Short Story: Trying to Understand

My sister’s house was the exact opposite of the tranquil silence of my apartment. I get sensory overload when I sometimes forget to tune out the sounds of kitchen appliances, the same Disney movie being played for the sixth time that day, and her two, extremely energetic, four year old twins. I fancied myself the “cool uncle.” When I came over, all they wanted to do was talk to me and show me their latest made up adventure they would reenact in the backyard.

My sister saw how much they loved spending time with me, and how much I loved spending time with them. 

“When do you plan on getting a few of your own?” She asked, already knowing my answer. 

A memory comes with this baggage of not feeling up to the task of being a father. It was when my sister’s boys had just turned two years old. They were barely coming into their personality, the youngest one had trouble talking for quite some time, and I couldn’t always understand him. While the oldest was preoccupied with a handful of moist cheerios, the youngest came up to me, wanting to play. I indulged him, affectionately lifting him up in the air and pretending he was going to fly away. His laughter felt like a reward for my convincing performance. He got down and sat on my lap, looking at me and mumbling three syllables I couldn’t make out. It was evidently really loud, as everyone turned their attention to him and I, with a loud “aww.”

“Well what are you waiting for…? Say it back!” My sister said, not trying to attack me, but confused by my lack of response.

I didn’t know that he was trying to say “I love you” to me. And when my sister and her husband pointed it out to me, I froze.



I was in a similar state of bewilderment and confusion when my girlfriend told me she was pregnant. It’s not that I intended to break up with her soon, I just never thought I’d be the type to settle down with anyone. I figured this relationship would run its course just like the others. She even gave me an out, if I wanted it.

My father wasn’t a good person. He occupied plenty of real estate in my mind, now more than ever. What I always feared most was how similar he claimed we were, and the sudden news began to make me think he was right. Maybe that’s why the kid would be better off without me and my influence.

I had a long talk with my sister. She was old enough to see that when I was growing up, our parents never took the time to try and understand me. They always used to openly talk about what they thought was “wrong with me” and how they could “fix” it. Hearing that from her resurfaced a lot of trauma I thought I had buried long ago, and it made me realize that I want to give my child the self confidence and reassurance I was deprived of throughout all my life.



Mornings are always really hectic, so much energy in such a small person. He holds himself to a very strict schedule, consisting of breakfast and the early morning cartoons we put on for him. He also has the tendency to hold me and my newlywed wife to his schedule as well, we are on his time, after all. But this morning’s cartoons had to be cut short so we could make it to my sister’s house in time. My wife struggled to get him dressed. I don’t blame her, he is very particular about what combinations of clothing he likes to wear. I always forget to explain to her that he only wants to wear his baseball hat if he is also wearing a t-shirt and shorts. Then, she tried to put his dark blue jeans on with his festive hoodie, a rookie mistake. Of course, he’ll only want to wear the dark blue jeans if it’s with his festive pullover this time of year.

My sister greets us at her door with the welcome you give to a distant relative you’ve missed seeing all year long, although this betrays the reality that we see each other just about every weekend. We enter and my son very politely makes his rounds, hugging and saying a quick “Hi!” to the other guests. I tend to only go to these things for my sister, so after I give everyone who’s familiar a handshake I quickly remove myself from the social setting.

I couldn’t believe my nephews were almost seven. My sister always talks about the hassle of getting them to school every day. I couldn’t even comprehend the thought of going through the same with my kid. What a challenge it’s gonna be to get him accustomed to the school uniform. 

The night went on and we had finished opening presents. My son is half asleep by now and laying down on the couch next to me. Like me, he’s just resting, as the sound of my sister’s guests combined with the holiday music prevented us both from fully going to sleep. I hear him mumble something through a yawn. Three syllables. I ask him to repeat, and he obliges, though still tiredly mumbling words. “I love you!” I understood him perfectly. I looked at my sister to see her reaction, and she, nor anyone else, didn't seem to have noticed. I thought about calling for their attention, but I looked at him and said “I’ll just keep that for us two.” He smiled and nodded, and for a moment, I thought maybe he understood me just as much as I understood him.

Hey there! It's been a while but this has been no easy beast to get through. This one's more personal, and I tried to play around with the "three act" framing of it. Based on a real experience I had with my nephew, though obviously I don't have any kids on the way. Another thing I really like about this one is the theme of "understanding" and how the meaning of that changes through the story. Wish I could've found a way to make the journey of the main character a little more nuanced, with more subtext than just outright stating realizations. Anyhow, more to come, and thanks for reading.