Like Son like Father
By Ruth Maxwell
When she heard his step, she ran on tip-toe down the darkened passage to meet him in the doorway with the news and put him on his guard.
“Silas is back!”
“But. But. When he stormed out half an hour ago, in a towering rage, he was muttering words equivalent to “I will never darken these doors again.”
“Yes, it WAS a very dramatic exit, I agree. But, you know, it’s the drama he enjoys, what he feeds on. After all, his feelings had been very badly hurt.”
“So now, I expect it’s MY fault. I should have let him get away with it, and never said a word?”
“Well, darling, you were a bit tough on him. After all, he’s only 12, still a child. Although, wouldn’t he hate it if he could hear me saying that.”
“I’m sorry, but I AM his father, and I am responsible for his spiritual and moral guidance. I have certain standards and I expect them to be maintained.”
“Darling, think back. 12 years old. You were that age once. Were you not thoroughly bemused and bewildered by the changes in your body, your thoughts out of control?”
“Well – of course. But Discipline. Cold Showers. Long walks. Uplifting literature. I remember loving Pilgrims Progress. Never, ever filthy depraved magazines, from the top shelf of otherwise perfectly respectable paper shops.”
“Mm. Well, possibly they were more difficult to get hold of then…..Anyway, love. Go easy on Silas. He DID come back.”
“Naturally he did. He hadn’t finished his reading matter. And he won’t be able to, I’ve locked them away in my study.”
He walked towards her, and put a hand on her bottom.
“Actually, the magazines were – er – very explicit. Quite informative. Do you - er - fancy a turn in the garden?"