As excruciating as it was listening to his kid go into great detail about the stupid story, it was also kind of sweet. Chrissie was twelve and smart as a whip and wasn't acting like a goddamned teenager yet. Artie was not looking forward to Chrissie being a know-it-all teen, rebelling against parental authority. He'd been bracing for it and so was trying to enjoy Chrissie as a kid for as long as he could. Still, listening to how much some stupid kid in a story loved a sweater was pushing it.
Finally, Chrissie said, "so I'm supposed to write a reflection on the story, but the problem (and she said the word problem with emphasis) is that it can only be 500 words and I've got a lot more to say than that." Chrissie also emphasized "that."
Artie thought for a second. Was he supposed to say something here? Offer advice, sympathize with Chrissie's plight? He cleared his throat and did what he'd long ago learned was the go-to move when not sure what to say, he asked a question. "When is the reflection due?"
"Tomorrow," Chrissie frowned broadly.
"Hmmm, tell you what you do, Sweat Pea, you just sit down and write as much as you want then see where you're at with words. You may not have that much more than 500 words, and your mom or I can maybe suggest where you can shorten it." Artie wasn't sure that it was the best thing he could have said but was satisfied that it would do. Thus he was surprised by his daughter's reaction.
"Thanks, Daddy! You give the best advice," and she wrapped her arms around her father's neck and hugged him.
"Well, you better get on it," Artie said, pleased with himself and delighted that his daughter still held him in such esteem.
"Notice what I'm wearing, Daddy?"
"Your favorite red sweater."
"Yup. I thought it would help get me in the right frame of mind to write the story."
"You're something, Sweet Pea, such a clever girl."
Chrissie literally skipped to the dining room table, took a notebook out of her Snoopy backpack, and began to write.
Artie sat back in his leather chair and started reading the evening paper. Reading the newspaper comforted him, and he read it all. Of course, all the news, the editorials, sports, entertainment, the comics, even the advice columns. Artie took pride in being well-informed.
It was especially quiet that evening. Artie could hear his wife June in the kitchen, washing the dishes and singing. She had a nice voice. Artie could also hear Chrissie writing. The child seemed to forever be writing or drawing and was good at both. Artie imagined that she'd someday write and illustrate books, perhaps for children.
There was one other person in the house, June's nephew Simon was staying with them for an indeterminate time. The nineteen-year-old had been kicked out of his parent's house by Artie's brother-in-law, Tom. Simon was gay. For years, everyone had known except his father, a cop, and the most conservative man Artie had ever met. When Tom learned the truth about his second of three sons, he refused to have anything more to do with him and banished Simon from their house.
June had insisted to her sister, Alice, that they take him in until Simon could get work and afford a place of his own. Alice sent a small check every week to help cover Simon's extra cost in the house.
On the surface, everything was fine. Chrissie loved Simon and thought it was the greatest thing ever to have a cool, older cousin staying with them. June loved him too and would listen for hours as Simon detailed the many difficulties he'd been facing in life. Artie wondered how someone who was only nineteen could have already gone through so much. He thought that Simon over-dramatized and exaggerated everything — except for how much of a schmuck his father was. Artie barely got along with Tom and readily accepted all the horrible things Simon said about him.
But Artie was uncomfortable having Simon around all the time. Not because he was gay, but because Simon was a frail person — both physically and emotionally weak — who could neither sit still nor stop chewing his nails. When he did sit, Simon would cross his right leg over his left, and his right foot would ceaselessly bob up and down in a way that drove Artie nuts. Simon lacked confidence. He lacked conviction. He lacked ambition. Artie couldn't imagine what the world had in store for such a perpetually frightened person. He did grant that Simon was exceptionally intelligent, having already seemingly read every significant novel in the canon and knowing history backwards and forwards and being an art expert. Surely if Simone could get himself together emotionally, he would amount to something someday. It gave Artie the tiniest bit of stress to have a Nervous Nellie in the house, fretting about everything.
Artie wanted to give Simon a pep talk. He'd like to encourage him to go back to college. Simon had dropped out after the professor he was having an affair with dumped him to try to give his marriage another try. The experience soured Simon on college. This, Artie, found to be ridiculous. Why should the end of a relationship, no matter that it was inappropriate, make a person want to give up on their education? He wanted to tell Simon that it was silly. He had fountains of advice to give the young man but couldn't work up the nerve to. Maybe if he asks me, Artie thought.
Artie was in the middle of reading an article about the local college quarterback's comeback from an injury when Simon entered the room and flopped down on the sofa.
"Uncle Artie," he sighed. "I've decided that I hate my name. I mean, come on. Simon. It's such a boring name. It makes me sound like a librarian or an accountant."
"Oh, it's no so bad," Artie offered cheerfully.
"Well, I've decided I hate it."
Artie had a thought and immediately decided to try it out. "Maybe you should change it then. Maybe it'll turn your luck around or make you more confident."
"Hmmm, ya know, you're probably right." At last, Simon sounded enthusiastic. "Got any suggestions?"
"Goodness me, no, that's got to be your department. Surely there are some names you like." Artie would rather be reading about the quarterback, but at the same time was encouraged that he might have just helped Simon.
"There are a lot of names I like. French ones. Jean-Luc is really nice. I also like Francois and Maxime. But do I really want a French name?"
Chrissie bounded into the room and announced, "I finished my homework, Daddy."
"Congratulations, Sweat Pea. Say, where's your mom?"
"She's watching her favorite show on the TV in your bedroom, Daddy."
"What show is that?" Simon asked.
"I believe it's called The Scarecrow and Mrs. King," said Artie.
Simon made a face as if both puzzled and repelled, "never heard of it," he said.
"Hey Daddy, aren't you going to watch the Monday Night football game?"
"I'm not interested in either team that's playing tonight."
"My neanderthal father would watch any teams play any time. He cared more about stupid football than any of us," Simon offered sourly.
Chrissie, who'd been standing by her father, went over and sat next to Simon and leaned her head against his shoulder. "I'm sorry you and your dad don't get along, Simon," she said, adding hopefully, "Maybe someday, huh?"
"You're such a darling, Chrissie," he answered and kissed the top of her head. "Say, Chrissie, you want to help me pick out a new name?"
"What's wrong with Simon, Simon?"
"I don't like it anymore. The truth is I've never really liked it."
Artie chimed in, "Simon had some ideas, but they were all French names. Whattaya think of that?"
Chrissie frowned dramatically and looked her cousin in the eye and said, "you should most definitely pick an English name." After a pause, she added, "unless you're moving to France."
"You're right. People would just mispronounce a French name. How about Cyril?"
"Nooooooooooooooo. No way. No how. Uh-uh," Chrissie said loudly.
"I was half kidding anyway. Ya know, I kind of like James. But never Jim or Jimmy. Harold is nice, but not Harry. What else…"
"You could use my father's name, Chester," Artie offered jovially.
Simon and Chrissie both laughed in response, then fed off each other's laughter and positively howled with delight.
"What do you think, Chester?" Chrissie said, looking at her cousin mirthfully. They both laughed some more.
There was a long enough silence for Artie to pick up the paper and resume reading the article about the college quarterback.
"Sean!" Simon practically shouted it. "I love that name. Plus I'd keep the same initials. I'd be Sean Littlefield."
"I love it, Simon! I mean Sean," Chrissie announced.
"Suits me fine," said Artie.
"I want to hear what Aunt June thinks."
As if on cue, June entered the room.
"What's all the commotion down here?" She asked happily, noting that everyone seemed in good spirits.
"Your show, mom, you left while your show's on."
"It's commercial time, and it's the ones right in the middle of the program that go on forever."
"Simon is going to change his name, Mommy!"
"Oh really? Say, shouldn't you be getting ready for bed, young lady?" June asked her.
"Say that's right," Artie said, "it's 8:30."
Ever dutiful to family rules, Chrissie leapt off the sofa to prepare for bed, but before doing so, she gave her cousin a hug and said, "good night, Sean."
"What's this Sean business?" June enquired.
"I'm changing my name, Aunt June. I always hated Simon."
"I didn't know that. Well, Sean is certainly a nice name."
"I thought it might change his luck," Artie said seriously as he craned his neck to look at his wife.
"It just might!" She said. "I've got to go back to my show. I'll come talk to you two in half an hour when it's over."
June went back upstairs, and Artie returned to the sports section hoping that he could get through the article and then take a look at the entertainment section. But Simon sighed ponderously, obviously trying to get Artie's attention.
Taking the cue, Artie put the paper down — yet again — and looked at the young man.
"Do you really think changing my name will make a difference in my life?"
"Hey, it's worth a shot. If you were unhappy with your name, it was like you were unhappy with yourself, so it stands to reason that you'll be happier with yourself if you're happy with your name. That could get you going." It was all off the top of Artie's head, and he knew that it sounded good and probably made sense but still didn't completely trust that it was the best advice to give in the circumstances. The truth was that Artie was rarely called upon by anyone to give advice.
Simon crossed his legs, and his right foot started bouncing again. He took another bite out of a fingernail, then looked at Artie and said, "I've got to do something. I'll change my name, and I'll take Aunt June's advice and see a counselor."
Feeling like he was on a roll, Artie said, "and maybe you can give some thought to re-enrolling in school." Artie couldn't believe he said that but was glad he did.
"I might as well face the fact that I've got to. I've known it pretty much since the day after I dropped out. I suppose I'll have to get a job in the meantime. My friend Scott said that there's a waiter position opening up at the restaurant where he works."
"Wow, sounds like you've got some plans and are on the right track."
"I really appreciate what you and Aunt June have done for me. You're a couple of lifesavers. But I don't want to be a burden to you any longer."
Artie waved his hand dismissively. "It's no bother at all."
Chrissie came dashing into the room and announced. "Daddy, I've brushed my teeth and have got my PJs on and am ready for bed. All I need is a good night kiss."
Artie kissed her on the cheek, "You want me to read you a bedtime story, Sweat Pea?"
"Come on, Daddy, I've been old enough to read my own bedtime stories for a year."
"Did you need me to look over your English paper?"
"Nah, I'm sure it's okay. It's not like a big assignment or anything anyway." With that, Chrissie bounded over to Simon. "G'night handsome cousin," she said and give him a kiss on the cheek.
"Aren't you sweet," Simon said, tearing up.
"Hey, don't cry about."
Simon composed himself and said, "I won't, it's just that you and your mom and dad are such darling people."
"So are you for sure going to be Sean from now on?"
"Yup. I'm Sean Littlefield from this day forward."
"Hooray!" Chrissie exclaimed.
Then she dashed out of the room, yelling, "good night, EVERYONE!"
Ten minutes later, her show finished, June joined Artie and the newly christened Sean.
Her nephew excitedly filled June in on his plans, giving credit to Artie for helping him. June listened intently and offered encouragement. Artie finally finished the evening paper and said his goodnights.
"Thank you, Artie, I appreciate your help," Simon now Sean said. Artie smiled at Sean. He felt really good about having helped the young man.
On the way to bed, Artie stopped in the dining room and picked up Chrissie's homework assignment. He read the essay — which was quite good, he thought — and was surprised to note that Chrissie had added a dedication at the end.
To my wonderful dad who listened to me talk about Tia Maria's Red Sweater even though it must have been kind of boring. He's pretty cool.
Artie couldn't remember ever feeling better.
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