of apology did explain his motivations, it didn’t at all absolve him from the responsibility of forcing me to endure what I did. I hate feeling that I was really little more than a pawn in his plans about which I had had no say. It would have been nice for him to have discussed the whole thing in advance so I could have been a participant in how I wanted to proceed. It’s not fair and he clearly didn’t get it. I still had the right to be angry and I wasn’t at all ready to forgive.

“Father,” I finally said trying to keep calm, “If you were making all these family plans which as you admit seem to revolve around me and my tennis schedule, why wasn’t I at least invited to weigh in? Am I just a pawn in your plans? You say you’re proud of me and my accomplishments. So you invite Grampa & Granny and maybe even Antony without giving me any warning, and yet expect me to play along as if it makes me happy? Am I just an ornament to your own success which you feel you can parade around to make yourself feel good? How do you think that makes me feel?” I could feel my jaw clench as I spoke; my anger bubbling up just beneath the surface. I then added in a voice so soft that it amplified my inner anger, “…and you talk to me about empathy.”

Father looked stunned as I glared at him. He was clearly not used to anyone aiming arrows at him the way I had just done. A very long, tense silence followed, and I could see my father’s own jaw clench and unclench, then clench again. He was struggling mightily to keep his cool. I studied his face as his chest rose and fell with the long intake and exhalation of breath; It occurred to me after a bit that he was counting to ten. Meanwhile, my own broken breath was the only other sound I was aware of, save for the subtle tick tock from the grandfather clock in the corner. I noted that my heart was pounding at twice the rate of the second hand. A minute or two must have passed in this unbearable dueling silence. How many times had he counted to ten I don’t know.

Eventually however, he recovered his breath and his expression had regained its traditional calm self-control. He finally spoke, very softly and indeed gently, “Tyler, I guess, …I guess I misjudged the scene. I somehow thought that you’d be pleased, indeed flattered by what I had planned. I can see now that I didn’t do a good job of climbing into your shoes and seeing things through your lens. I screwed up; I wasn’t as ‘empathetic’ as I should have been. I can see that now.” He then paused for a few seconds, took a long breath, then adding almost philosophically, “Unfortunately, that happens to all of us at times; screwing up is an inescapable part of being human. Please know that I am truly sorry.” Both his expression and his voice gave evidence of genuine sincerity. For the first time in all my interactions with my father, I sensed a vulnerability in him; he seemed honestly unsure of how he ought to proceed.

The anger I’d felt just moments ago was giving way now to confusion. I really didn’t know how to respond to all this. On one level I was horrified to hear him acknowledge being wrong; it contradicted everything I thought I knew about my father, the all-knowing boss, the world traveling business guru, CEO of a billion-dollar company. Everybody seemed to revere him, to defer to him, and to treat him as the unerring, indisputable leader in chief. And, admittedly, I loved the idea of being the son of such an influential, high-powered figure. It was therefore hard to see him humbling himself in this way; it was hard for me to wrap my head around.

He was now looking at me inquisitively, clearly waiting for me to respond. Was he expecting me now to forgive him? Was I ready to do that? …did I even want to do that? When I didn’t respond, he added, “Just so you know, Tyler, I love you; I suppose that I haven’t been all that good about letting you know that over the years. Sorry again. Please do your best to forgive me.” And with that he stood up and walked over to the closet and took out his briefcase, fiddled with the combination, and clicked it open. He took out a small paper bag, shut the case, and walked over to the box with my clothes. He then placed the bag on top and slid the box back my way. “I was thinking about you while up in Montreal; I got you something to add to your collection. It was supposed to be a mini birthday present for next week, but perhaps I’d do better now to call it a peace offering.”

Reluctantly I reached in and pulled out the bag and opened it - an old baseball cap with a team logo I didn’t recognize immediately - certainly not a team playing now. I turned it over in my hands and saw that it was signed. I tried to make out the signature but it was hard to decipher. I looked up at my father who was clearly eager to share the story of the hat. “It’s Larry Walker. He was one of the all-time best players on the historic Montreal Expos team that played in the National East division from 1969 till the year you were born. Larry played in Montreal from 1989-1994, then went on to play for the Colorado Rockies and later for the Cardinals. He was just inducted recently into the Hall of Fame. It’s a very special hat; I figured that it would be a special addition to your collection.”

I was definitely into baseball trivia, and this was admittedly a good peace-offering and destined to be a highlight of my growing collection, but I wasn’t quite ready to be all nice about it; I didn’t want to show any real excitement. I therefore spoke in a rather formal manner as I tried to hide my smile, “Thank you, father. This is, I admit, a nice addition to my collection,” and I added after a short pause, “and I will let you know a bit later if this ‘peace offering’ as you call it is sufficient.” I adjusted the strap at the back of the hat and then fit it on my head and gave my father the hint of a smile. “May I go now? I believe there are a lot of friends who are keen on finding out if I’ve managed to survive the day, and it would only be polite to respond to their kind entreaties.”

Father sighed as he contemplated my request to put an end to this little chat. Eventually he said, “Not quite yet, Tyler. I’d like to revisit your understanding of empathy.” I rolled my eyes dramatically as he continued, “I believe you said that you ‘walked in another’s shoes,’ and ‘experienced the world through another’s eyes’ so that you could figure out what your classmates were thinking. Indeed, you said you spent the day thinking about what others were thinking so you could manage to ‘outthink’ them.’

“Yeah - that’s right. Isn’t that the lesson you and mother were so keen on having me learn. Empathy: the art of stepping out of your own shoes and walking in someone else’s? …seeing the world through another’s lens? Wasn’t that what today was all about?” I wasn’t at all sure where this was going. With a slight show of impatience, I took the ‘peace offering’ from my head, placed it in my lap as I sat forward on the couch, and put forth a pose of attentiveness.

Father shook his head side to side clearly disappointed in my response, “Not exactly Tyler. You see, the effort to walk in the shoes of another isn’t about trying to figure out what they’re thinking. It’s about trying to understand how they’re feeling. There’s a huge difference; let me explain briefly: You expressed your anger at me a few minutes ago when I hadn’t told you about Grandma and Grampa’s upcoming visit by accusing me of treating you like ‘an ornament to my own success.’ Then you asked, and I quote, ‘How do you think that makes me feel.’” He put extra stress on the word ‘feel.’ and continued, “Please note that you didn’t ask me how it made you ‘think’. Empathy is all about making an honest effort to understand someone else’s emotional state. Am I making any sense to you?” Another raised eyebrow awaiting my response.

I nodded affirmatively as I responded, “Yes, father, that makes sense. I believe I understand the difference.” I was ready for this conversation to be at an end and figured it would speed things along to agree without asking further questions. I then repeated my earlier request as I slid my phone into my hands and began to make a move towards the door, “Am I free to go now?”

He looked at me skeptically, not fully convinced by my response, but finally yielded, “I guess so, my son, …as long as you truly understand the lesson that needs to be learned. So yes - you’re free to go.”

“Thank you” I said as I stood up and headed for the door; the Expos hat was still in my hand but I turned around when I got to the door and looked at my father this time with sincerity and even a hint of a smile as I put the hat back on my head, “…and thank you again for the hat.” With that I turned to make my escape.

“Wait one second, Tyler. Aren’t you forgetting something?” He gestured to the box still on the table. I allowed my eyes to travel to the box for a short second before returning my gaze to my father. Once again, the sight of the box triggered a sudden flood of unwanted emotions. Without much thought, I responded, “Those are my school clothes; I won’t be needing them till Monday. For now, given the sauna-like conditions on the 3rd floor, I think it’ll be more comfortable to remain in my present state.”

He looked at me incredulously for the briefest second before breaking out in a big smile, “As you wish, Tyler. I suppose I’m not in a good position, after the events of this morning, to force you to get dressed. So be it; but please do take the box from here; it’s yours to do with as you wish.” He then picked up the box himself and handed it to me as he added, “And just so you know, I do love you, no matter what you’re wearing …or not.” He laughed as he turned back and returned to his desk. I stood in the doorway for another few seconds trying to figure out what unwittingly I’d just done, then slowly turned and began climbing the stairs to my room. I turned on my phone as I did so and took a quick look at the flood of messages that had piled up. The most recent just arrived from Theo: “U OK? Call ASAP” I quickly responded “Alive. Crazy day. Come over - fill u in when u arrive.” I hadn’t climbed another step before my phone pinged, “OK - OTW.” I wasn’t sure exactly how I was going to describe my day, …especially the conversation with father which was totally not what I'd expected. Never in my life would I have expected an apology, let alone a ‘peace’ offering. I took the hat off my head and turned it over in my hands. It seemed a genuine and sincere effort to make up for what he’d done that morning. I had so wanted to be angry at him, I was so ready to rebel, but he’d managed to steal the fuel from my fire. I think it was going to help to talk with Theo about it; his parents were sort of cool like that. Maybe he’d help me sort out the thoughts swirling in my head.

I had just opened the door to the 3rd floor stairwell and stepped into the unforgiving wall of sweltering stillness when I heard my father’s voice calling up to me, “Tyler - one more thing. Your mother’s running late but wants to have a family sit down meal tonight; I agree, it’s not too often we get a chance to be all together. She’s ordered a meal from the club and will pick it up on her way home. She asks that you set the dining room table for the five of us. She told me to tell you she’s ordered you your favorite. I do hope that you’ll spearhead the preparations so we can eat as soon as she arrives, and the food is still warm. About a half hour from now.”

“But Theo is already on the way over! I’m not sure a sit-down dinner makes sense. You should have told me sooner.” I couldn’t quite picture Theo arriving in the middle of a formal family sit down.

“Well, then you’ll just have to call Theo and tell him to wait until later, …or I suppose he could join us for dinner. Just ask him what he’d like, and we can add to the order before your mother picks it up. …it’s up to you. But please be warned that your mother will want a thorough debrief of your day, so if you’d like to do that with Theo in attendance, it’s up to you.” …then he added, “and thanks in advance for taking care of setting the dining room table.”

“Shit!” I thought as I stood at the foot of 3rd floor steps. What was I going to do now? It’s not like there was any wiggle room in my father’s response; I had to admire the way he could command such authority without using the imperative mood or raising his voice a single decibel. And we were to be eating in the formal dining room as well; we hadn’t done that in some time with father being away so much, mother often in a rush, and my own schedule getting more complicated.

I had to confess that he wasn’t being unreasonable. Mother would certainly expect to know how the day went, and it wouldn’t go well for me if I tried to back out. I left the box on the stairs in front of me and returned downstairs and pulled out the drawer with the real silverware. It was admittedly fun to be formal sometimes, and if mother had ordered me my favorite from the club, it was going to be awesome. I quickly texted Theo to let him know that he’d be joining us for dinner. I figured it was only fair to give him a heads up, but I knew he’d enjoy having some red meat since his parents are die hard vegetarians and he loves the opportunity to have a real meal. I quickly called the club and added another filet mignon to the order.

I then turned to the task of setting the table, carefully placing each utensil in its assigned place. Mother was a real stickler when it came to such things; there was a right way to set a table and she had taken pains long ago to ensure her children knew what that right way was. As I did so, I mused about the fact that when I last set this table, it had been nearly 4 months ago during the holidays when my mother’s parents had come to stay for a few days. Dinner each evening was very much a formal affair and my brothers and I were required to wear coat and tie to those meals. She must have thought our formality would impress her parents, which given the excessive formality of my grandparents, she may have been right. But I now had to wonder what mother would be expecting us to wear at this meal and whether she’d be okay with me in my present state. Father hadn’t mentioned a dress code for this impromptu occasion.

As I was near finishing up with setting the table, my father appeared at the doorway and stood there watching as I placed the last of the glasses in their proper place. Finally, he commented with a hint of a smile, “Thank you Tyler. That looks good and I know your mother will be pleased. I was just thinking that perhaps maybe you might consider getting dressed; I suspect your mother would appreciate you and your brothers putting on something nice for what should be a special meal. I’ve already asked Stephanie to get your brothers properly attired.”

Though not really surprised by the request, I nevertheless decided to press the issue a bit. I asked inquisitively, “Do you mean to suggest that Mother doesn’t approve of nudity?”

“Probably not at the dinner table.” he said matter-of-factly, then added when I made no move to respond, “Please Tyler, let’s try to move past the events of the day. It would be wonderful to have a healthy and harmonious family meal together.”

“Don’t forget Theo. He should be here any minute. …And what do you mean by ‘properly attired’? You mean my new baseball hat isn’t sufficient?” I was trying to be funny, but there was enough of an edge to my voice that made the question real.

Father responded after a short pause, “I do love the hat, Tyler, and am delighted that you clearly do as well, but hats, as you well know, aren’t appropriate at a formal sit-down family meal. I’ll be wearing my business suit and tie, and I suspect your mother would like you to wear something comparable.” Then he added, “I had forgotten about Theo; perhaps you can lend him something appropriate to wear from your wardrobe.” His tone of voice and expression made it clear he was expecting me to yield to the request without further comment.

As I looked back at him trying to decide if I was really ready to do so, I heard a telltale sound of a car pulling in the driveway and a car door opening. While there was a part of me that was indeed ready to move past all this, I was still determined to put on a show of nonchalance regarding the punishment my parents had forced upon me. I knew of course that it was more my father’s doing than my mother’s, yet she had gone along with it, and it seemed only right that I confront her as I was. So I looked at father with a determined expression and stated flatly, “To be fully honest, father, I’m not so sure I’m ready to get past the events of the day quite yet; and if by chance my continued nakedness is upsetting to you, then I suppose you’ll just have to deal with it.” I was sure father would be angry with my obstinance and I fully expected him to show it with a stern reaction to my statement, but he remained utterly impassive save for an ever so slight raise of his right eyebrow. I stared at him as I awaited a further reaction.

Eventually he said in a very quiet voice, “As I said to you earlier, I love you no matter what you are wearing, …or not wearing. However, when we sit down in the formal dining room, we demonstrate our reverence for the special occasion by dressing up a bit just as we’ve always done. I know your mother would expect you to uphold that tradition. You may, of course, discuss the matter with your mother directly since I believe I heard her pull in the driveway a bit ago.”

There was, at that moment, a knock on the front door. I quickly surmised that it was not my mother that had arrived since she’d have come in through the garage. Father looked at me with a slight tilt of the head, “Are you going to answer it? …or would you like me to get the door as you run upstairs to get dressed?”

I’d been accused in the past of being a bit obstinate and I had to confess that perhaps there was some truth in that characterization; no doubt, my obstinacy had been the cause of much the trouble I’d gotten myself into. This was clearly one of those times, for while I was ready to confront my mother in my present state, I would have preferred to be dressed before opening the front door to some stranger. Of course, it could be Theo, but normally he would have come in through the garage and entered through the kitchen as well, so I had to wonder who was at the front door. As these calculations were running through my head, I was equally aware that to accept my father’s offer of letting him get the door while I escaped upstairs to get dressed would be a huge defeat. I was between a rock and a hard place, and he knew it; he’d called my bluff and I therefore had to either put up or shut up.

I inhaled deeply, gave father a defiant look, and headed for the door.


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