A Matter of Conviction

(He has never called his father Dad. There is something effete in the word, he believes. He feels, too, an inadequacy in the word Pop. It does not express to him the father-son relationship he desires. He would like a word that expressed warmth and companionship and man-to-manness. “Dad” does not do that, and “Pop” is somehow lacking. He has thought often of calling his father Johnny. This, he thinks, would establish something between them. But he knows that his father would not like it, even though he has never discussed it with him. He knows intuitively that his father would not like it. And so, rejecting the word expressing a false relationship, eliminating the word for the relationship he desires, he has settled upon “Pop,” which fills but does not satisfy the need.)

DI PACE: What is it, Danny?

DANNY: Is it true?

DI PACE: What?

DANNY: That we’re moving?

DI PACE: Oh yeah. It’s true. Would you hand me that ball of twine?

(Danny hands his father the twine, watching him as he works on the bush. He would like to help his father. He can remember wanting to help his father ever since he was a little kid. When his father was painting, he would come out and ask if he could paint, too, and his father would invariably say no. He could understand this somewhat. His father is a careful and fastidious worker, and he does not like a child slowing down the work or making a mess. But still he wished he could have helped his father sometime.)

DANNY: Where... where are we going?

DI PACE: To Harlem.

DANNY: Where Grandma lives?

DI PACE: Near there. Yes. Give me that scissors.

(Danny hands him the scissors. He recalls that on the few occasions he did help his father it was always in the capacity of the person who handed him things or held things. In his mind, he has created a fantasy wherein he and his father are painting the side of the house, sitting on the same scaffold. He calls his father Johnny, and they crack jokes together and laugh together, and at lunchtime they sit on the scaffold and eat sandwiches Mary has made, and then Johnny says, “Well, back to the salt mines,” and they begin painting again. Occasionally, as they work, they begin singing. The song is spontaneous, and it stops just as quickly as it has started, usually ending on a laugh. At the end of the day, they lower the scaffold and then they back away from the job and, paint-smeared hands on dungareed hips, they survey their work. And Johnny says, “That’s a damn good job, son. Let’s go up to the center and get ourselves a couple of sodas.” It is a nice fantasy. It has never happened. It will never happen.)

DANNY: I don’t like Harlem much.