“Hi,
Mom.”
“Hi
yourself. Give your mother a kiss.”
“So
how was your day Ma?”
“Not
so bad, sweetie. Yourself? What’ve you been up to?”
“Same
old same old. We finalized that merger with another office that I’ve been
talking about. It’s sure to make a good profit.”
“I’m
glad. I’m really proud of you, you know. You’ve really made something of
yourself.”
“Thanks
Ma. That means a lot to me.”
“And
since we’re on the subject of success. . .”
“Ugh.
Please don’t say what I think you’re about to say.”
“You
know me so well. Your brother called today, and we had a nice long talk.”
“I’m
sure you did.”
“And
our conversation was about. . . “
“I
think I can guess. About how I’m mean and cruel and hard-hearted to him because
I won’t hand him any more money.”
“Yes,
that’s the gist of it. How can you not help your brother out? Don’t you love
him?”
“Of
course I do. It’s just that you and I have different definitions of love. I
happen to think that handing him money is not love.”
“How
could you look at him in need and not do anything? Aren’t you going to do
anything for him?”
“I’m
not sure what I’m going to do, but I do know this: The last thing that will
help him is to hand him more money.”
“But
he’s been through so much in his life.”
“No,
he hasn’t. He’s made so many bad choices
in life, and he’s borne the consequences
of them. I’m successful because I’ve tried—really imperfectly—to follow our
Father’s Rules. He hasn’t even tried, and it shows.”
“Now,
son, you know you’re not perfect either. . .”
“I
know I’m not perfect. I’ve done some horrible things in my day, made some
really bad choices, and I’ve even hurt some people on occasion. But I’ve been
open and honest about my faults, and when I’ve done wrong I’ve tried to make it
right. But. . . Mom, when are we going to stop pretending?”
“What
do you mean?”
“I
think my question applies to a lot of things. First off, when are we going to
stop pretending that there’s no difference between a Kultur boy who tries to follow the Father’s Rules versus a Kultur boy who doesn’t, who makes absolutely no effort?”
“Well,
I never. . . !”
“And
when are we going to stop pretending that the achievements of one Kultur are
the same as another’s?”
“But.
. . !”
“I
mean, I’m really glad that Lester’s finally graduated from High School—at 26
years of age. I really am. And I try not to make a big deal about what I’ve
accomplished. I really do. I know that I had a lot of help from our Father. I know
that too.”
At
this point the woman just stared at her son.
“But
to pretend that my achievements—graduating from High School at 16, graduating
from Medical School, surgeon at 24—to pretend that that’s the equivalent of
getting your GED at age 26 is, well, a lie.”
“And
to keep pretending that the bad condition he’s in right now has absolutely nothing to do with choices he’s
made—like they’re a meteor that fell out of the sky on top of him, that’s a lie
too.”
Boy,
if looks could kill, he’d be lying on the floor in a pool of blood right now. .
.
“And
finally, I’m getting really tired of pretending that his household and mine are equivalents to each other. Since we're talking about phone calls, I should mention that just the other day I got ANOTHER call
from ANOTHER kid of his, wanting to come to live with me! When he catches one
of his own kids sneaking out of his house to come live in mine, do you know
what he does to them? Do you?!”
He
returned his mother’s stare, and anyone watching this could easily tell that he
was keeping his temper under control. “He BEATS them. He STARVES them. And if
one of them actually makes it over to my house, he punishes his remaining kids
even MORE.”
“As
near as I can tell, all these lies are out there for one purpose: To make my
brother feel better about himself. I understand why people do that. But to keep
up these pretty lies is not helping him, and it’s KILLING his kids.”
For
a moment he looked like he was struggling not to say something really
offensive, something that would royally tick off his mother who was staring
daggers at him. And then he finally let it out: “And Mom, I love you, but you
don’t believe any of this nonsense any more than I do.”
“How
dare you say that?! I LOVE Lester!”
“I’m
sure you do. But I can’t help noticing that you’re choosing to live here with
ME, in MY house, instead of with him. You can talk all you want about how one
Kultur is as good as any other, but you voted with your feet, and your feet don’t
lie. You chose to live here with me instead of anywhere else in the whole
world, including with my brother.”
“Look,
I’m not forcing anyone to live here. If someone wants to go, I don’t post any
guards to stop them. I love you and everyone who lives here with all my heart
and soul, but if someone wants to live somewhere else, I’m not going to put
up a barbed-wire fence to keep them here.”
“Are
you saying you want ME to move out?! Just because I’ve said some things you
don’t want to hear?!”
“Of
course not. I don’t want you to leave. Like I said, I love you and everyone
else here. But you asked me why I wasn’t going to be giving my brother any more
money. Now you know.”
“If
you don’t help out your brother, so help me, I’ll. . .I’ll. . .”
“Move
out? Leave me? We both know you’re not going to do that. For all your talk, you
love living here just like everybody else, and you’re not fool enough to leave
and live with my brother in order to make your point. Are you?”
With
that, she turned on her heels and stormed out.
He
watched her with a sad look on his face. He knew that after a while she’d calm
down, come down to supper, and pretend that their conversation had never
happened.
That
he could live with. But in general, pretending bothered him. And he’d finally
gotten tired of it.
In
case you haven’t read the first part and are really confused, read Part One
here.
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