father son relationship

A father struggles with his son

This story was inspired by the 2025 Christmas advert for John Lewis, a middle-class chain store in the UK. Without exception, every one of their adverts has been emotional and deeply thought provoking. I’ll say no more about the advert. It probably makes sense to watch it first. This story is more about explaining the father and son’s relationship.
Watch the advert here https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z1bRlnyQeDk

Where love lives

“All right kids, lets clear all these presents off the table.”

Janice spoke with forced jollity, but her tone couldn’t hide the mood. There had been an atmosphere between her husband and son all month, and the two of them could barely meet eyes now.

Christmas was usually a time of great joy in their home; a time when the family drew together, closed the doors and celebrated the occasion together. But this time something was different. She’d tried to confront them, but her husband James would say nothing, and Andrew looked at his father for direction before dropping his eyes in what was clearly sadness.

The present opening ritual was complete. Andrew and his sister would disappear to their rooms while she prepared Christmas dinner.

James knelt by the tree, gathering the discarded wrapping paper. His son glanced across at him from the dining room table. The man was lost in a world of his own, picking up the paper with a focus that Andrew was certain was designed to keep everyone out.

Andrew wanted to say something, to clear the air, to explain, but not in front of his mother and sister. He wasn’t ready for that discussion. It was bad enough that his father had caught him before he was ready.

He picked up his gifts, and headed from the room. His younger sister glanced across. She sensed her brother’s pain but she didn’t know how to help.

James was sombre, almost angry. He didn’t know how to process the secret he’d discovered. His mind kept circling back, trying to find an accommodation. The moment a month earlier, when he’d entered his son’s room without knocking. There was loud music coming from within. He pushed the door open and was confronted by a sight he had never expected. Andrew and his close friend Will were swaying to music. Andrew’s hands were on Will’s hips, and they were kissing with the tender caution of two high schoolers who were new to it. They wheeled to face him as he entered and stood frozen in the doorway. They moved apart like two kids caught shoplifting. They stood like that, in a three-person tableau frozen motionless for what seemed liked minutes.

“Dad,” Andrew said.

His father’s mouth moved as though he was speaking but no words came out.

Andrew had no words either. Did he try to explain, to berate his father for not knocking, or should he apologise? None of those options seemed appropriate.

Eventually James turned to Will and said, “I think you’d better go home Will. And don’t come back. You’re not welcome in my house again.”

“Dad!” Andrew protested in alarm.

James stared at his son, and it took every ounce of willpower not to say something hurtful. His jaw tensed. Andrew knew he only did that when he was furious.

Will gathered his zip up fleece and headed for the bedroom door. James moved aside, and their eyes met.

“Sorry Mr Cunningham,” he mumbled.

“Don’t go,” Andrew pleaded, but Will was not about to go against his father.

He fled the house.

“Dad,” Andrew repeated, an expression of deepest betrayal on his face.

James looked at him as though all his future hopes for the boy had evaporated in an instant. Then, without a word, he turned and left, closing the door behind him.

By the tree, James discovered one final gift that had been buried beneath all the others. On it was a label that read “Dad” with two vertical lines and a curve beneath – a simplified smiley face in his son’s handwriting. His finger traced the label with tenderness, then he rose to his feet. The gift was a flat package, lovingly wrapped in red paper with gold trees. Andrew unfolded the paper and pulled out the gift. It was a 12” vinyl single; more than three decades old; “Where love lives” by Alison Limerick. How on Earth had his son managed to get hold of it? He smiled at it with delight. It was special to him. Beyond special.

He put it onto the turntable of his expensive record player and carefully lowered the needle onto the vinyl. He stared ahead, momentarily savouring the opening beats. Then he closed his eyes. 35 years fell away in an instant. He was in a club called Limelight, in London’s West End. The tune was pumping, the floor was heaving, and he was there, aged just 19, with his best friend, dancing up a storm. He swayed his head, transported to the halcyon, carefree days of his youth, when he was in his hey days.

Andrew heard the music playing and crept hesitantly down the stairs, looking over the balcony towards the record player. His father was a fan of vinyl – he insisted that it sounded better, and it had been no small effort or expense for Andrew to track down the single that he knew his father loved so much. He’d even bought the limited-edition version. And now his father had his eyes closed and was grooving in obvious happiness.

In his mind, James was surrounded by young people, all his age or a little older, all dancing energetically to his favourite tune. He smiled broadly as he danced with them. The mood was electric. These were the days of their lives, and they all knew it.

Then he saw someone over the heads of the dancers; someone who didn’t belong. It was a boy a year or two younger than him. The boy looked anxiously towards him. It was his son, Andrew. The boy faded into darkness, and though the tune was still playing, it soured in James’ ears. In his mind, the crowd disappeared, leaving him in a spotlight circle of light. Then the light dimmed and it was just him and Andrew. His son looked lost; forlorn; uncertain in a way James had never seen him. James knew now that his reaction and subsequent behaviour had hurt his son deeply. In his mind, he nodded to his son, urging him to come closer; to broach the distance that James had created.

Instead of 16-year-old Andrew, the twelve year old version moved forwards, morphing into a younger incarnation still. A two-year-old version of him ran joyfully towards James. James had loved being a father. He picked the boy up, and they nuzzled noses, then Andrew was a baby, less than six months old. James looked down at the bundle in his arms, and the baby joyfully reached up, brushing his lips, a smile lighting up his face, reminding James how much being the boy’s father meant to him. He smiled down tenderly at the baby, but his expression broke. He was mortified. God, he loved this kid.

He opened his eyes. The music still played, but he was back in the real world. He lifted his gaze. His eyes were rimmed with tears. In the doorway by the bottom of the stairs, Andrew stood; sad, hesitant, watching. James knew that HE was the cause.

Andrew walked cautiously towards his father, his body language pleading for acceptance. James felt wretched. What had Andrew ever done to deserve the way he had treated him?

Andrew continued to move slowly closer. James’ emotions overwhelmed him, and he covered the distance between them in an urgent lunge and hugged his son, wanting to express how sorry he was, how much he loved him. There were no words, but he hugged fiercely. Andrew was caught off guard, momentarily uncertain. Then he tentatively returned the hug. James hugged him even more tightly. He had acted like neanderthal at the sight of his son sharing a moment of tenderness with another boy.

Suddenly the music made sense. Andrew knew that the tune was precious to him, but it was also a subtle way of letting his father know how he felt. That it was all about love.

James loved his son more powerfully than he could have believed. His family, and this boy were everything to him. The centre of his world. How had he ever allowed a stupid thing like sexuality harm that? And now, this amazing young man was returning his hug. He snaked his fingers through his son’s hair in a gesture of affection, pulling their cheeks together, then he stepped away.

Andrew was uncertainly grinning at him. His grin expanded into a wide smile, showing off his teeth. James smiled back. Their eyes met. There was genuine warmth in his son’s eyes still. All was not lost. The message passed wordlessly between them.

James danced in front of his son to the still-playing music. Andrew always laughed good-naturedly when his old man danced, and this time was no exception. James still didn’t trust himself to speak. He felt guilty as hell, but his expression was one of joy.

He’d find the words later, and when he did, he’d apologise to his son from the bottom of his heart, and then his friend Will, if the boy would allow him. Then, whether Andrew was gay or straight, James would support his hopes and dreams come what may.

Andrew’s smile radiated the love that had been earned by sixteen years of lives shared together. Despite his shame, James felt like a lucky man.