Nosey Little Shit...

From Hawthorne:

“To plant a family! This idea is at the bottom of most of the wrong and mischief which men do. The truth is, that, once in every half century, at longest, a family should be merged into the great, obscure mass of humanity, and forget all about its ancestors.”

I had a strange encounter the other day. I was sitting at a table at the Heritage Tap (on Grand Ave and has killer food for cheap!) when I started taking to a young man of about twenty-two. I'll pretty much talk to anyone if I'm curious enough about them. Anyways, I learned that this kid is the son of a girl I went to high school with a zillion years ago and haven't seen since, except for reunions. If we talked at all at that reunion, it was just pleasantries.

Eating shrimp scampi, drinking beer and hanging out with the kids of your peers. That's what happens when you're old enough and they're old enough to walk into a bar. What's especially interesting is if the kid has no clue you knew their parents at one time. Not alerting him to this fact was a bit unfair on my part. No matter, I ain't much different from anyone else who gains an unfair advantage. The darker angel on my shoulder won out.

The young man was in a corporate suit that he wasn't comfortable to be in. You've seen that awkwardness if you've been to any blue collar type weddings. All the guys stand around like statues, scared shitless to muss up their nice new clothing. They're stiff and their movements machine like. I swear that comes from a form of PTSD. Back then, their Mom's dressed them up and threatened DEATH if they wrinkle it or get it dirty. “Don't make me do you over again! You sit on that couch until we leave for your cousin's wedding!” So you obey and dare not pick your nose nor touch your combed hair. I know this happens, I was once ordered to sit on a couch before my first Communion in order not to wreck the lovely clean up job my Mom had done on me.

He had come back from an interview with Merck in Boston I come to find out. I asked what were his chances and he said he wasn't sure as Human Resources takes forever to go through the various interview levels. “They said they want to 'bring me in' but I know what that means...another three interviews and possibly being blown off with the standard rejection email of, 'after evaluating several candidates, we had to choose the best qualified...which WASN'T YOU...it was the VP's daughter who had an inside track to begin with!'” Hmmm...cynical kid.

“Fuck it.” he said as he sucked down the last of his beer. “If they don't hire me, Mom will just get on my ass more to email more resumes out...they'll be others.”

Mom, or Tashia as I knew her in Saint Raphael Academy, was the main driver behind this boy's seeming disgust. I knew her somewhat in high school and she was one of those social butterflies who was always on the make. If there was a way to wiggle into a higher social standing, she'd squirm, wrangle and schmooze as best as she could to rise another notch. She was born cute, vivacious and had a demon possessed drive to succeed. When I knew her then, she had a bit of that sex kitten look. At our reunion some 25 years later, that sex kitten became a bit of a ratty old cat. Her husband at the reunion resigned himself to an empty table where he stuffed his face. He knew no one there and why not stuff your face, there was little else to do while his wife flitted around like a butterfly once again.

Tashia came from a family that had new money. New money being from a business her Dad had created (home oil delivery) and had done appreciably well enough to have moved the family from Lonsdale to Countryside in Pawtucket.. Lonsdale is a near dump while Countryside is where the “nice” people lived. They were new money, which is disgusting. Those with “old' money tend not to associate with them. New money becomes respectable after a few generations and then and only then can you bray about “standing.” Be that as it may, Tashia knew where she stood and was seeking to rise even further, be it her high school career or her work career that came after. I was told she had become a prosperous sales/marketing guru for the Boston TV market. I then come to find out she was preening her son to carry that tradition on.

“Ya gotta be out there! Ya gotta compete! If you don't, someone else will!” this kid says, aping his Mom's voice.

“Mom was always on me to do well and I did. I was on the football team in high school, got into Rutgers and now I have to do well on the job search. Part of me thinks I'll disappoint her if I don't get into the right organization...I've been hitting up all the biotech companies up and down 128.”

I could tell by the tone of his voice that he hated this. I finally ask him did he like biology (his degree was in it) and he said he was good at it but it wasn't his choice. I could sense he wanted that subject dropped and I stopped. I then realize the major was Mom's choice.

“Did she plan out your life?” I ask. Christ am I like this, I'll ask very personal questions of people I barely know. The kid acquiesced.

I get another look of “don't go there,” and I drop it again. Another confirmation of what I thought, his face betrayed that truth.

I finally let the whole thing go as I am making him feel uncomfortable. To my credit, I can find a way to the core of someone's hidden heart, which dicks some off to no end.

This isn't the only time I've come across the kids of people I know or knew. Even with all the meddling or outright oppression some of these kids undergo, their own personalities still survive, finding a chance to come out and run off on their own. Sometimes in a direction their parent's never envisioned.