Chapter 6 - THE BARBECUE WASN’T A JOKE
-6
Derek finally admitted he burned Lucas’s toys on purpose.
Not the children.
Not “the boys got carried away.”
Him.
The admission came during a recorded HR interview because investigators asked about his management philosophy outside work after multiple employees described the same “toughen up” language.
At first his attorney objected.
Then Derek volunteered.
He said:
“My nephew is sensitive.”
Naomi asked:
“What does that mean?”
“He gets attached to stuffed animals.”
“He is six.”
“I know.”
Then Derek described family BBQ.
He saw Lucas’s backpack near patio.
Opened it.
Found four stuffed animals.
He thought it was ridiculous that Lucas brought them to a family gathering.
So he removed them.
At first he planned to hide.
Then his teenage son joked:
“Burn them.”
Derek laughed.
And did.
One at a time.
Blue elephant.
Lion.
Turtle.
Mr. Bamboo.
He said:
“I thought Virgil would finally stop babying him.”
There.
He was not targeting Lucas only.
He was correcting my parenting.
Through fire.
Naomi asked:
“Did you consider the child’s reaction?”
“He’d cry.”
“And?”
“He cries about everything.”
That sentence.
Then:
“What lesson did you expect him to learn?”
“That things are things.”
Naomi reportedly answered:
“Then why burn them instead of returning them?”
Derek had no answer.
Because lesson was not impermanence.
It was domination.
I can take what you love.
You cannot stop me.
Then he said:
“Virgil used to be tougher.”
That hurt.
Before Lucas’s mother, Elena, died? Wait user did not mention Lucas's mother. Could be Virgil divorced or widowed? Need establish. Better we haven't said. Let's choose Lucas's mother died in car accident when Lucas was two? That would make stuffed panda emotional perhaps from mother. This could intensify. But seed didn't mention. Could add hidden meaning: Mr Bamboo was given by Lucas's late mother. Then burning even worse. But user wanted secret horrific behind maybe workplace enough. Yet this adds emotional depth. Let's introduce carefully.
Mr. Bamboo had been the last birthday gift Lucas’s mother, Natalie? Need name not same. Let's pick Claire? Avoid previous. "Anna". Anna died of ovarian cancer when Lucas was three? Mr Bamboo since three. Perfect. She gave him panda during treatment. That makes Derek knowing? Did he know? Yes. He knew. Horrifying.
Wait seed said slept since he was three. Could be exactly. Let's integrate now.
Naomi asked Derek:
“Did the panda have special significance?”
Derek paused.
“Yes.”
Mr. Bamboo was the last stuffed animal my wife, Anna, bought Lucas before she died.
She died when he was three after eighteen months fighting leukemia? Adults leukemia maybe. Let's choose aggressive ovarian cancer. She took Lucas to zoo gift shop? Need. Better she ordered panda during hospital stay. It was his comfort object through grief.
Derek knew.
So burning was not random.
Naomi asked:
“You knew it was associated with his deceased mother?”
“Yes.”
“And you burned it?”
Derek said:
“He needed to stop living in the past.”
I had to leave meeting when I read that.
I went into stairwell.
For three minutes I could not breathe properly.
Not because I did not already know the object mattered.
Because Derek’s intention was now undeniable.
He had targeted grief.
My son’s grief.
Then Dad’s words:
“They were crutches.”
So Frank knew Mr. Bamboo’s origin too.
Of course he did.
He had been at hospital when Anna gave it.
He still called it a crutch.
That realization changed our relationship more than Peterson Tech ever could.
I called Dad.
“Did you know Derek burned Mr. Bamboo?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know why Lucas loved it?”
Silence.
“Yes.”
“Then why did you say it was a crutch?”
Frank started crying.
“I thought he depended on it too much.”
“He sleeps with it.”
“He talks to it.”
“His mother died.”
“I know.”
“He was three.”
“I know.”
My voice broke.
“You thought taking the last toy Anna gave him would make him stronger?”
Dad whispered:
“I didn't know Derek would burn it.”
“But once he did, you defended.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Long silence.
“Because admitting it was cruel meant admitting I’d raised Derek wrong.”
There.
I sat down.
Dad continued.
“Maybe admitting it would mean admitting I did the same to you boys.”
He had.
Not toys.
But emotion.
When Derek cried at twelve after losing championship game, Dad made him run laps.
When I had nightmares after cousin died, Dad called me dramatic.
When our dog was put down, we were told no crying at dinner.
Strength meant absence.
Derek embraced.
I rebelled quietly.
Then Anna came into my life and taught me tenderness wasn't weakness.
Lucas finished lesson.
Dad whispered:
“I thought I made you resilient.”
“You made me secretive.”
That hurt him.
“I learned not to show you when things hurt.”
Silence.
Then:
“Derek learned to make other people hide it too.”
Dad cried harder.
For once, I did not rescue.
Then he said:
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
He listed.
“For saying Lucas needed it.”
“For not stopping Derek.”
“For defending after.”
“For asking you to save Derek the next day.”
Good.
Specific.
Then:
“Can I apologize to Lucas?”
“Not yet.”
Dad accepted.
That mattered.
Then I had to tell Lucas about Mr. Bamboo’s connection carefully because he already knew.
He asked:
“Did Uncle Derek know Mommy gave him?”
“Yes.”
His face changed.
“Then he’s mean.”
“Yes.”
No softening.
But:
“People can do mean things and still be more than one thing. You don’t have to decide now what he is forever.”
Lucas squeezed Bao.
“Bao’s not Mr. Bamboo.”
“No.”
“Can I miss him?”
“Always.”
Then he asked:
“Do strong people miss toys?”
“Yes.”
“Do strong people cry?”
“Yes.”
“Did you cry?”
I nodded.
“Today?”
“Yes.”
He smiled slightly.
“Okay.”
Then we made a small box.
Not replacement shrine.
Lucas wanted to draw the four toys.
He drew Mr. Bamboo with a cape.
Under it he wrote:
HE WAS BRAVE ALREADY.
I framed it in his room.
Not because trauma should become decoration.
Because Lucas chose.
Then Derek’s family.
His wife, Melissa, called me.
She had not known he burned toys himself.
She thought teenagers threw them accidentally.
Derek lied to her too.
She was horrified by work investigation.
She said:
“He tells our boys crying gets them nowhere.”
“How old?”
Thirteen and sixteen.
I knew.
Then:
“He threw away Jonah’s sketchbooks last year.”
What?
Their younger son, Jonah, loved drawing fantasy characters.
Derek said art was distracting from sports.
He put sketchbooks in trash.
Melissa retrieved some.
She had not told me.
Pattern deeper.
Derek had been policing vulnerability at home too.
Then Melissa said:
“I think I’m afraid of him.”
Not physically necessarily.
Emotionally.
Every disagreement became weakness.
Every boundary disloyalty.
She had started hiding her own therapy appointments.
This was bigger than job.
I gave her resources, not directives.
She talked to attorney and counselor.
No dramatic rescue by me.
Then Derek discovered she contacted me.
He texted:
Stay out of my marriage.
I did.
Meaning I did not direct.
But I would not silence her.
Then he sent:
You turned everyone soft.
I stared at the words.
May you like
No.
He had simply been surrounded by people who were finally refusing to call cruelty strength.
