The Leaving
by Pho
The pain in your eyes belies the mask of calm you've chosen to display, my son. You profess to understand, even accept that I have lost my path, and must, of need, wander for a time. I know this to be a lie as I watch your heart shatter at my words. Oh, my beautiful child, my miracle, you cannot know how it pains me to leave... No, I must call it what it is... to abandon you once more, this time intentionally.
My son, I long to tell you of the pride I feel in you. Your willingness to defend *my* honor, not knowing it was *yours* that was being defiled. Your attempt to hide one more hurt as your heritage was once again denied to you. How often have I wished that the Oriental blood, which runs so strongly in your veins, might have taken a kinder turn and shown more visibly in your features. Your acceptance might then have been assured. Instead, as always, you were forced to fight for that which should have been granted to you without question.
I have spoken at length with those who love you best. Those who have known you almost since you were lost to me, all tell the same tale. The uncertain, frightened child of the orphanage grew into a confident, fearless young man. But, unwittingly, they also tell of a change in you. A confusion bordering on doubt that was not there before ... before I returned to share your life.
It is this which I flee. I cannot, will not accept a lessening of the man that you have become, in order to become the man you think I wish for you to be. Peter, my son, you have always been a defender of those who could not defend themselves. While it is true that I do not always understand, nor accept, your methods, I have no doubt of the worthiness of your goal. Nor do I doubt that you have always chosen the most honorable path open to you. I greatly fear that in the attempt to assuage my feelings, you will put your honor, and possibly your very life, at risk. This is a burden which I cannot, will not carry.
I reach for your face. You flinch away, certain of a physical chastening for perceived wrongdoing. I cup your face in the palm of my hand, relishing the manliness of it. The softness of childhood is gone forever, but still I sense in the tautness of the muscles beneath my fingers, your uncertainty, your desperate need for my acceptance of what you do. You do not yet understand, my child, that my love for you is yours without condition.
I see it in your eyes ... you fear that I shall not return. I shall, my son, I promise. When you are ready. When you can accept me as father, mentor, and perhaps, as friend. When you have banished forever your childlike belief that I am ... perfect. Until then, my son, I must again wander. I can only pray that I am strong enough to absent myself while you find that which was lost when we found each other, and are restored to the man which you were meant to be.
I feel your eyes boring into my back as I walk away. My heart is breaking, but I dare not turn back, for if I do, my resolve will be lost. I pray, my son, that one day you will understand what I do, and why I do it. Perhaps you will also find it in that expansive heart of yours to forgive me, as I will never forgive myself.
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