Chapter 4 - MOM FINALLY CHOSE
Mom flew to San Francisco without telling Dad.
She showed up at Northstar’s office holding a paper bag.
Reception called me.
“There’s a woman downstairs who says she’s your mother.”
I closed my eyes.
“Does she have food?”
“Yes.”
“Definitely my mother.”
We sat in a small conference room.
She had brought homemade lemon cookies.
My favorite.
For years she used food to say things she could not say aloud.
This time I waited.
She looked older than she had a week earlier.
“I’m sorry.”
I said nothing.
She continued.
“I should have stopped him.”
“Yes.”
“I was afraid.”
“Of Dad?”
“Of what happens when he thinks people are rejecting him.”
That sounded too familiar.
“Mom, he was humiliating me in public.”
“I know.”
“And you stood there.”
“I know.”
Her eyes filled.
“I told myself if I stayed quiet, you and he would calm down.”
“That’s what you always tell yourself.”
She nodded.
“I know.”
Progress.
Then:
“I did the same thing when he pushed Jason into law.”
I frowned.
“Jason wanted law.”
“At first.”
“What do you mean?”
Mom stared at the table.
Jason originally wanted architecture.
At seventeen.
Dad called it impractical.
Told him law was respectable.
Stable.
Family-friendly.
Jason changed direction.
Eventually he came to love parts of it.
But the first choice had not been entirely his.
I felt something shift.
Not sympathy exactly.
Context.
Mom said:
“Your father has spent thirty years believing good parenting means preventing mistakes.”
“He prevented choices.”
“Yes.”
That was the first time she said it so clearly.
Then she told me Dad had not spoken to Jason in two days.
Why?
Because the firm suspended him.
Dad was furious Jason embarrassed the family.
Of course.
“Is Jason okay?”
Mom looked surprised I asked.
“No.”
I texted him later.
Mom says you’re not doing well.
He replied:
She tattles.
Then:
I’m fine.
Then, one minute later:
Not really.
We talked for two hours that night.
Not about legal exposure.
Childhood.
The competitions Dad invented.
SAT scores on the refrigerator.
Mock-trial trophies.
My science fair project being called “cute” while Jason’s debate award got framed.
Jason confessed he used to envy how easily I ignored Dad.
I laughed.
“I did not ignore him. I was terrified of disappointing him.”
“You hid it better.”
“Apparently we both thought the other had it easier.”
That was true.
The golden child and the disappointing child were not opposites.
May you like
They were two jobs assigned by the same parent.
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