Monday, August 29. 2005Macon Craig
It's just too late to change some things. You've heard me talk about how much I hate my parents. I suppose that you think I'm sociopathic or something, but I'm really not. My antipathy is a direct result of their apathy. I was an accident. They thought that they had all of the bases covered, but I guess that 99 percent effective is 99 percent effective because in one out of every hundred cases, there's a failure. So, in their eyes, I started out life as a failure.
Don't get me wrong. My parents aren't cruel to me, never have been. They give me anything I want, as long as I don't want their time. My father is always off on a business trip, and my mother, well I'm not sure where she goes, but she's usually gone, too. I think she's a buyer for a jewelry importer, but I'm not sure whether or not she owns the company. Either way, she's gone a lot. So, I got used to being on my own. I had nannies, but none of them lasted long, and sometimes we'd go weeks between the time when one quit and the time when my parents hired a new one, so I'm sure I knew how to cook a microwaveable dinner before I knew how to read the directions on the dinner. Anyway, for some strange reason, on the way home from my graduation, my father decided that it was a good time for some quality father/son time. We dropped my mother off for a business meeting, and my father asked me where I wanted to eat dinner. He recommended that I choose a place "Where we can discuss your future." My future. In the end, we went to a little Middle-Eastern restaurant downtown. Between bites of pita bread, my father asked, "So, where do you plan to continue your education?" I shrugged. "Haven't really thought about it much." "What! You know that if you fail to plan, you plan to fail, right?" "Sure."
"So, do you have a plan?" "Nope." He looked at me, confused. "You don't want to be a failure, do you?" "No." I paused. This, I thought, could really throw him for a loop. "Well," I continued, "I don't think so. What's a failure?" His puzzlement deepened. He stared at me. "What do you mean?" "Exactly what I said. What's a failure? Is a failure someone who never makes very much money? Is a failure someone who has no respect from people around him? Is failure someone who never has a family? Is a failure someone who has no respect for himself? What's a failure?" A quizzical look replaced the puzzled look on my father's face. "Do you always think about things this much?" "No, I'm not thinking about it at all. I'm asking you to think about it. What I'm thinking about is: why do you care? Why do you suddenly care what I think about, or what my plans are? He looked hurt. "What do you mean? I've always cared. I've always given you the very best of everything." "Yes," I replied. "You've always given me the very best of everything. But that doesn't mean that you've cared. If you really cared, you would have known that I wouldn't care where I ate after I graduated. In fact, if you really cared, you'd know that there is someplace I'd much rather be than here. " I raised my hand to call for the check. "Shall we go?" As we drove, he kept looking over at me, his look half surprised, and half bemused. Every time, he shook his head, and, without speaking, returned his gaze to the road. We entered the house without speaking, but as I turned to go upstairs, he called after me. "Macon?" "Yeah?" "Thank you." I hope you understand why he was thanking me, because I can't explain it. But I understood, and, grinning, I said, "You're welcome." I walked slowly up the stairs, thinking about my father, thinking about Rocio, and thinking about what might have been if my father had decided to take me out to dinner after kindergarten instead of high school. Maybe now he would be my friend, but he would never be my dad. Rocio was waiting, and it's just too late to change some things. Trackbacks
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