The Sign

Being a stay-at-home parent is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. Raising children can test the best of us in ways we never thought possible.

I wrote this story when my oldest was four and couldn’t control his emotions very well. It felt like we were fighting every couple of hours. It is mostly a reminder to me, that even when things feel bleak I just need to look for the signs.

The Sign by Jarrett Smith

“Can you just answer me?” Aaron called after the tiny terror as he stormed down the driveway.

“Ugh,” the boy cried as he stomped his feet so hard that his dad thought he might crack the concrete.

Aaron balled his fists and tried to breathe. Blaming the little four-year-old for yet another outburst wasn’t the right thing to do, but after so many, Aaron struggled to contain his emotions, too.

“Go play with your friends then. I’ll be here,” Aaron shouted as his son’s feet struck the ground with all the anger the four-year-old could muster. He wanted to say more or to stop his son from leaving in the middle of this tantrum, but he needed to remember to pick his battles.

A few of the older kids from the cul-de-sac were already out playing. Nerf darts screamed across the street. As Brom walked down the way, kids from all different ages streamed through the various front doors. They all huddled together before breaking out into some game that required everyone to chase someone else.

Aaron felt a pang of jealousy in his belly at all the fun Brom had in this neighborhood. His childhood neighborhood had been filled with grey hairs and the desire for quiet.

But he didn’t remember ever getting as mad as his son.

His dad had been Superman when he was four. Meanwhile, Brom treated him like a super-villain.

As he watched his son fume down the street, he thought back to before his son discovered anger. Brom used to look up to him, like Aaron had looked up to his. Aaron couldn’t help but think of Brom every minute of the day.

He yearned to hold his child when he went to work. Now, whenever he returned home, he sat in the car for too long, fearful to go into a home of screams.

There was just so much screaming now.

One of the older kids greeted Brom as he neared, taking the four-year-old into the group.

Brom’s gait returned to normal. He sauntered over, as calm and cool as could be. Aaron sighed and rolled his eyes as he thought about all the torture he had just endured and how the attitude had snapped back to normal. He felt the whiplash from three houses down.

Aaron watched as Brom tried to find his place with the kids. The older kids were playing with nerf guns, and Brom struggled to load one. He wouldn’t last long playing there. Another group of kids younger than Brom sat coloring with chalk on a driveway.

Brom sat on the driveway with the smaller kids and picked up some chalk. If given the choice, Aaron probably would have picked the nerf guns, despite not even being able to play properly. Another thing that made him think about how different he and Brom were.

With Brom busy drawing on the driveway with a piece of chalk, Aaron opened the garage and retrieved two folding chairs.

“Is he okay?” Aaron’s wife, Nadia, asked as she came out of the house. She sat in one of the folding chairs and looked down the street.

“I guess,” Aaron said, shaking his head and shrugging his shoulders. His heart slowed, and some of his rage seeped out as she placed a hand on his arm.

“It sounded like a bad one,” she said, flashing her soft brown eyes.

“Not as bad as the one before you got home,” he admitted with a sigh. She lowered her head. He knew the look well. She wouldn’t say anything until he expanded on it.

“I asked him to pick up the shirt he took off and then threw on the ground,” Aaron muttered.

“That’ll do it,” Nadia said. She leaned back in her chair and looked down the street at the kids.

Aaron bit his lip and leaned back. The chair material strained as he pushed into it with the tension that hadn’t left his body. He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing, trying to will himself to a base level.

“No one ever warns you about the threenager and fournado phases. It’s always the terrible twos,” she said. “The twos were much less…explosive.”

“I’m used to that. I know he’s learning to control his emotions. I know that I shouldn’t let his anger get to me. It’s just…” he stopped and searched inside himself. “It just feels like he hates me.”

He took a deep breath. His admission took a weight off his chest, while also making him feel guilty for letting things get to that point between them. The tears formed in the corner of his eyes. He clamped his lips between his teeth.

“We’re just so different,” he whispered. “He looks just like you. I always looked just like my dad. I just thought—maybe that’s why we don’t get along.”

“Oh, honey,” she said and leaned in to hug him. She wrapped her arms around him and brought his head to her chest. He could hear her heart beating. “He doesn’t hate you,” she whispered.

He tried to force a smile, but it continued to falter. Her hug restored some of his strength, though. His tears had paused on his cheeks. He blinked a few times to rid his eyes of the traces. He pushed himself back to a sitting position and looked around to make sure none of the neighbors had witnessed his breakdown.

“We are just so different. I thought this would be so different. You know, I idolized my dad. I just thought we would be more like that.”

“Things aren’t the same as when we were kids,” she said. “How often did you even see your dad?”

He shook his head as he tried to think back, through the haze of nostalgia. He sucked on the left side of his cheek. “Not much. He was always at work or tired.”

“You’ve made it a point to be there. You are doing everything possible to be an even better father than yours was. Plus, you’re looking back on a time with rose colored glasses. I’m pretty sure you were just as terrible back then,” she gently ribbed him.

They both laughed, breaking his tension. Aaron turned to look down the street for his son. The boy had somehow covered himself in pink chalk, all the way up to his hair. Aaron’s desire to laugh conflicted with the thought of having to clean the boy up.

“Plus, I promise that boy loves you to death. He just doesn’t know how to show it. Not yet. He doesn’t know how to do most things.”

“True,” Aaron chuckled. All these little jovial moments were pushing the darkness that had overcome him back.

Nadia’s fingers slipped between his as they sat in silence and watched their child play. To the both of them, there was no better sight.

His anger finally wilted away as he watched the kids play. The corners of Aaron’s lip finally crept upward.

Aaron looked at his wife, thankful for her ability to calm him down. As he stared into her beautiful brown eyes, a piercing scream of pain came from down the street. Aaron didn’t need to look to know that Brom had unleashed it. He felt it in his heart. His head snapped toward the origin of the scream, searching for his son.

Brom lay there, bent over in the street. If it weren’t for the scream, it looked like a yoga pose. His knees wrapped under him and his back hunched. The screams continued.

Aaron sprinted down the street. “You okay, bud?” he asked as he neared the boy.

The boy jumped up at the sound of his father’s voice. He threw himself into his dad’s arms. Aaron wrapped his arms around and held him tight. Aaron felt his shoulder turn damp with tears.

“Did you fall?” Aaron asked.

Brom lifted his head from the safety of his father’s shoulder and nodded. Aaron looked around. The other kids had all come over to Brom and offered support, which seemed to lift the boy’s spirits a little. But he still recoiled in pain as he wiggled in his father’s arms.

Nadia caught up with them, her hand going straight to Brom’s back. She ran her hand up and down. Each time she did, the boy’s back went rigid.

“Let me look,” Aaron said, holding his son in a way that he could see the boy’s knee. There, red tried to break through a flesh-colored jail. “Oh man, you got a good one.”

“No! Ow!” The boy screamed and squirmed. Aaron had to adjust his hold to keep the boy from falling.

“I’ll go get the first aid kit,” Nadia said. She turned and headed back toward the house.

Brom screamed again and threw his shoulders back.

“All boys get good ones,” Aaron said. “You’ll be okay.”

“They do?” Brom fought his fear to peek at his knee.

“Yeah,” Aaron said. But Brom’s tears didn’t stop. Aaron knew that distracting him would be the only way to get the tears to stop. “Hey, what did you draw?”

“Huh?” the boy said as he pivoted in his dad’s arms.

“You guys drew with chalk,” Aaron said. He looked at the profusion of colors that adorned the driveway. Pinks and blues smeared all around the pavement in hearts, rainbows, squares with numbers inside.

Then Brom pointed into the mess. It took Aaron a moment to find it, but once he did, he didn’t know what to say.

His body felt at ease.

A warmth grew from deep within him. It eradicated any leftover feelings from their battle earlier.

There in the chalk, in the middle of the shapes and games of tic-tac-toe, the words “Brom ❤️Daddy” stood out clear as day.

Aaron rolled his bottom lip between his teeth. Seeing the sign took his breath away. He squeezed Brom a little tighter in his arms.

“Thanks, buddy,” he managed to choke out.

“I got you some bandaids,” Nadia said as she unwrapped it. “This is going to make you feel better.”

Aaron put Brom on the ground once she had fixed the bandage to the injury. The magical healing powers of the bandaid made Brom feel immediately better. He bent his knee, testing out the range of motion, and then ran off to play with the other kids.

Nadia slung her arms around Aaron as she turned to see what had all of Aaron’s attention. “See?” She asked before kissing him on the cheek. “You’re his hero.”

Continued Reading

Thank you for taking the time to get this far. If you’d like to read more of my fiction, take a second to browse through my selection of Fiction

If you like these parenting stories, you might check out Offline, a story about a father trying to compete with screens for his son’s attention, which leads them into an adventure of imagination.

Have you had any similar issues raising your kids? Tell me about it in the comments.

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