The event center was buzzing with excitement as I arrived, the sound of laughter and music filling the air. I scanned the room, my eyes searching for my Dad's familiar face. And then, I spotted him - sitting in the front row, a smile on his face as he watched the show.
I made my way through the crowd, nodding and smiling at people as I passed. Some of them looked familiar, but I didn't stop to chat. I was on a mission to find my Dad and talk to him about everything that had happened.
As I reached my Dad, I tapped him on the shoulder, and he turned to me, his eyes lighting up with warmth. "Hey, kiddo! I'm so glad you're here," he said, standing up and giving me a hug.
I hugged him back, feeling a sense of comfort and security in his arms. It was like everything was going to be okay now that I was with him. "Thanks, Dad. I needed to see you," I said, my voice muffled against his chest.
He pulled back and looked at me, his eyes filled with concern. "What's going on? You sounded really upset on the phone," he said, his voice low and gentle.
I took a deep breath and launched into the story again, telling him everything - the argument with Mr. Thompson, the snubbing by the team, the feeling of being invisible. My Dad listened attentively, his expression growing more and more serious as I spoke.
When I finished, he nodded thoughtfully. "I'm so sorry, Gabriel. That sounds really tough. But you know what? You're not alone. I'm here for you, and we'll get through this together," he said, his voice filled with conviction.
I felt a surge of gratitude towards him, towards his understanding and support. "Thanks, Dad. Just talking to you makes me feel better," I said, smiling slightly.
My Dad smiled back and put his arm around me. "Anytime, kiddo. That's what dads are for," he said, pulling me close.
We sat back down and watched the rest of the show together, my Dad's presence a comforting reminder that I wasn't alone. As we watched, he asked me questions and made supportive noises, his presence a balm to my frazzled nerves.
When the show finally ended, my Dad turned to me and said, "You know, Gabriel, I think we need to talk more about this. Why don't we grab some dinner and discuss it further?"
I nodded, feeling a sense of relief that he was taking my concerns seriously. "Yeah, that sounds great, Dad. Thanks," I said, smiling up at him.
My Dad smiled back and stood up, holding out his hand to me. "Let's go, kiddo. We've got a lot to talk about," he said, his voice filled with warmth and support.
We walked out of the event center together, the cool evening air a welcome relief after the crowded room. My Dad led me to his car, and we drove to a nearby restaurant, the conversation flowing easily as we went.
As we sat down at the restaurant, I couldn't help but bring up the topic that had been weighing heavily on my mind. "Dad, I need to talk to you about Mr. Thompson," I said, my voice laced with frustration and a hint of desperation.
My Dad looked at me curiously, his eyes filled with concern. "What's going on with Mr. Thompson, Gabriel? You know I'm always here to listen."
I took a deep breath and launched into my complaints, trying to put into words the feelings of frustration and helplessness that had been building up inside me. "He's always pushing me to do more, to go beyond my limits. I feel like he's not listening to me, like he doesn't care about how I'm feeling. He just keeps telling me to work harder, to push myself further, without ever stopping to ask if I'm okay."
My Dad nodded thoughtfully, his expression sympathetic. "I think Mr. Thompson is just trying to teach you, Gabriel. He wants the best for you, and sometimes that means pushing you harder than you think you can handle. He's trying to prepare you for the real world, where things won't always be easy."
I felt a surge of frustration at his response, feeling like he wasn't understanding the situation. "That's not it, Dad. You don't understand. He's not pushing me to be better, he's enforcing me. He's making me feel like I'm not good enough, like I'm a failure. He's not giving me a choice, he's telling me what to do, how to do it, and when to do it. He's not listening to my ideas or my concerns. He's just dictating what I should do, and it feels suffocating."
My Dad's expression changed, his eyes narrowing slightly as he began to understand the situation. "What do you mean by enforcing?" he asked, his voice low and serious.
I took a deep breath, trying to explain it better. "He's not giving me any freedom, Dad. He's not letting me make my own decisions or choices. He's just telling me what to do, and expecting me to do it without question. It feels like I'm trapped, like I'm not in control of my own life."
My Dad's face turned red with anger, his eyes blazing with fury. He slammed his hand on the table, making the silverware jump and the customers around us stare in shock.
"That's it, I've had enough!" he thundered, his voice echoing through the restaurant. "I can't believe that man is treating you like that! He's supposed to be your stepfather, your mentor, but instead he's acting like a dictator!"
I felt a surge of relief that my Dad finally understood the situation. "I know, Dad. That's what I've been trying to tell you. He's not listening to me, he's not giving me any freedom. He's just controlling me, manipulating me."
My Dad's anger didn't subside, his face still red with rage. "I'm going to talk to him, Gabriel. I'm going to make sure he understands that he can't treat you like that. You're my son, and I won't let anyone hurt you."
I felt a lump form in my throat, grateful for my Dad's support. "Thanks, Dad. Just knowing that you're on my side makes me feel better."
My Dad's expression softened, his anger slowly fading away. "Of course, Gabriel. I'm always on your side. We'll get through this together, okay?"
I nodded, feeling a sense of relief wash over me. "Okay, Dad. Thanks."
The customers around us were still staring, their eyes fixed on our table. My Dad noticed and smiled wryly. "I guess we've made a scene," he said, chuckling.
I smiled back, feeling a sense of gratitude towards my Dad. "It's okay, Dad. It's worth it if it means you understand me now."