{"id":4529,"date":"2014-04-28T19:23:37","date_gmt":"2014-04-28T23:23:37","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/bonanzabrand.info\/library\/?p=4529"},"modified":"2026-07-29T14:40:42","modified_gmt":"2026-07-29T18:40:42","slug":"questioning-mercy","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/bonanzabrand.info\/library\/?p=4529","title":{"rendered":"Questioning Mercy (by pjb)"},"content":{"rendered":"

Summary:\u00a0<\/span>A missing scene for “The Quality of Mercy.”\u00a0 A father’s beliefs collide with a son’s questions.<\/span><\/p>\n

Rated:<\/span>\u00a0K+ \u00a04250<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 Questioning Mercy<\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

For Bobbi.\u00a0 Sleep well, my little love.<\/em><\/p>\n

\n

* * * * * * * * * *<\/p>\n

At the beginning of \u201cThe Quality of Mercy,\u201d Seth Pruitt has killed his fianc\u00e9e\u2019s father.\u00a0 When Joe comes upon the scene within moments of the killing, Seth says that he did so because Sara\u2019s father was badly injured in a mine cave-in and begged Seth to end his life as an act of mercy.\u00a0 Seth convinces Joe to remain silent about the true circumstances and to allow Sara to believe that her father died as a result of the cave-in.\u00a0 As time passes, Joe\u2019s struggle with his conscience becomes more intense.\u00a0 When he relays the situation to his father without using names, Ben tells him, in no uncertain terms, that what Seth did was wrong.\u00a0 Later, after hearing Joe call out Seth\u2019s name in a nightmare, Adam persuades Joe to tell him the truth.\u00a0 Adam tells Ben what Joe has said.\u00a0 Shortly thereafter, Joe encounters Ben in the barn and admits that he\u2019d thought that Ben had gone to tell Sara the truth.\u00a0 When Joe tries to explain why he went along with Seth\u2019s story, Ben tells him brusquely, \u201cThere\u2019s no more time for talk.\u201d\u00a0 He then heads for the house, leaving Joe at the barn.\u00a0 Joe goes to confront Seth.\u00a0 In the final scene, Sara comes to the house to tell Joe she is leaving for San Francisco.\u00a0 This story comes between Joe\u2019s confrontation with Seth and the final scene.<\/em>\u00a0<\/em>\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

* * * * * * * * * *<\/em><\/p>\n

The hoofbeats in the yard are slow,<\/strong> measured, deliberate.\u00a0 Usually, he rides in far too fast, in a hurry to get to the next moment, the next laugh, the next adventure.\u00a0 Years of asking him not to ride so fast in the yard\u2014years of instructing, demanding, ordering, and even shouting\u2014have never made more than a brief dent in this habit.<\/p>\n

But tonight, my youngest son is in no hurry.<\/p>\n

Until I heard the hoofbeats, I didn\u2019t know whether he would come home.\u00a0 He spoke of wanting to go away, to figure things out for himself.\u00a0 I didn\u2019t think that he would do that without speaking to me.\u00a0 Then again, I never thought that he would have any question in his mind about what Seth Pruitt did.\u00a0 In the past few days, I have come face to face with the realization that I don\u2019t know Joseph as well as I thought I did.<\/p>\n

I wait quietly for him to cross the threshold. \u00a0I have made no secret of the fact that I am awake.\u00a0 The downstairs lamps burn brightly.\u00a0 The window behind my desk is open, the curtains moving slightly in the night\u2019s breeze.\u00a0 All he needs is a glance to know that I am up.<\/p>\n

The hoofbeats stop.\u00a0 I breathe a sigh of relief.\u00a0 For a moment, I\u2019d expected to hear them receding as he rode back out.<\/p>\n

The grandfather clock chimes the half hour, and then the hour.\u00a0 He has not come in. \u00a0It doesn\u2019t take nearly that long to stable a horse. \u00a0I wonder if he plans to try to outwait me.\u00a0 He must know that he cannot.\u00a0 His stubborn streak is pure Cartwright.<\/p>\n

Footsteps on the wooden porch.\u00a0 Slow, like the hoofbeats.\u00a0 And, like the hoofbeats, they stop.\u00a0 I listen for any sound\u2014a sneeze, a cough, a breath.\u00a0 A sob.\u00a0 But no sound betrays him.\u00a0 If I hadn\u2019t heard him walking, I would not know he was there.<\/p>\n

I understand his hesitation.\u00a0 I have been disappointed in him, and he knows it.<\/p>\n

From the time he was a small child, my disappointment has been the most severe punishment I could mete out.\u00a0 Tanning his backside, restricting him to the house, forbidding him from seeing friends\u2014all of these were punishments that he suffered with varying degrees of good grace, and their unpleasantness faded from his memory almost as soon as the moment was past.\u00a0 But if he saw in my eyes that he had truly disappointed me\u2014this, and this alone, reached deep.\u00a0 His eyes would fill with tears\u2014not the crocodile tears he routinely employed to try to avoid punishment, but expression of genuine distress.\u00a0 The stricken look on his face, the inability of my little chatterbox to utter a sound, the hands clutched behind his back, the way he would simply hang his head and try to stifle his sobs as he stood before me\u2014all this let me know how profoundly he felt my reaction.\u00a0 I would try to stand firm, to let him know that his actions had had serious consequences, but the moment always came when I simply could not let my child suffer so.\u00a0 I would gather him into my arms, and he would weep, repentant and relieved, as I reassured him that, no matter what, I still loved him.<\/p>\n

Knowing the devastating effect my disappointment has on him, I have always been careful to express it sparingly.\u00a0 But this afternoon, I made no bones about my feelings.\u00a0 I said little to Joseph, but he knew.<\/p>\n

When Adam recounted what Joe had told him about Sara\u2019s father\u2019s death, I had to sit down.\u00a0 My legs would not hold me. I had never wanted so much to be wrong.<\/p>\n

I\u2019d suspected something like this after Joe and I talked in his room the other night, when he was so troubled and talked of going away to think something through.\u00a0 The hypothetical he recounted rang too true to be a mere fiction.\u00a0 I hoped desperately that he was not speaking of himself when he described the friend who had ended the suffering man\u2019s life.\u00a0 My son could not, would not, do such a thing\u2014I was sure of it. \u00a0But he seemed to be so tortured, so deeply invested in justifying the friend\u2019s actions, that yes, I did ask whether he had ever seen a man as injured as the one he described.\u00a0 And yes, I was vastly relieved when he said he had not.\u00a0 Whatever his involvement, Joe was not the friend who had ended a man\u2019s life.<\/p>\n

And yet, I would never have believed that he would countenance such behavior by another man, or that he would lie to cover it up.\u00a0 The fact that his lie gnawed at him gave me small comfort.<\/p>\n

As a father, I thought I had taught my sons right from wrong.\u00a0 Some truths are so elementary that they should barely require teaching.\u00a0 This, I\u2019d thought, was one of those truths:\u00a0 thou shalt not kill.\u00a0 In self-defense, or in defense of others, yes.\u00a0 As punishment for taking the life of another, yes.\u00a0 But in such a circumstance as this, where the man is innocent and has done you no harm, and he seeks to die because he is in pain\u2014absolutely not.\u00a0 A suffering man cannot be trusted to know what is best for him.\u00a0 Joe should have known this.\u00a0 And knowing, he should have spoken up and seen that justice was done.\u00a0 But he kept silent, and he lied by his silence.\u00a0 He lied to Sara.\u00a0 He lied to me.<\/p>\n

I hear nothing from the porch.\u00a0 He has neither come nor gone.\u00a0 It occurs to me to wonder if he is waiting for something.\u00a0 For me, perhaps.\u00a0 For absolution.<\/p>\n

I don\u2019t know where he\u2019s been.\u00a0 When I last saw him this afternoon, he admitted to me that he thought I\u2019d gone to speak with Sara.\u00a0 His statement angered and hurt me.\u00a0 Surely he knew me better than that.\u00a0 Surely he knew that I would not do such a thing without speaking with him.<\/p>\n

Joseph has always been my passionate, restless one.\u00a0 So like his mother\u2014his feelings intense, his compassions deep, his loyalties fierce, his heart strong and loving.\u00a0 My older sons inherited their mothers\u2019 more moderate dispositions, for which I am grateful.\u00a0 As much as I loved Marie, and still do, I cannot imagine a houseful of sons with her quicksilver temperament.\u00a0 Even now, long after she is gone, our household still bears evidence of her legendary fiery temper.\u00a0 We have only seven place settings of her rose-colored dishes, and five of the crystal wineglasses we bought when we moved into this house.\u00a0 We started with a dozen of each.<\/p>\n

Little Joe has always confided freely in me.\u00a0 Ever since he was old enough to speak, he has regaled me with stories of his day, of everything he did or thought or felt.\u00a0 I confess that at times, when he was little and I was exhausted, I sometimes merely pretended to listen.\u00a0 The details about the gray horse or the trout that got away or what someone at school said were, on occasion, too much for me to absorb after a full day of trying to build a ranch.\u00a0 But even when I could not listen fully, I was careful not to let him know.\u00a0 Even then, when I could barely keep my eyes open, I knew that his confidences were a precious gift and that I must do whatever was necessary to avoid closing that door.<\/p>\n

I have no doubt that I have failed my sons many, many times.\u00a0 I look at them and know that I have not been as good a father as I could have been.\u00a0 No man is, I expect.\u00a0 Still, when my youngest son trusts me with the secrets of his heart, I can rest in the knowledge that I have done at least one thing well.<\/p>\n

But clearly, I do not know him as well as I thought.\u00a0 His comment about my going to Sara stung, and I strode into the house without looking back.\u00a0 Hoss told me at dinner that, after that, Joe rode out like a man possessed. \u00a0I simply nodded. \u00a0I had no appetite.\u00a0 I could not contain my disappointment in him for lying, or in myself for having failed to teach my own son the difference between right and wrong.<\/p>\n

As we left the table after a largely silent meal, Adam caught my arm.\u00a0 Softly, he said, \u201cThis hasn\u2019t been easy for him, either.\u201d<\/p>\n

I regarded my eldest son. \u00a0Joe would have been surprised to hear Adam defending him under any circumstances, much less now.\u00a0 I suspect that he has no idea how many times his older brother has interceded for him. \u00a0I asked the question that has tortured me since Joe first spoke of his distress.\u00a0 \u201cHow could he not have known it was wrong?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe must have known, deep down,\u201d said Adam.\u00a0 \u201cIf he didn\u2019t, it wouldn\u2019t have been eating him up like this.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen how could he have kept quiet?\u201d<\/p>\n

Adam\u2019s eyes were gentle and sad.\u00a0 \u201cBecause he gave his word,\u201d he said.\u00a0 \u201cAnd that was another thing you taught him.\u00a0 A man never goes back on his word.\u201d<\/p>\n

Adam will be an excellent father someday.\u00a0 With just a few well-chosen words, he has shown me the trap in which Joe had found himself.\u00a0 He could honor his promise and allow Seth to avoid punishment for his actions.\u00a0 Or, he could break his word, reveal the truth about his long-time friend and ruin Sara\u2019s chance of happiness with the man she loved.\u00a0\u00a0 His love for his family and friends and his fervent desire to believe the best of them, even in the face of overwhelming contrary evidence, has gotten him into trouble before, too.<\/p>\n

The evening passed, not peacefully, but quietly.\u00a0 Adam read a book, Hoss braided a lariat, and I stared into the fire.\u00a0 The rough, comforting smell of woodsmoke enveloped me as I poked at the logs.\u00a0 Occasionally, I looked up to see one of my sons watching me.\u00a0 I did not speak, nor did they.<\/p>\n

Eventually, they went up to bed.\u00a0 I bade them goodnight and poked at the fire again.\u00a0 I didn\u2019t know if Joseph would come home.\u00a0 Perhaps he had left on the trip he\u2019d wanted to take.\u00a0 Sooner or later, I would find out.<\/p>\n

And then, I heard the hoofbeats in the yard and the steps on the porch.<\/p>\n

Still, no sound from without.<\/p>\n

I can wait no longer.\u00a0 I lay the poker on the hearth and cross the room, making no attempt to muffle my own footsteps.\u00a0 If he is unwilling to see me, if he wishes to turn and flee, he will have that chance.<\/p>\n

I open the door.<\/p>\n

He stands by the post, several feet away.\u00a0 His hands are behind his back.\u00a0 His head is bowed.\u00a0 If he has heard the door open, he gives no sign.<\/p>\n

\u201cJoseph.\u201d\u00a0 My voice is quiet.<\/p>\n

He lifts his head a bit.\u00a0 The brim of his hat hides his eyes, but I can see a bruise on his jaw.<\/p>\n

\u201cSon.\u00a0 Are you all right?\u201d<\/p>\n

He raises his chin.\u00a0 The shadow of his hat hides his eyes, but I can feel them on me, cautious, questioning.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt wasn\u2019t a mercy killing,\u201d he says at last.\u00a0 \u201cSeth murdered him.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCome inside,\u201d I say, taking his arm.\u00a0 He allows me to guide him into the house.\u00a0 When he takes off his hat, the bruises stand in stark contrast to his unusually pale skin.\u00a0 For an instant, I recall a day, years earlier, when we were battling with an unscrupulous businessman named Mark Burdette, who wanted to buy our cattle so that he could sell it at a premium.\u00a0 Joseph had gone into town, and Burdette arranged for him to be beaten up.\u00a0 When Little Joe came home, bruised and bleeding, I remember cradling his face in my hands as I checked to see how bad the damage was, reassuring myself that he was not seriously hurt.\u00a0 For a moment, I want to do the same thing now, even though he is a far cry from that boy of seventeen.<\/p>\n

Instead, I content myself with a swift once-over.\u00a0 After so many years with sons, I am adept at assessing injuries with a glance.\u00a0 Nothing serious this time, but he should put some ice on that jaw.\u00a0 \u201cI\u2019ll be right back,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n

When I return a few minutes later with a chunk of ice wrapped in a towel, he is sitting on the hearth.\u00a0 I sit on the table in front of him and hold the ice against the bruise, and he takes it with a nod of thanks.\u00a0 I\u2019m tempted to suggest that he move across the room, to the settee, but I remind myself that he\u2019s a grown man who knows that heat melts ice.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat happened?\u201d I ask quietly.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe told me the truth,\u201d says Joe.\u00a0 \u201cHe\u2019d found a new vein of silver in Sara\u2019s father\u2019s mine.\u00a0 And he and Sara\u2019s father weren\u2019t getting along.\u00a0 Her father was against their marriage.\u00a0 So, when the mine caved in, he took advantage of it.\u00a0 When I told Seth I\u2019d have to turn him over to the sheriff, he offered to split the takings of the mine with me to keep me quiet.\u201d\u00a0 He shakes his head.\u00a0 \u201cHe thought I was like him.\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0.\u201d<\/p>\n

A shiver passes through me, even so close to the fire.\u00a0 Joseph could never be like Seth.\u00a0 His respect for life is far too profound.\u00a0 But then, my son continues, his words abrupt, jerky, shocking:\u00a0 \u201cIf it had really been a mercy killing\u2014I\u2019m not sure it would have been wrong.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat?\u201d\u00a0 The word bursts forth with such force that Joe stares at me.\u00a0 He swallows hard and nods.\u00a0 Yes, he said what I heard him say.<\/p>\n

\u201cJoseph\u2014we talked about this.\u00a0 I thought you understood.\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0.\u201d\u00a0 My words trail off.<\/p>\n

\u201cI understand what you and Adam think,\u201d he says.\u00a0 \u201cBut I don\u2019t know if I agree with you.\u201d<\/p>\n

In that moment, as I remember the night we talked in his room, I know for the first time what my son\u2019s struggle truly was.\u00a0 He was not, as I\u2019d thought, grappling with the vast difference between what he believed Seth had done and what he knew to be right.\u00a0 His collusion with Seth\u2019s lie was weighing on him, but it was more than that.\u00a0 Joe even said it, over and over, but I refused to hear:\u00a0 he honestly didn\u2019t know what was right in that situation.\u00a0 It wasn\u2019t an attempt to excuse the wrong.\u00a0 Faced with the moment when he had to apply what he\u2019d learned, he\u2019d found that what I\u2019d taught him had somehow fallen short.\u00a0 He was in the deep waters, and he no longer knew how to swim.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut, Joe\u2014it\u2019s wrong!\u201d\u00a0 I don\u2019t know how to convince him of this, but it suddenly feels terribly important that I do.\u00a0 \u201cOnly God can end an innocent life.\u00a0 Man doesn\u2019t have that right.\u201d\u00a0 I feel helpless.\u00a0 How can he not know this?<\/p>\n

He meets my eyes squarely for the first time since he walked into the house.\u00a0 \u201cI know that\u2019s what you believe, Pa,\u201d he says.\u00a0 \u201cAnd I know it\u2019s what you think I should believe.\u00a0 And maybe, when I\u2019ve thought it all through, I\u2019ll agree with you.\u00a0 But now, I\u2019m just saying that I don\u2019t know what I think.\u201d\u00a0 His gaze turns inward as he holds the ice against his jaw.\u00a0 Half to himself, he says, \u201cI never thought about it before\u2014not about people, anyway.\u00a0 I remember all the times we\u2019ve put down animals who were hurting and were never going to get better, and we\u2019ve said we\u2019re putting them out of their misery.\u00a0 When I was ten and my pony broke his leg\u2014you said we were doing him a kindness, that he\u2019d only suffer and he\u2019d never get better.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut, son\u2014animals aren\u2019t the same as people!\u201d\u00a0 Even I can hear the near-desperation in my voice.<\/p>\n

But my son\u2019s face shows no answering anxiety. \u00a0His eyes are sad, hurting, but steadfast. \u00a0\u201cI know that,\u201d he says.\u00a0 \u201cBut what I don\u2019t know is why\u2014or if\u2014it\u2019s wrong to do the same thing for someone who\u2019s suffering and who asks to have that suffering ended.\u00a0 I mean, what if Seth had been telling the truth?\u00a0 If Sara\u2019s father had really been dying and in horrible pain, and if he\u2019d really begged to be put out of his misery, the way Seth said he did\u2014isn\u2019t it possible that it could have been right to do what he asked?\u00a0 When there was no chance at all that he was going to survive, and saying \u2018no\u2019 would only have meant a longer time for him to suffer that terrible pain?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSon, you can never know whether death is certain,\u201d I protest.\u00a0 \u201cThere\u2019s always a chance.\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0.\u201d<\/p>\n

He shakes his head, smiling ruefully.\u00a0 \u201cNot always,\u201d he says.\u00a0 \u201cBut even if there is\u2014why does a man have to live for years and years in agony?\u00a0 Who are we to decide that he has to live when his suffering is so horrible that all he wants is to die?\u201d<\/p>\n

I pull out the arguments that seemed to convince him before.\u00a0 \u201cA man who\u2019s suffering like that\u2014he doesn\u2019t know what he wants.\u00a0 It\u2019s up to his friends to do what\u2019s best for him, even if that means going against what he says he wants them to do.\u201d<\/p>\n

Joe considers this.\u00a0 Then, he shakes his head.\u00a0 \u201cI don\u2019t know, Pa. \u00a0I guess it just seems that the man who is in so much pain should have some say in how much longer he suffers.\u00a0 A man should have some control over his own life.\u201d\u00a0 He watches the fire for a few minutes before he speaks in a voice so quiet that I can hardly hear him. \u00a0\u201cIf I was ever suffering like that, and there was no question that I was going to die, and I was desperate for it to end\u2014I guess I\u2019d like to think that you wouldn\u2019t make me wait hours, or days or weeks, for it to be over.\u00a0 That if I asked you to, you\u2019d end my suffering for me.\u201d<\/p>\n

I can\u2019t speak.\u00a0 What Joseph is saying shocks me on so many levels.\u00a0 And yet, a tiny uncertain kernel of something, in the far back corner of my mind, wonders:\u00a0 if my dying son asked, would I help him die?<\/p>\n

Everything in me wants to say\u2014to scream\u2014no!<\/em>\u00a0 Life is sacred, and only God can decide when it\u2019s to end.\u00a0 I have held firmly to this belief my entire life. \u00a0And yet, as I sit on this table, my knees almost touching my son\u2019s, I am suddenly not as certain as I\u2019ve always thought I was.\u00a0 In the abstract, yes.\u00a0 With a stranger, or even a friend, absolutely.\u00a0 But what if the injured man was my own son, broken and bleeding, in horrific pain, tears in his eyes, pale skin dotted with sweat from the sheer effort of not screaming? \u00a0What if he was badly burned in a fire, and surviving meant spending his days in a laudanum haze to keep from going mad with agony until merciful death claimed him at last? \u00a0What if he had only hours or days left on this earth, each moment more excruciating than the last, and he turned to me, begging me to end his torment\u2014could I tell him \u2018no\u2019?\u00a0 Could I look into his pleading eyes and tell him that I was sorry, but it would be wrong to end such torture early?\u00a0 That I knew better than he what he wanted?\u00a0 That he must endure to the end because that would be the right thing for me to do?<\/p>\n

My son is watching me.\u00a0 My youngest son.\u00a0 The one I still think of as a boy when it suits me.\u00a0 But he\u2019s not a boy, hasn\u2019t been for a long time now. \u00a0I should know that better than anyone. \u00a0Joseph is a man, in every sense of the word.\u00a0 The youngster who was beaten up by Burdette\u2019s hireling is years behind us.\u00a0 And yet, for too long, in too many ways, I\u2019ve simply shrugged him off as a boy.<\/p>\n

How wrong I\u2019ve been.<\/p>\n

Joe rises.\u00a0 \u201cI\u2019m going to bed, Pa,\u201d he says.\u00a0 \u201cIt\u2019s been a long day.\u201d\u00a0 I smile at his understatement.\u00a0 He tosses the last bit of ice into the fire, and the sizzle makes me smile more.\u00a0 Carefully, he spreads the towel on the hearth to dry.\u00a0 He starts upstairs, and then he turns back.\u00a0 \u201cOnce everything\u2019s taken care of, I still want to go away,\u201d he says.<\/p>\n

His statement surprises me.\u00a0 The other night, he spoke of wanting to go away to think out his problem.\u00a0 Now, there is no problem.\u00a0 Seth committed murder, and the law will handle him.\u00a0 Sara will undoubtedly grieve the loss of her fianc\u00e9 as well as the death of her father, but this is not a problem to be solved; it is only a sad state of affairs to be gotten through.<\/p>\n

My confusion must show, because Joe says, \u201cI still need to figure out what I think.\u201d<\/p>\n

I regard my son, standing on the stairs with the purple bruise on his jaw and the pain of his friend\u2019s betrayal in his eyes.\u00a0 Another man might have walked away from the issue.\u00a0 No decision presses on him now.\u00a0 There is no need to grapple with the right and the wrong.\u00a0 He is free to move on, to allow something else to consume his attention, if he wishes.<\/p>\n

But Joe has never been one to let go easily.\u00a0 These few weeks have cost him dearly.\u00a0 It should come as no surprise that he will continue to wrestle with what has happened.\u00a0 Perhaps he should.<\/p>\n

Perhaps we all will.<\/p>\n

I nod, permission and acknowledgement in one.\u00a0 \u201cMaybe in a couple weeks, if that\u2019s convenient,\u201d I suggest.\u00a0 Seth\u2019s trial should be over by then.\u00a0 Joe can\u2019t leave before the trial; he will need to testify.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s what I was thinking,\u201d says Joe, and I know that he has the same reasoning.\u00a0 \u201cGood night, Pa.\u201d\u00a0 He heads up the stairs as I bid him good night.<\/p>\n

For a long time after Joe has gone up, I sit by the fire.\u00a0 Such a strange, fantastic few days.\u00a0 My son does not adhere to one of my most deeply-held beliefs.\u00a0 And yet somehow, I am not disappointed in him, as both of us might have supposed. \u00a0Even though I don\u2019t understand how he can question such a basic truth, I find that an unexpected part of me respects the fact that he\u2019s struggling, rather than simply accepting what he\u2019s been told.\u00a0 He is my son, and yet, he is carving out his own path, separate and distinct from mine.\u00a0 It may have many of the same curves and hills and dips, and yet, it is uniquely his.<\/p>\n

And if he stumbles and falls\u2014he will stand up again, and he will move forward.\u00a0 Perhaps not in the direction I would choose, but it will be a direction which is right for him.<\/p>\n

The towel he laid on the hearth is barely damp.\u00a0 I fold it carefully and take it to the kitchen for Hop Sing to use at breakfast.\u00a0 I set it on the stack of clean towels, smoothing it as if there will be an inspection.\u00a0 I don\u2019t know what morning\u2019s light will bring.\u00a0 I know only that we are all together now, and regardless of what comes, we shall continue to be together.<\/p>\n

Of this, I am certain.<\/p>\n

The End<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Disclaimer:<\/span>\u00a0All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Summary:\u00a0A missing scene for “The Quality of Mercy.”\u00a0 A father’s beliefs collide with a son’s questions.<\/p>\n

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