Shawn had read somewhere in one of Mom's magazines that when parents fight they don't always fight about what they are talking about. The words were just things that were said, but behind them was the real problems. Shawn remembered that in the article, two married people were arguing about grapes, but the real issue was who was going to clean the kitchen.

As Shawn stood crouched near the top of the staircase, he could hear Dad dismissing Mom's feelings as she spoke about Shawn.

"It's nothing. He's just a boy. Don't worry about him. Kids play. They make sounds and they talk when they play. That's what they do."

"I saw him talking to himself again. Outside yesterday when Bobby came into the house to go to the bathroom. He was looking up at a branch and then down at the ground. He was talking the whole time."

Mom sighed.

"And I already told you what he was talking about in the kitchen, with the macaroni."

"I told you." He said. "It's play!" Dad said with the kind of voice that signaled that was the end of the conversation.

Shawn listened to the conversation, a little worried. Did Mom think something was wrong with him? Certainly, objectively speaking there absolutely was, but Shawn knew with a terrible certainty that it wasn't something parents could help with. He kept quiet and listened to hear if there might be any further details about what Mom thought might be going on.

"I'm worried about him. I want you to spend more time with him. He's a little old to have imaginary friends. Also, I'm afraid that it might start to affect his ability to get roles on screen. If anyone finds out that he acts like this, God forbid, then they...they might not hire him."

"Acting, Acting, Acting. I'd hate to break it to you Ethel. But I saw that last movie about the knight in shining armor. It was terrible. He shouldn't be acting. He should be playing outside with sticks or whatever boys his age do. As long as he isn't hanging out with jigga-boos and he keeps his grades up, I don't care what he does."

"You're not taking him to one of those messed up shrinks that will plant seeds in his mind about things. I've talked to people like that. They spend an endless time talking about what's wrong in their lives. Cry babies. He'll start thinking we're the problem. I don't have time for that nonsense with all of the work that I have."

"You're job is to take care of the family while I work. And you're not keeping up with it!"

Shawn felt sick. He didn't like acting all that much, really, but he'd taken a bit of pride in the idea that he was at least good at it. If even his own Dad didn't like him...what was the point of any of it? What was the point of Shawn? He barely even heard the bit afterward about shrinks or something.

"WHAT?" Mom objected. "How can you say that? How can you..."

"Ethel. I'm going to say this one time. One time. Get things squared away here in this house. I don't have time to work all day and then come home like this. To this...this...disaster! It starts with you. Now get into the kitchen, make dinner, and start to get things organized around here. I don't care if you take him to the occasional acting session. But for Christ's sake, let's get organized around here! I don't want to hear another word about how our son is supposed to be a star."

And with that Mom retreated into the kitchen, and out of sight. Head hung low, like a puppy dog with a tail between its legs.

Shawn retreated to his room as well, pushing down his feelings as he did to stop from crying. He just had to hold out until this passed, suppress it until he could stop thinking about it...

Shawn Join's thread:

Shawn: Dad's Direct Disappointment