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“No, you don’t understand.” I rake my hands through my still-damp hair, trying to figure out how to verbalize myself. “I know I’m supposed to follow in your footsteps. You might think it’s the best for me or whatever, but I don’t want to be an executive. I hate–” I chicken out at the last second, changing tactics from fessing up to already having changed majors to just telling him that I hate being a business major.
“I detest business school, Dad. I don’t want to do it anymore. I feel like I’m wasting my life, my passion, and my talent. I want to be a writer. A poet.”
Silence stretches between us, with Dad obviously being shocked, and my heart pounding as I wait for his response. His face goes through a range of emotions, while I sit frozen, but Dad finally sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers. A gesture that I recognize that I’ve picked up from him.
“A… poet?” he says slowly.
“A published poet,” I clarify.
“That’s… well. That’s something all right.” He blows out a frustrated breath, and then, unexpectedly, he does the most painful thing possible.
He laughs. “You can’t really expect to make a life out of poetry, son.”
“I have no talent for business, Dad! Elise is the one to follow in your footsteps. I promise that if you force me into that position, you're going to be disappointed, and so is she. Elise can be everything you want in a future business heir.”
“So, what? I give Elise the internship and you travel the world writing haikus about mountains and streams, while your sister stays here and works her ass off?” He laughs again, shaking his head. “No, Andries. I don’t think so.”
It’s like a spear in my heart, even though I should have expected it. The only saving grace is that I didn’t admit to not attending business school.
“I’m a grown man,” I tell him hotly. “I can do what I want to do.”
“Not on my dime, you can’t,” he replies. “Listen, let’s just drop this now before it becomes more of a point of contention between us. We can revisit the internship conversation once you’re feeling better and you don’t have that hooker on your mind so much.”
“What’s the point of amassing all this wealth, if you can’t even let your children follow their dreams!” I explode, feeling like I’ve been backed into a corner. “I’m not like you. And I never will be. I’m a writer.”
He barks out a sarcastic laugh. “Really? You’re really sure that’s what you want to be? A poet? In a family of judges, industrialists, and politicians, you want to be the poet?”
“Yes,” I say simply, tone even. “Yes, that’s what I want.”
He’s not happy, and all the understanding he had tried to keep up for me during this conversation has run out. I can see the vein in his forehead, a clear indication he’s pissed off, even if he isn’t verbalizing it.
Even though I’m boiling inside with humiliated anger, I can appreciate how he grapples with his urge to just tell me to get out, and that I’m completely wrong. He knows I’m not in the beststate of mind, and I guess he still loves me as his son enough to make the monumental effort to keep his cool when it appears like I’m pressing every one of his buttons.
“Andries,” he sighs. “Poetry is a beautiful thing, and a fantastic hobby for someone like you to have, even if I don’t really appreciate it. Hell, if you have a book explode in popularity, then I would say absolutely, try to make a career out of it, but in order to do that you need to have a proper job first. Otherwise, sitting in your flat and scribbling sonnets all day isn’t a real job. It doesn’t pay any bills, and it’s just the same as being unemployed.”
“So you’re saying I should waste a sizable portion of my adult life working a job I hate while relegating the thing I do love to an after-work hobby, on the off chance thatmaybeI’ll get a book deal?”
“I mean, that’s a very simplified version of what it would really be like, but yes. That’s what I’m saying. It’s the most responsible way to go about it.”
I stand, my heart in my throat. “Never mind, Dad. Listen, just give Elise the internship. You won’t regret it.”
He frowns. “But you’d regret not taking it once all this fog clears out of your mind.”
“Trust me,” I say with a sad laugh, opening his office door. “I won’t.”
“Andries, the dinner guests are here!” Mom says through my bedroom door, where I have gone to hide after my disastrous conversation with my dad.
“Can I just have dinner in my room?”
“Absolutely not. Everyone is sitting down now, so hurry up!” she demands.
Truth is, I'm already dressed and ready to go. I knew that she’d make me go, but it was worth a shot to try and skip. I open the bedroom door to greet Mom, who looks pleasantly surprised to see me already dressed for dinner.
“Oh good, you’re already prepared. Let’s go! I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised at who has joined us for the evening.”
“That sounds ominous,” I say, more to myself than anyone else, but Mom laughs softly.
“It’s not, I promise.”
