June 2011, New York
"Ding-dong! I'm home!" I called out, heading straight for my room.
"Wait, darling, why so fast?" Mom's voice drifted from the kitchen. "Dinner's ready. Come and eat with Dad; he's going on another trip again."
No, I'm not hungry. Just…
"Hadrian, come down! I have a present for you, and we'll be leaving tomorrow, so sit with me for a bit." Dad's voice was firm but inviting.
Reluctantly, I trudged downstairs.
"Oh, my God! Sweetie, what happened to your face?" Mom gasped, rushing over. "Did you get into a fight? Did someone bully you?"
"I don't want to talk about it." My voice was a tight whisper.
"What happened, child?" Dad asked, his voice calmer, and then, a strategic offering: "See? I bought you the new remote-control car you wanted."
"What's the use?" I mumbled, tears welling up. "They'll just take my car like they took the ball."
I was so angry then. Really angry. Not at Chris, who had bullied me, but at my parents. Why? I didn't know.
"Child, it's okay to cry. Tell me what happened."
And so, I told them everything. How they picked on me at school, how they took my things, how they'd just taken my favorite ball, the one Dad had given me. I looked into my dad's eyes, waiting. Waiting to see and hear the words, "I will take care of it."
But what I got instead was: "Hadrian, you have to learn to take care of your things. They're your age; they might be more aggressive than you, but you had the bat in your hand, didn't you? Still, you gave them the ball. It's not their fault they bullied you. It's your fault for letting them bully you. It's your friends' fault for not standing up for you. And it's your parents' fault, and your own fault, for getting bullied."
I didn't know what to do after hearing that. I was eleven. How was I supposed to process that? What was I to do—keep complaining about Chris? Or just cry?
"Child, next time something like this happens, throw rocks at them. Find whatever weapon you can, and hit them. You need to fight. Fight for what's yours. And remember: try to hit them on their back or their legs, not on their face or head. Never leave evidence. Did you get that? If anyone complains about you, I will take care of it next. Now, go eat and sleep. Tomorrow, I'll give you an even better gift than this car."
I did as Dad said, still confused, still a little hurt, but with a strange, new fire of defiance sparking in my heart.
After Hadrian left, Rena said, "James! What! Are you teaching our son to be a criminal?" Rena's voice was sharp, a low hiss. "What are you trying to do, teaching our son to openly harm others? What if he listens to you and throws a stone at another child's head? He could cause a brain hemorrhage! These aren't your wars and missions, they are not your soldiers and spies, James. They're just children!"
"Rena, I know what I'm doing. I love him as much as you do," James retorted, his voice calm but resolute. "But that boy… I've been noticing this, but I wasn't sure. He'll become like a sheep. He needs to stand on his own two feet. You've made him smart, sensible, well-spoken. You've given him so much love, enough for both of us in my absences. What the boy needs now is a bit of a push to become a man, to deal with his own problems."
"No!" Rena cried, her voice cracking. "I can talk to Chris's parents and the other bullies at school. I will take care of it. He's just a child!" Her voice softened, pleading. "Sweetie, will you be there when he turns fifteen, eighteen, or eighty? Let him suffer a bit today, under our eyes, so that he doesn't suffer when we can't see him." She paused, then added, "Just trust me. Also, is my bag ready?"
"No, you can do it yourself, Mr. 'I stand on my own two feet'," Rena scoffed, turning away.
James sighed and muttered to himself, "Woman, you don't know the world outside this civil society."
Rena, on the phone, sighed. "Yes, yes, I know! Tell them to wait, it takes time. I can't just pull a new discovery out of my ass!" She turned to James as he came into the room and said, "Can you?"
He chuckled softly. Rena rolled her eyes.
"Okay, bye," she said. "We'll talk to the director about this tomorrow. Bye-bye." She then turned back to him, her expression softening.
"So, do you really need to go? Can't you stay for more than a month again?" There was a hint of plea in her voice.
"Rena, you know how important my work is," James replied, a familiar weariness in his tone.
"Yes, but I feel bad for Hadrian," she confessed, her gaze falling to the floor. "I feel like we're not spending enough time as a family. You, even less. And my work keeps me so busy too; I only see him at night."
James moved closer, pulling her into a gentle hug. "Shhh, I know you're doing your best. And as soon as this mission is complete, I'll ask for a transfer to more desk work."
Then, he tried to lighten her mood.
"Mmm, James, stop... Mmm, stop." Rena playfully pushed him away, a smile breaking through. "Don't you need to get up early. Get some sleep."