A quote: “I am glad that I paid so little attention to good advice; had I abided by it I might have been saved from some of my most valuable mistakes.” ~~ Edna St. Vincent Millay
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When Billy dropped out of college after his dad’s death, my daughter Katie told him he wasn’t welcome at home and sent him to us. He shows up to eat his grandma’s cooking … sometimes … barely speaks.
And anger radiates off him like a late August heatwave bakes the ground so hard you break a sweat within ten feet of walking out of the house.
One morning at dawn I saddled a couple of horses and rousted his sorry ass outta bed and made him ride with me.
After an hour we stopped under a large, ancient oak, tied up the horses and I offered him my canteen.
“How long are you going to keep this up, Billy?”
He shrugged.
“You can’t stay mad at your dad forever.”
“What?”
“Your dad died. He left you, he left your mom, and you’re pissed.”
“You know nothing.”
“Really? Because I’m old? You think this wrinkled skin suit I wear was always this way?”
“Is this the ‘in my day’ part of your lecture?”
“I don’t know, is this part of your performance as Anger Boy?” I sighed and reached into my breast pocket pulling out a small, faded photo, handing it to him.
“That little girl saved my life.”
Bill looked up, “Is that mom?”
I nodded, “My college days were anything but study. Sex, drugs, rock-n-roll – a cliché I lived. Until I couldn’t. My own dad was killed in an accident right here where we stand. I had to come home to take over. I didn’t want this, I had city dreams. I resented my dad’s dying. I didn’t want the life my father lived. Then your grandmother showed up. Followed me from campus. A sweet girl whose name I barely remembered, with a belly that made me remember other things about her.
We married about two weeks before your mom was born and from the moment I held her in my arms, felt myself count every little breath she made, I stopped resenting my dad. I knew where I wanted my life to go and what was important.”
Billy cradled the picture, staring at it.
“And I know, Billy … Bill … that it wasn’t just your dad’s death that made you run away from college.”
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Now, it’s your turn.
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Bright but stubborn. That was how the teachers all described Sheila.
If she decided she wasn’t going to do something she found boring or tedious, there was no force on this green earth that would compel her to do it. Punishments might work for a little while, but soon you’d have to ratchet them upward because the old stick lost its dread.
And even if coercive measures did get her moving, she wouldn’t do any more than the minimum to get by. You’d have to prod and threaten every time something disagreeable needed to be done, because she’d never just see something that needed done and do it.
Maybe we’d have pushed harder if she’d been the only girl in the family. But with three other girls who’d happily take care of household chores like cooking and cleaning, it became easier to let her concentrate on the things that were actually of interest to her.
She got really into linguistics, although she never managed to actually master a language. As soon as she got in far enough that she needed to actually memorize vocabulary and grammar, she’d lose interest and her grades would start slipping.
I was really despairing of her ever making anything of herself. And then the Kitties showed up, and she managed to get herself on the team who established communication with them.
I hear she’s still discovering fascinating new things about the language of a species of obligate carnivores who are pouncing ambush predators.
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