“Yes, I guess it has.”
He leaned forward and gripped the arms of his chair.
“Tell me just one thing. Was it fun?
I thought about it. Doc Devereaux… Mama O’Toole… poor little Pru who had never lived to grow up, not really. Uncle Steve. Then I switched it off and gave him the answer he wanted. “Yes, it was fun, lots of fun.”
He sighed. “That’s good. I quit regretting years ago. But if it hadn’t been fun, it would have been such a terrible waste.”
“It was.”
“That’s all I wanted to hear you say. I’ll call the girls down in a moment. Tomorrow I’ll show you around the plant and introduce you to the key men. Not that I expect you to take hold right away. Take a long vacation if you like. But not too long, Tom … for I guess I’m getting old. I can’t look ahead the way I used to.”
I suddenly realized that Pat had everything planned out, just as he always had. “Wait a minute, Pat. I’ll be pleased to have you show me around your plant-and honored. But don’t count on anything. First I’m going to school. After that-well, we’ll see.”
“Eh? Don’t be silly. And don’t call it ‘my’ plant; it’s ‘Bartlett Brothers, Incorporated.’ It always has been. It’s your responsibility as much as mine.”
“Now, take it easy, Pat. I was just-”
“Quiet!” His voice was thin and shrill but it still had the sound of command. “I won’t have any nonsense out of you, young man. You’ve had your own way and you’ve been off on a long picnic-I won’t criticize how you managed it. That’s bygones. But now you must buckle down and assume your responsibilities in the family business.” He stopped and breathed heavily, then went on more softly, almost to himself. “I had no sons, I have no grandsons; I’ve had to carry the burden alone. To have my brother, to have my own brother…” His voice faded out.
I went up and took him by the shoulder-then I let go; it felt like match sticks. But I decided that I might as well settle it once and for all; I told myself it would be kinder. “Listen to me, Pat. I don’t want to seem ungrateful, but you must get this straight. I’m going to live my own life. Understand me. It might include “Bartlett Brothers’; it might not. Probably not. But I will decide. I’ll never be told again.”
He brushed it aside. “You don’t know your own mind; you’re just a boy. Never mind, we’ll speak of it tomorrow, Today is a day of gladness.”
“No, Pat. I am not a boy, I am a man. You’ll have to accept that. I’ll make my own mistakes and I’ll not be told.”
He wouldn’t look at me. I insisted, “I mean it, Pat. I mean it so much that if you can’t accept it and abide by it, I’m walking out right now. Permanently.”
Then he looked up. “You wouldn’t do that to me.”
“I would.”
He searched my eyes. “I believe you would. You always were a mean one. You gave me a lot of trouble.”
“I’m still mean… if you want to call it that.”
“Uh… but you wouldn’t do it to the girls? Not to little Vicky?”
“I will if you force my hand.”
He held any eyes for a second, then his shoulders sagged and he buried his face in his hands. I thought he was going to cry and I felt like a villain, bullying an old man like that. I patted his shoulders, wishing that I had stalled, rather than forcing the issue.
I remembered that this frail old man had risked his health and his sanity to get in touch with me at first peak, and I thought: if he wants it so badly, maybe I should humor him. After all, he did not have long to live.
No!
It wasn’t right for one person to impose his will on another, through strength or even through weakness. I was myself … and I was going out to the stars again. Suddenly I knew it. Oh, college perhaps, first-but I was going. I owed this old man gratitude … but I did not owe him the shape of my life. That was mine.