Demanding All Of You
mi
ffice. When I'm not working
ion of my son's name.
ndpa. You
he asked proudly. "I let him have
. "He takes
ke after me
I suppose. Ho
e farm is fine. It could be better
concern. "You didn't tell me
d to change a few th
other had died of ovarian cancer when I was five and my father had been killed in a car accident shortly after. T
I can help you wi
I don't know if y
t mean?" I ask
suppose you don't wear boots anymore. You're uptown. You're too clean. You're uppity, wearing your fancy suits and
utiny. "Grandpa, it's a
ng in a goddamn office all the
't like it, but I ne
rk the farm,"
armer," I re
sed on a farm. I let you go off to college, thi
he city," I told him.
e in an apartment. That poor boy doesn't eve
er-school program, and then
head. "That
dpa, he's a good kid. He's healthy and is doing fine. Let me cl
ile. "I've got to be
ave you bee
but you know I don't l
steak? We've got some of the best
steak than what I have on the farm. Fresh and fed
for a longer visit
ll see," he said, noddi
nails. I had idolized him before my parents died, and then after he took over the role of being dad, mom, and
sit this summer. I've got some vacatio
said in a noncommittal t
could convince you to stay longer,
Take care of yoursel
did it anyway. I had become more of a hugger since having Oliver. Hugs wer
some high standards to live up to. It all seemed to come so easy to him. He was strong and capable and suc
bled, feeling
, but good. I had thought when I graduated from NYU, he would have been proud of me. Instead, he'd seemed disappointed that I had chosen to stay in New York. He didn't seem to care th
ed. My eyes were opened to something new and different and exciting. Going back to the small town and the farm hadn
ded myself. That excu