I Thought You Were Dead by Pete Nelson

failed to identify the navy buddy he’d met in the hospital, the barrel-chested guy with the crew cut) — as well as various awards and recognitions of achievement Harrold had garnered over the years, including a Minneapolis School System Teacher of the Year award. Being the son of a teacher had placed Paul in a difficult position in high school, his kinship tantamount to an traitorous alliance with the Enemy. To show his friends that he could be trusted as a “regular guy,” he smoked pot and drank and got in trouble at every opportunity. Harrold Gustavson was considered one of the more acceptable teachers in the school, not popular in the palsy-walsy way some teachers were, but highly respected, even by the juvenile delinquents and the stoners and the jocks, for being fair and honest and for simply being a good teacher,intense, everyone said — an hour in his class was like a week in anyone else’s. Paul had avoided his father’s class for the same reason he avoided talking about school at home. It was a question of establishing an identity for himself, apart from his family, which required some sense of autonomy and privacy. Other kids could do stuff at school that their parents never knew about; Paul never had the luxury. From eighth grade on, he left his house to hang out at his friends’ houses every chance he got, to get away from what he considered oppressive and ubiquitous parental supervision. Away from prying eyes, he could use swear words in his conversations, smoke cigarettes, drink beer, goof around with chicks, let his hair down and relax — he could be himself. At one time, that meant being whatever was the opposite of who his father was. Now, surrounded by so many representations of his father’s accomplishments, with nothing of note to show for his own sorry life, default contrariety didn’t seem like such a good idea.
    Staring at the telephone was no more productive now than it had been when he was a pimply-faced teenager, and led him to the same conclusion: “Just call — you’ll think of something.” He dialed again. Twice, his finger slipped from the hole in the rotary dial and he had to start over.
    â€œHi, this is Tamsen. Please leave a message, and if this is Paul, I went out, but feel free to call and wake me up, or else call me in the morning. Beeeeep …”
    â€œHi, it’s me,” he said. “I’m home and it’s about ten o’clock your time. Just calling to say good night. I was thinking I might ramble on and see if I could fill your entire tape but that would be wrong. We went straight to the hospital from the airport and had dinner there. My mom is actually staying there tonight, so I’ve got the house to myself. It’s a little spooky. I’ll tell you all about my dad when I talk to you, but the basic word is, he’s stable and resting and not likely to get any worse, so there’s no emergency,exactly, except that they still don’t know how bad it is. There’s positive indications and negative ones and they’re still doing tests. I’ll keep you posted. We’re all sort of spent. I had a little spat with my brother, which I will also tell you about later.
    â€œAnyway, I really was going to ramble on and on to see if I could make you laugh at how I just kept going on and on and on and on, but actually I won’t do that. I wish you were here. I’m in my father’s office, which used to be my bedroom, mine and Carl’s, and I’m looking at all these awards and honors he won, and it’s making me think I really need to get some honors and awards. Maybe when I get home, I’ll see if I have an Old English font and print myself up some awards to hang in my studio.”
    This was good. He spoke slowly. He could imagine the smile on her face. She’d said she loved the way he made her laugh. This was worth points.
    â€œI know I promised not to ramble