RichardDaub.com, January 2024

Under the tree in the corner of their grandmother’s small backyard, sixteen-year-old Carl Jr. and his younger sister and brother, fourteen and eleven, watched their new “stepbrothers” and “stepsisters” from Texas—six in all, ages two through six, the youngest a set of triplets—gleefully run back and forth with the clothesline roller as if it were the greatest thing ever.

“This is messed up,” Carl Jr. said.

“Yeah,” said his sister.

“Yeah,” agreed their younger brother.

Their father, Carl Sr., a U.S. Customs Inspector, divorced by their mother after her hot affair with the man who was now her husband, had, for the past six years, been living in his mother’s house rent-free in the basement bedroom he and his brother shared as children in the 1950s and 60s. He’d just returned to New York after a three-month work assignment in San Antonio, and, when he picked them up earlier that morning to resume their court-mandated Saturday visits between the hours of 10:00 am and 5:00 pm, he informed them that, while in Texas, he had gotten married, and that they now had a new “stepmother”, “Alice”, a former Dallas Cowboy cheerleader from the sad end of the Tex Schramm/Tom Landry era, and six new “stepbrothers” and “stepsisters”, all waiting to meet them at Grandma’s house.

The Texas children had apparently been excited about meeting their new “step-siblings”, up until the moment it actually happened, when they huddled around their mama as if being stared down by a pack of frothing Yankee wolves. Carl Sr. had no idea what to do and said he was going into the kitchen to get started on the grilled cheese.

All nine children lunched at the picnic table on the patio shaded by a 1940s-era green-and-red-striped canvas awning, their triangle-cut sandwiches oozing American cheese onto paper plates, their RC Cola flattening by the second in plastic cups. Nobody said a word. Then, several minutes into the meal, they began hearing noises from inside that were getting louder and faster by the second, Alice’s unbridled moans, Carl Sr.’s staccato grunts in 4/4 time, prompting all to hurriedly finish their sandwiches and resume backyard activities.

In the corner, Carl Jr. offered his sister a Marlboro and they each smoked one behind the tree while the Texas children played with the clothesline.

The screen door opened and their father, can of Budweiser and freshly lit Viceroy 100 in hand, emerged from the house, prompting the Texas children to scream with delight.

“Come play with us, Yankee Dad!” exclaimed the oldest boy.

“Yeah, come play with us, Yankee Dad!” echoed the oldest girl.

The door opened again and his wife stuck her head out.

“Bubba,” she said to her husband, “if your mama keeps carryin’ on like this, you’re gonna have to make another run to the package store.”

Carl Sr. went back inside.

The Texas children started playing with an inflatable rubber ball, and it wasn’t long before it rolled into the corner under the tree.

The backyard fell silent. The Texas children kept still until one of the triplets started crying, then the other two joined in.

Then the screen door flew open and Carl Sr. emerged.

“What happened?” he asked, looking towards the tree in the corner.

His biological children shrugged.

“The Yankee Kids took our ball and won’t give it back!” cried the oldest Texas boy, then all of them began to cry.

“Is this true?” Carl Sr. asked, seething, storming towards the corner.

“No,” Carl Jr. said. “The ball rolled over here. We didn’t touch it or say anything to them.”

“Liar!” the oldest Texas girl exclaimed, pointing.

“What the fuck?” Carl Jr. asked. “They’re the liars. They’re fucking deranged.”

Carl Sr.’s face turned crimson and he stepped closer, but stopped when Carl Jr. stepped towards him with clenched fists.

“You be nice to these kids,” Carl Sr. said, under his breath. “They’re your family now.”

“No they’re not,” Carl Jr. said.

Face now maroon, Carl Sr. didn’t respond.

Carl Jr., ready to start swinging, stood down when his father dropped to his knees before him and crumpled into a sobbing heap on the overgrown lawn, head buried in arms crying, “I miss my Daddy!”

“Oh no, Yankee Dad’s down!” cried the oldest Texas boy. He and his siblings hurried to their stepfather, crying, asking if he was okay, until, suddenly, the boy became quiet and rose with a look on his face that silenced the others. Calmly, he went over to the garage and began picking up rocks from the flowerless flowerbed, and, as if under his power, his siblings joined him, gathering as many rocks as they could hold, then following him towards the tree, where he halted them three paces out.

“What are you going to do, stone us?” Carl Jr. snickered.

“Fire!” the oldest boy ordered his siblings.

“Shit!” Carl Jr. exclaimed, jumping over the rusty chain link fence into the neighbor’s backyard, then helping his sister and brother over as the rocks landed all around them. They ran up the driveway until they were at the sidewalk out front, each scratched and bruised but not seriously injured.

“We’re not going back there,” Carl Jr. said. “We’re calling Mom.”

He led them to the shopping center down the block and was about to go into the Dan’s Supreme supermarket, but stopped as the automatic door began to open.

“No, he might find us here,” he said, then led them to the Great Wall Buffet, where they’d never eaten because their father didn’t like Chinese food and was too cheap to eat in a restaurant that wasn’t a diner, a pizza place, or a fast-food joint. There was a pay phone in the lobby, but he didn’t have any change, so, as he’d done numerous times over the years when they were with their father, he called his home number collect.

His mother accepted the charges immediately.

“I’ll be there in half-hour,” she said. “Just stay where you are, and don’t worry about your father. I’ll call the lawyer first thing Monday morning.” ▪