It was one of the rare hot days since summer. Somewhere inland a wildfire was
raging. Under a hazy sky, the bald east hills took on a bright beige and loomed
behind a veil of dust. The lazy, wafting late afternoon wind brought no relief
to the sluggish south-bound traffic toward San Jose. Thank God we are heading
north, Bill thought.
"We learned about marketing and fund-raising for robotics today." Tim was just
off his robot-building shift, a three-hour daily sweat after school.
"Useful skills!" cheered Bill out of the habit of playing a supporting parent.
He knew little about robots and even less about the trade. It must be good for
Tim's career, he thought. But no need to sound excited anymore, he told himself.
The boy must have out-grown it. He acted assured of himself and seemed to need
no props from dad.
"Do you know what I appreciate you the most?" Bill asked out of the blue.
Painfully aware of his limited English, he wondered if there was a clever phrase
to slip it in. There was no time for research, however, and he had to say it
before the moment was gone.
"That I chose the Lectric bike?"
"That you never behaved any different since I lost my job in April."
"Oh." Tim sounded underwhelmed: "I have no say in how you live, man. You are an
individual. You do what you enjoy. You do what you think is the best for you."
"Where did you learn this?" Bill was slightly taken aback by the wisecrack. He
thought he knew all about and much agreed with individualism by now. But when it
came about himself from his own son, it sounded impersonal, alien and cool. He
tried but failed to detect any grudge or sarcasm in the kid's voice.
"Christian Ethics."
"What else has it taught you?!"
The Jesuit prep school has one such course every semester. So far, Tim had taken
the Scriptures and the Creed. Bill knew a bit about the former, from Bible study
in his student days in Canada, but he had not been following up closely his boy's
education.
"Okay. But have you ever lost sleep over some quiz the next day?" Bill wanted to
try a different angle to pass on how he felt.
"Rarely. I tire myself out and sleep comes easy. I work hard but never worry
much. I remind myself to be thankful for what I have."
"God!" Bill sighed a silent sigh as it dawned on him how futile his effort was
to get the idea through to the American boy.
"Well. I did." he continued: "Losing one's job was a big no-no back home in
China, a family disaster as well as a social stigma. You might not have noticed,
but smart, highly educated Chinese software engineers jump off buildings over
this or they kill their managers. It has happened, almost every year." Two and a
half decades after migrating to the west and with neither parent living, Bill
still referred to his old country "home."
It was painful childhood memory. Without a high-school diploma, his mom took
menial jobs and sometimes had no work. When the latter happened, the whole
family felt it and switched into austerity mode, not that they lived lavishly in
the first place. No matter what, his dad held onto his post as a school teacher
for 20 plus years. Only now, three years after dad passed away, Bill started to
understand his old man.
Bill and, to some extent, his wife Amy had carried the fear of want into their
adulthood. Since April he became even more wary of spending. He even stopped
jiu-jitsu in August and joined the local "Buy Nothing" facebook group.
If the high-school junior felt anything, he must have hidden it really well.
Besides, it was the toughest year with the heaviest workload. The boy rather
felt like talking about something else.
"That kid my friend Ethan brought in from Hillsdale whined all the time."
"What about?"
"Oh. Mostly how lonely he was. How nobody cared about him. I hated it."
"Maybe you should not judge. Maybe it was his family and the way he was brought
up. Does he live with his parents?"
"Perfectly caring parents!"
"How do you know?"
"Well. Okay. I don't but everyone has troubles. You just need to get a grip. I
use his whining as fuel. The AP courses and robotics are tough but I don't
complain. I suck it up and work hard." Tim was indignant and self-righteous.
"Wow. Déjà vu. That just rhymed with what I told my mom when I was about your age.
I used to despise the slackers and tried to work as hard as possible, in part to
show them what could be done."
There was a poignancy in his voice, a hint of regret. There was disappointment
in himself, a disappointment that could only come with age. It was not about his
job or income, although dark visions still arise from time to time. He thought
he had seen through the rat race and he was wealthy enough. And there was no
self-pity. At least he had overcome that and it looked like he wouldn't get any
sympathy from the teenager if he hadn't.
It was a smooth ride. In 20 minutes, they were at the door.
"What's for dinner?"
"Beef and broccoli."
"Super."
