That left Richard and his son together by themselves. Roddy was a big lad; but Richard was bigger and knew how to fight.
He hoped they wouldn’t have to, but on day three, Roddy erupted into a violent rage and Richard had to restrain him the only way he knew; with a well placed punch.
When Roddy came round, he burst into tears and had yet to stop sobbing after another couple of days, except when he poured his heart out to his father in a constant stream of woe, interspersed with bouts of sobbing and self-pity.
Richard was at a complete loss as to how to deal with what came from his son. It seemed that that kid Roddy had hit was on the button when he suggested what he thought might be the problem.
Through the tears and hysterics, Richard discovered that Roddy knew he was gay and had fought the feelings ever since they first surfaced when he was about eleven. For five years he lived in violent denial of his feelings; becoming instead the most aggressive of homophobes.
With a mother he had not seen for eight years, and knowing that his father had voiced his strong feelings against anyone who was different in sexual orientation, to the point of stating that he believed they all should be exterminated, the boy was left with little choice if he was to meet his father’s approval.
“But why attack that kid; what’s his name?” Richard asked.
“Kenneth,” supplied Roddy. “I don’t really know.”
“He suggested it might be because you like him and that makes you react in anger because of your denial,” said Richard.
To his surprise, instead of an angry retort, Roddy had simply nodded.
“Maybe,” he said.
Richard came to a point where he really had no idea how to deal with Roddy and his problems. He called Mr Pettifer for advice.
“There is a psychologist I know who runs a clinic that specialises in psychological traumas. They deal with all kinds of issues, including gender confusion and sexual problems.”
Richard gratefully took Dr Anne Dobson’s number and rang her as soon as he put the phone down on the Headmaster.
Her secretary answered, and he was offered an appointment that every evening. He took it.
“Get in the car, we’re going to see a specialist,” he told Roddy.
“What sort of specialist?”
“A doctor who might just be able to help you.”
“I don’t want to see a doctor.”
“What then? Do you want to stay in your room for the next forty years?”
Roddy had moaned and groaned, but he had got in the car. He moaned and groaned on the way, and when they arrived, displaying extreme reluctance to exit the car.
However, Richard was able to pry him from the car and eventually sat with him in the doctor’s consulting room as Dr Dobson regarded them both from behind her desk. Roddy stared at his feet.
“Mr Myers, would you like to go and ask the receptionist for a coffee or something, and give me a little time with Roddy by himself?”
Richard glanced at his son, but when the boy didn’t react, he stood up and complied with her suggestion.
Alone with the morose boy, Anne came around from her side of the desk and sat in the now vacant chair next to Roddy.
“Right, Roddy, dad’s gone, so it’s just you and me. Now, for me to be able to help you, and I believe that I can, we need to have an understanding. The first rule is one of basic manners; if I ask you a question, the polite thing is to answer that question; can you do that for me?”
Roddy looked up and nodded.
“Now, can we go one step further and try to use the voice? Silence is not a good way to initiate any form of dialogue.”
“Okay,” he said, with belligerence heavy in his tone.
Anne raised an eyebrow.
“Now, that’s not a good start. I don’t know what your problem is, but we need to be able to talk to each other without the trappings of sulks, huffs, moods and temper. If you want me to help you, then we have to agree that this is a two-way exchange, and I, sure as eggs is eggs, will not go any further if I am to deal with a stroppy child who wants his own way. Do we understand each other?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Now, I suppose the first question is where to begin? Why don’t you tell me why you think you are here?”
After ten minutes, Anne was almost regretting encouraging the taciturn child to talk to her. Now her problem seemed to be how to shut him up! She had only asked one question and he was still going. His answer was without form or logical form; instead it was an outpouring of a very confused and frustrated teenager with serious sexual and emotional issues.
She correctly identified serious markers that, if not dealt with, could indicate that this young man was a likely candidate to become a prolific sexual predator and offender; even becoming a potential serial stalker and possible killer.
Within his initial rant, for that is clearly what it was, Anne confirmed that this was indeed the young man who had assaulted Kenneth.
These two boys were as different as one could get, and she sighed wearily. This one was going to give her sleepless nights!
It took all the allotted appointment time to calm the boy down and to get some idea as to what lay at the root of his problems. It appeared that his father’s high expectations and hard attitude towards anything remotely ‘queer’ had imprinted deeply into his son’s psyche. So, then he began to realise that he was attracted to other males, his psyche rebelled against his feelings and created an inner conflict that manifested in violent aggressive acts towards anyone that was either of a slightly camp appearance, or to whom he was attracted.
Poor Kenneth Frost had a foot in both of those camps.
She smiled at the thought of that very bad pun.
“Okay Roddy; how do you think Kenneth feels at being on the receiving end of what must be years of abusive behaviour by you?”
“He must hate me.”
“I think that might be one emotion, can you think of any others?”
“Fear?”
“Possibly, although he seems brave enough to stand up to you and to return some of the abuse. Someone who feared you might have walked away. Why do you think you reacted the way you did when he stood up to you the other day?”
“I don’t know.”
“Could it be that part of you felt conflicted in the way you spoke to him?”
He shrugged.
“I was just angry.”
“Was it towards Kenneth you felt the anger, or to yourself?”
“A bit of both?” he asked, as if unsure.
“I don’t know, Roddy, as I wasn’t there. Is making your father proud of you important?”
“Yes.”
“What do you think he’s feeling right now?”
“I dunno.”
“If you were in his shoes, what would you feel?”
“Disgust at having a queer son.”
“Is that all?”
“Hates me for being a bully?”
“Ah; we’re getting somewhere. So, if he’s feeling disgust and hatred, why has he come here with you and not beaten you up or locked you in your room?”
Roddy blinked several times without speaking.
“You see, I rather think that he loves you because of being his son. He might not understand about being gay, and might even have strong opinions about being gay, which does not mean he is right, but for the moment, what matters is that you being gay is not an issue for him. If it’s not an issue for him, why should it be an issue for you?
Roddy simply stared at her, looking surprised.
“This queer versus straight thing is a fallacy. Nothing is black and white as our society would like us think. There are people who fluctuate between being attracted to the opposite gender and then towards person of their own gender. You’ve heard of school girl crushes on older girls and female teachers?”