Jason: The Boy Of My Dreams

Written by Ron

So there I was trying to keep a twelve year old kid from tearing my house into very small pieces. Jason, Jase when he felt like it, had energy to burn and more being piped into his compact, fit little body. Soft red hair cut short, intense eyes that stared right through a person when he set his mind to it with that lovely combination of green and brown that I liked so much. A small nose and always smiling face put the icing on the cake, making Jason a small god in my eyes. To say I merely appreciated his looks is to abuse the English language.

When his physical appearance was matched with his exuberant personality, impressive wit and intelligence, I mean how perfect can a kid be? Whatever a person may like in a kid, Jason seemed to have it. I loved the kid through and through.

If I could just control the other feelings, the hidden feelings, I had for him, our relationship would have been just fine, but as it turned out ...

This was the second day of trying to keep him occupied and I was nearing the end of my patience. I'd learned when he was six that if there was a period of time exceeding five minutes that wasn't broken by pounding footsteps or the sound of a door slamming, something was going on that I was going to regret. Like yesterday when I'd settled down with a cup of coffee and was enjoying a few minutes of quiet, I got that nervous feeling deep inside and went looking for trouble. Sure enough, I found it, and him, along with half my toolbox scattered across the garage workbench.

"What are you doing?" I asked in a tight voice.

"I was trying to find a screwdriver," Jason answered casually.

"And what did you need a screwdriver for?"

"This," he answered, holding up a jewelry box.

I held my breath a moment before saying, "If you need into something, especially something that has a lock on it, perhaps you would consider asking me first." My hand was out waiting for him to relinquish the precious trinket.

"Oh, that wouldn't be much fun," he said with a slight grin. "If I wanted it to be easy, I'd've just stomped on it,"

That box was old, at least a hundred years old if not more and a present from a very special girlfriend I's nearly married. I held my breath then let it out slowly, trying hard to count to ten in the same number of seconds. Then I held out my hand again, holding it there until Jason handed me the box with a frustrated look on his face, not much contrition or any sense of an apology, just the frustration of not being able to tear something else apart before getting caught.

"I have to tell you, young man, that box is special to me. It was a gift and it's very old, lots older than you and lots older than me. I don't think you want to see me get madder than you want to know if you hurt something of mine I care about," I said as calmly as I could.

"That's why I needed a screwdriver," he countered. "I could have taken it apart and put it back together again in no time." His smile was genuine, at least. He really didn't understand the idea of me not wanting something torn apart, no matter if he could put it back together or not.

"Jason," I started, reaching out to pull him close and look into those lovely eyes, letting their depth pull me in for a few moments and enjoying the feeling of calm beauty he had about him. "Jason, I want you to listen to me carefully. I have a lot of things around here that are either valuable to me personally or worth a lot of money or are dangerous for you to mess around with. We've talked about this before. If you want to know about something, you ask me about it. I promise to answer you, even if it isn't the answer you want to hear, but I will answer. In turn I want you to promise not to get into things that are valuable or that might get you in trouble. Do we have an understanding?"

"Like what things?" he asked. There was that intelligence trying to pry just a bit more out an already lost argument.

"You know what things," I answered. "If you think I might not like having you taking something or you have to look around to see if I might catch you at it, that's when you are doing something that can get you in trouble. It's wrong and you know it's wrong when you do it. You can feel it inside, I know you can. Now, you promise not to let your unbounded curiosity get you into things you know are trouble?"

"But what if I do? I try real hard but sometimes I forget and get in trouble with mom. She gets real mad then," she said, looking up at me with those emotional eyes of his. "Will I get in trouble with you?" ......(cont)



.......Read the entire Jason: The Boy Of My Dreams ....written by Ron.
Copyright © 2007-8 Ron. ALL Rights Reserved




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This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.


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