Free Man and Boy by Tony Parsons

changed.
    I kissed my mom and shook my dad’s hand. They didn’t know what was happening. There was going to be too much food. They were expecting Gina and Pat. They were expecting happy families. And what they got was me.
    “Mom. Dad. There’s something I have to tell you.”
    The old songs were playing. Tony Bennett live at Carnegie Hall was on the stereo, although it could just have easily been Sinatra or Dean Martin or Sammy Davis Jr. In the home of my parents, the old songs had never stopped playing.
    They sat in their favorite chairs staring up at me expectantly. Like a couple of kids. I swear to God they thought I was going to announce the imminent arrival of another grandchild. And I stood there feeling the way I so often felt in front of my parents—more like a soap opera than a son.
    “Well, it looks like Gina’s left me,” I said.
    The tone was all wrong—too casual, too glib, too uncaring. But the alternative was getting down on all fours and weeping all over their shag carpet. Because after yesterday’s trip to the park and a second sleepless night in a bed that was far too big for just me, I was finally starting to believe that she might not be coming back. Yet, I felt that I was too old to be bringing my parents bad news. And they were too old to have to hear it.
    For a few moments they didn’t say a word.
    “What?” said my father. “Left you where?”
    “Where’s the baby?” my mother said. She got it immediately.
    “Pat’s with Gina. At her dad’s place.”
    “That punk rocker? Poor little thing.”
    “What do you mean she’s left you?” the old man demanded.
    “She’s walked out, Dad.”
    “I don’t understand.”
    He really didn’t get it. He loved her and he loved us and now all of that was finished.
    “She’s buggered off,” I said. “Fled. Gone.”
    “Language,” my mother said. She had her fingers to her mouth, as if she was praying. “Oh, Harry. I’m so sorry.”
    She came across the room toward me and I sort of flinched. It would be okay if they weren’t kind to me. I could get through it if they didn’t put their arms around me and tell me that they understood. But if they were going to be kind, I didn’t think I could take it, I knew it would all get clogged up inside me. Luckily the old man came to the rescue. Good old dad.
    “Walked out?” my dad said angrily. “What—you’re getting a divorce? Is that what you mean?”
    I hadn’t really thought about that. Getting a divorce? Where do you start?
    “I guess so. Yes. That’s what people do, isn’t it? When they split up.”
    He stood up, the color draining from his face. His eyes were wet. He took off his glasses to wipe them. I couldn’t stand to look at him.
    “You’ve ruined my life,” he said.
    “What?”
    I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. My marriage falls apart and he becomes the victim? How did that happen? I was sorry that his precious daughter-in-law had walked out of his life. I was sorry if his grandson had seen his parents break up. And most of all, I was sorry that his son had turned out to be just another dumb schmuck bumbling toward the divorce courts. But I wasn’t going to let my father hog the starring role in our little tragedy.
    “How have I managed to ruin your life, Dad? If anyone’s the victim here, it’s Pat. Not you.”
    “You’ve ruined my life,” he said again.
    My face burned with shame and resentment. What was he so bitter about? His wife had never left him.
    “Your life is over,” I told him angrily.
    We looked at each other with something approaching hatred and then he walked out. I could hear him shuffling around upstairs. I was already sorry about what I had said. But I felt that he had given me no choice.
    “He doesn’t mean it,” my mom said. “He’s upset.”
    “Me too,” I said. “Nothing bad ever happened to me before, Mom. I’ve had it easy. Nothing bad ever happened to me before now.”
    “Don’t listen to your father. He just