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“No. I was worried about who I’d find on it.”
“Like who?”
“The Donnelly kid.” He sighs. “He wants to work with his hands and take classes more geared around that, but the parents are footing the bill. When I tried to talk to them about my concerns, they made it abundantly clear that they won't pay for anything other than ‘appropriate’ career training.
“The kid is miserable, but he keeps coming back hoping that the next thing he tries will be better than what he feels he was made to do. He’s essentially trapped. If he leaves and goes his own way, they’ll cut him off completely. If he stays…”
He shakes his head hopelessly.
“Even if I spent the rest of my life seeing clients and studying human behavior, I don’t think I’ll ever understand why people fortunate enough to have children vehemently refuse to accept them for who they are.”
His words hit me deep in my soul, and I’m haunted by visions of the curly-haired blonde children who never got a chance to exist.
Everyone who doesn’t have kids is full of “I’d never let my kids” fill in the blank statements—until they actually have them, that is. I’ve fallen into that trap plenty of times, but accepting your children for who they are seems like a basic requirement for parenting.
Not to say that there shouldn’t be rules and boundaries, but who cares if the kid would rather be an electrician or a carpenter than a hedge fund manager or a defense attorney?
Julia never would have cared about anything like that, and if she ever got a whiff of me acting like that, I would have been sleeping in the shed until the day I died.
“I don’t understand people like that and I especially don’t understand the parents who let them be a tyrant in their own tiny kingdom.” I shake my head. “Do you know how hard it is to try and teach someone who has never heard the word ‘no’ in their life?”
Wesley groans in sympathy.
“I cannot tell you how many of my students have burned themselves on pans and baking trays because they refuse to listen to me when I tell them it’s too hot for them to touch it without an oven mitt.”
“At least they learn after the first time, right?” I ask hopefully.
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” he says with a sigh. “But no, not really.”
“Yikes.”
“Yikes indeed.” Wesley nods.
“They’re not all bad,” Phillip says hopefully. “You remember Melanie Cross?”
Wesley and I nod.
“After her session with me, she took all the things I’d taught her about how to run her own practice then went on to establish one of the best practices in the state. She’s become my direct competition for clients now,” he says, puffing up with pride.
“Chase Wilson was my Melanie Cross.” Wesley smiles. “We’ve stayed in touch too, have dinner every so often to catch up. Well, he invited me to his restaurant last week, and the man was preening like a peacock the whole time. Barely touched his food too. And do you know what he had the waiter bring out for dessert?”
“What?”
“His Michelin Star Award. Said he never would have been able to manage it without my help.”
“That’s incredible, and he’s only what? Thirty?” I ask.
“Twenty-six.”
“Wow.”
“I know.” He nods. “I’d barely gotten my catering company off the ground when I was twenty-six and he's already got himself two Michelin Stars. If he's this successful now, I can't even imagine what he'll be like when he hits our age.”
“Kid's going places,” Phillip agrees. “Who's your biggest success story, Jamie?”
“Jessica and Jeanette Weaver,” I answer automatically.
“The identical twins, right?”
