we normally did after he ordered me to do something I considered unreasonable. I settled for, "Don't worry, the Custodians took them straight to North End."
"Good," he grunted as he served himself another dish of vegetable casserole.
I figured now was as good a time as any to broach the subject of my sister. "Ah, Father, Younger Sister is not looking so good these days – I think she needs to see a doctor."
"Younger Daughter just needs to snap out of it and pull herself together," he said to me. He aimed the next comment at Mother, standing deferentially at the doorway. "She's just lazy; it's as simple as that."
"Have you seen her lately, Father? The sores on her mouth, her white skin and shallow breathing, and finger nails growing upward? There is something wrong with her."
"Ethan, you're young and naive. Those sores are caused by lying in bed all day for month after month. Mother needs to stop mollycoddling her and show her some tough love. Otherwise, no one's ever going to want to marry her and I'll be stuck with her for life – a leech sucking up my money forever. Besides, we can't afford a doctor."
I glanced at Mother, whose eyes were glazing over with tears, while I trembled with rage at the callous insults directed at his own daughter! I wish I could put him through what she goes through for just one day. He'd change his tune soon enough.
"Why can't you afford it, where does all your money go?" I demanded.
Mother's eyes widened in shock and she shook her head ever so slightly, warning me away from this conversation. Unfortunately, it was too late. Father pushed his plate away and turned to face me, trembling with barely controlled rage. "Where does all my money go? You really want to know, do you, Son? Okay then, every spare cent I earn, after the food and rent, goes to pay back a fifteen year loan I had to take out."
"Take out – take out on what?" I was too angry to heed Mother's warning – she was still shaking her head.
"On you!" my father shouted. "For your operation! Remember the brain surgery you needed after that ceiling fell on your head two years ago!"
Suddenly I felt like the world's biggest fool. I’d accused him of wasting his money, only to find out he was spending it all on me. "I...I didn't know. Father, why didn't you tell me?"
"I did what had to be done, what's to tell?" he huffed.
My shoulders slumped in resignation, but I tried one last half-hearted attempt to help my sister. "In that case, let me help pay off the loan, or at least pay for her visit to a doctor."
That, apparently, was the worst thing I could have said. "I do not need your financial aid like I am some...some charity case!" he bellowed.
Head bowed in defeat, I tucked into my dinner until half was left, and then gave my mother a meaningful glance. The women of a household always served the best food to the males and ate less costly foods and any leftovers themselves. So when I had dinner with my family, I always left half my dinner on the plate so that my mother and sisters could divide it amongst themselves later.
That done, I bade them farewell.
My father's anger would simmer for the rest of the evening, but tomorrow he’d act as though the whole conversation had never happened.
I couldn’t turn my emotions on and off like that, so I walked away torn by powerful, conflicting emotions. I was angry with my father for being so obstinate, for refusing to acknowledge my sister's health problems. His arrogance and pride was robbing her of a normal life. On the other hand, I felt so guilty for believing Father didn’t care for me. I could see now that he did. The proof was the massive loan to finance the operation that healed me of the epilepsy caused by the head injury.
That my father cared for me sent my mind spinning, causing me to re-evaluate my opinion of him. I’d concluded years ago that he didn’t care for me. I mean, throughout my life he never really did anything with me. When he wasn’t at work,
"Good," he grunted as he served himself another dish of vegetable casserole.
I figured now was as good a time as any to broach the subject of my sister. "Ah, Father, Younger Sister is not looking so good these days – I think she needs to see a doctor."
"Younger Daughter just needs to snap out of it and pull herself together," he said to me. He aimed the next comment at Mother, standing deferentially at the doorway. "She's just lazy; it's as simple as that."
"Have you seen her lately, Father? The sores on her mouth, her white skin and shallow breathing, and finger nails growing upward? There is something wrong with her."
"Ethan, you're young and naive. Those sores are caused by lying in bed all day for month after month. Mother needs to stop mollycoddling her and show her some tough love. Otherwise, no one's ever going to want to marry her and I'll be stuck with her for life – a leech sucking up my money forever. Besides, we can't afford a doctor."
I glanced at Mother, whose eyes were glazing over with tears, while I trembled with rage at the callous insults directed at his own daughter! I wish I could put him through what she goes through for just one day. He'd change his tune soon enough.
"Why can't you afford it, where does all your money go?" I demanded.
Mother's eyes widened in shock and she shook her head ever so slightly, warning me away from this conversation. Unfortunately, it was too late. Father pushed his plate away and turned to face me, trembling with barely controlled rage. "Where does all my money go? You really want to know, do you, Son? Okay then, every spare cent I earn, after the food and rent, goes to pay back a fifteen year loan I had to take out."
"Take out – take out on what?" I was too angry to heed Mother's warning – she was still shaking her head.
"On you!" my father shouted. "For your operation! Remember the brain surgery you needed after that ceiling fell on your head two years ago!"
Suddenly I felt like the world's biggest fool. I’d accused him of wasting his money, only to find out he was spending it all on me. "I...I didn't know. Father, why didn't you tell me?"
"I did what had to be done, what's to tell?" he huffed.
My shoulders slumped in resignation, but I tried one last half-hearted attempt to help my sister. "In that case, let me help pay off the loan, or at least pay for her visit to a doctor."
That, apparently, was the worst thing I could have said. "I do not need your financial aid like I am some...some charity case!" he bellowed.
Head bowed in defeat, I tucked into my dinner until half was left, and then gave my mother a meaningful glance. The women of a household always served the best food to the males and ate less costly foods and any leftovers themselves. So when I had dinner with my family, I always left half my dinner on the plate so that my mother and sisters could divide it amongst themselves later.
That done, I bade them farewell.
My father's anger would simmer for the rest of the evening, but tomorrow he’d act as though the whole conversation had never happened.
I couldn’t turn my emotions on and off like that, so I walked away torn by powerful, conflicting emotions. I was angry with my father for being so obstinate, for refusing to acknowledge my sister's health problems. His arrogance and pride was robbing her of a normal life. On the other hand, I felt so guilty for believing Father didn’t care for me. I could see now that he did. The proof was the massive loan to finance the operation that healed me of the epilepsy caused by the head injury.
That my father cared for me sent my mind spinning, causing me to re-evaluate my opinion of him. I’d concluded years ago that he didn’t care for me. I mean, throughout my life he never really did anything with me. When he wasn’t at work,
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