RECLAIM MY HEART(65)

The biggest hurdle he had to conquer was his own prideful unwillingness to admit he was wrong.
As expected, Jasper perched himself on a nearby stool and took a sip of coffee as he waited.
“It took coming back to Wikweko to see it,” Lucas began. “It took meeting my son. Getting to know him. It took spending an evening with Richard Whitlock—”
Even that name from the past didn’t elicit a response from Jasper. The man was good. As non-reactive as that solid mass of red oak.
“—to realize—” He clamped his lips shut, gazed down into his coffee mug, then forced himself to look at Jasper. “To realize what I’ve been doing.”
He set the coffee on the counter. “It started in college. I cut my hair, and I listened to how my college friends talked, mimicked them and changed the cadence of my voice. I worked hard to use proper grammar while I was speaking and in anything I wrote. I wanted to be accepted. I wanted to fit in.” Reaching up, he scrubbed at the back of his neck. “When it came time to write my first resume, I didn’t use my full name. Lucas Hawk is what I chose. I wasn’t trying to hide the fact that I’m Lenape. I mean, look at me. I’m Indian. No one could miss that. It was, well…?I thought I’d have a better chance at success if I treated who and what I was with a little…?subtlety.”
Ceramic grated against Formica when he scooped up his mug. He swallowed a mouthful of coffee. “I’m not going to say that I was never discriminated against. That wouldn’t be the truth. But I never let that stop me. If anything, it made me study more, work harder. I never lost sight of my purpose. After landing my job, the firm printed business cards for me. Lucas Hawk, Attorney. My success was printed right there on those cards. And when I was promoted two years later, the firm had a name plaque made for my office doormy or me. L. Lucas Hawk.” He sighed. “I didn’t protest. In fact, I never said a word. I didn’t see any harm in it. I was moving forward, reaching my goals, making the big bucks. What did it matter that people weren’t using my full name?”
His mouth felt dry. “Then I met Zach.” Lucas shook his head. “That kid is amazing. He looks exactly like me, Jasper. He’s Indian. Lenape.” Again, he paused, this time to rake his teeth against his bottom lip. “When I brought him home and you started spending time with him…?he talked about what he’d learned from you. And I began remembering all that I learned from you while I was growing up too. You gave me a history. A family. Something real and tangible to hold onto. You gave me dignity. Self-respect. I was proud to be Indian.” His gaze trailed to the log in the middle of the room. “Somewhere, somehow…?I lost sight of it. All of it.”
Quiet blanketed the studio, the tick, tick of the old clock on the wall keeping a steady rhythm.
“I think it must have been very difficult for you, Lucas,” Jasper said at last, “to have been so young and to have had a white man look you in the eye and tell you that you were not good enough or worthy enough to have what your heart desired.”
Neither man spoke for several seconds. Jasper sat, drinking his coffee, and Lucas thought over all that he’d told his uncle. He couldn’t, in good conscience, blame Tyne’s father for the things he’d done, for the attitude he’d adopted regarding his own identity. In the end, he was responsible for his actions. No one else.
Jasper had taught him that, and Jasper was a great teacher.
“I’ll fix it,” he promised his uncle. “I’ll fix it for me. And for Zach. I want him to know, to see, that I’m proud of who I am. I want him to be proud of me.” He caught Jasper’s eye. “Like I’m proud of you.”
The old man went still, his throat convulsing in a swallow, his obsidian eyes growing moist. Lucas smiled when he saw his uncle grappling with his emotions.
“I appreciate all you’ve done for me,” he continued. “You became my father when my father was no longer here for me. You didn’t have to do that, you didn’t have to take on that responsibility, but you did. Without question. And I thank you.”
A poignant smile crinkled Jasper’s wizened face. “You’ve already thanked me many times.”
Lucas stood there, staring, a frown on his brow.
His uncle got up off the stool and set down his mug. The wooden box he pulled from the cabinet had been glossy all over at one time, but years of handling had worn away the shine from the front, center-most area of the lid. Jasper opened the box and dumped its contents across the workspace.
Cards. Of every size and description. Birthday cards. Father’s Day cards. Get Well cards. Some were handmade of folded construction paper colored with crayons or markers, their messages written in boxy letters by an unskilled hand. Most had been store-bought. But every single one had been signed by Lucas.
He grinned, picking up one card, then another. “You saved all these?”
Jasper gently touched one, its spine dried and cracked. “More valuable than a treasure chest full of gold.”
Sliding closer to his uncle, Lucas draped his arm around the older man’s shoulders. “You’ve been just like a father to me.” His uncle’s head dipped, and Lucas asked, “What? What is it?”
Jasper shook his head. “It’s nothing.”
Putting a bit of space between them, Lucas remarked, “Doesn’t look like nothing to me. Something’s bothering you.”
His head hung low, Jasper nodded almost imperceptibly. “It’s about your father. And Ruth Yoder. I had hoped not to have to say anything, but you’ve been inu