Sandy had parts of it right, but maybe she didn't have the whole deal figured.
Now she's gone. She died in my arms, asking me to take care of you. Making me promise that I would.
Even before that moment, I've been wanting you in my life, but I've also been wondering if I'm the right person to attempt it. Is it fair for me to mess up, when you've been given so little up to now.
And, of course, in the long run, as an adult, it should be your decision anyway. These questions have been on my mind. Since you've come to mean a great deal to me, I want you to carefully consider my offer to move in and live here, before you give me your answer.
I'm not skilled at sharing. My life has been about grabbing and holding. It's a long way from the back door of the community hospital to this house in Venice. It doesn't represent much wealth or status, but it's the best 1 could do, and I feel blessed to be here.
You asked me once if I knew who your father was, and I told you that you would have to find out from your mother, that she had sworn me to secrecy. She once told me that your father was a criminal, a drug dealer that she had helped to put in jail.
Before she died, she told me why she had asked me to take you for this month. She said she felt it was finally time for us to get to know each other.
They say that things are never the way they appear, and I guess in this case that is certainly true. Sandy loved pulling all our strings, and now we're both faced with her last request.
I know the responsibility of looking after you goes much deeper than advice or guidance or suggestions to do your homework. It's about being a worthwhile role model. I'm not sure I can do that well.
Sandy had dreams of glory for you; she wanted you to go to Princeton or Yale, to be an attorney or a doctor. I have different goals. I want you to be a man of substance. I want you to know how to be a good friend and how to love without reservation. I want your word to be your bond.
So, Sandy and I have different goals now, just as we did when she was alive.
If you decide to take a shot with me, I will try hard to make this part of your life enriching. Can't say we won't argue or that I won't be wrong, but I can promise I'll try to always be honest with you.
Chooch, it's a much shorter journey we're on than it appears to be at its beginning. You can accept this ride or flag down another. It's all choices. It always will be.
Love, Your father,
Shane
He heard the door open behind him and sat quietly on the metal chair. After a moment he heard footsteps coming across the grass. Then Chooch sat in the metal chair beside him. He was holding the letter and looking out at the still water. The three-quarter moon was coming off the horizon, hiding behind a drifting cloud, lighting its lacy edges. They sat in silence and watched it float slowly by.
Shane was almost afraid to speak; his heart was beating fast in his chest. "So, whatta you think?" he said softly.
Chooch sat looking at the still canal, his face strangely set, breathing deeply. Then he dropped the letter on the grass, reached out and took hold of Shane's shoulder, and squeezed it.
"I want to stay here," he finally said. "This is where I belong."
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The Tin Collector s-1 Page 33