People spoke well of me. My father depended on me. I liked that.
My brother, on the other hand, was lazy,
impulsive, and irresponsible. It was
like pulling teeth to get him to do anything.
I guess we all kind of knew it was coming;
one day he'd just had enough. He went to
my father and demanded his share of the farm.
I'm not sure why, but my father gave it to him. We watched him take off down the road not
knowing if we'd ever see him again.
It shook me up a bit, but my father took it
really hard. He was devastated.
Months passed.
The farm continued to prosper under my hard
work – mine and my father's, I mean.
Sometimes people would shake their heads in
sympathy. "It's a shame Farmer Joe's boy
ran off the way he did. I mean, asking
for his share of the inheritance? It's
like he was saying he wished his father was dead. Well, you know he was always the black sheep
of the family." Someone else would be
sure to add, "At least he's got one good son.
Reckon he's pretty glad to still have him around."
It always gave me a smug sense of
satisfaction to hear them say that. I
was the good one, and everyone knew it.
Maybe it was because I felt the need to
overcome the shame of being related to him.
Maybe it was because I wanted to escape my father's inexplicable sadness
over his good-for-nothing son. (Good riddance, I said! He never did anything around here anyway.) Maybe it was because back-breaking work was
all I'd ever known. Maybe it was all of
those things. Whatever the reason, each
day I became more and more consumed with this whole heady idea of being good.
Until one day when everything changed…
- - -
That day I'd worked extra hard. I was looking forward to a well-earned rest. I flexed my sore arms, and as I got closer to
the house, I heard the unmistakable sound of a party. Music.
Laughter. Dancing.
Oh, and there was the mouth-watering aroma of
grilled meat…
What in the world
is going on here? A party, at my
house? Nobody told me about any of this!
When I realized what occasion had sparked the
celebration, I was fuming. I took it out
on one of the hired hands. My father
heard my angry voice and came outside. He
took my arm and urged me towards the door.
"Why are you standing out here, Son?
Come inside and celebrate with us!
Your brother has come back!"
I stared at him for a minute, dumbfounded. Then all the pent-up resentment of years
exploded. "WHY?! You ask me why I'm
standing out here? Isn't that
obvious? I can't believe you would do
this! This is the most unfair, unjust,
and downright stupid thing I've ever seen in my life!!! I have worked so. hard. for you all these
years. I've respected your orders. I've done everything I could to please
you. You never gave me a party, but when
that miserable wretch slinks back after wasting half of your estate, you throw
him this outlandish party. This is an
outrage!"
"But, Son," his voice was gentle, "all this
is already yours." He swept his arm over
fertile fields. "And you have been here
with me all this time. What more could
you possibly want?"
He searched my face, then turned to go back
inside, wanting me to follow him.
I turned his words over in my head…
What more could
I possibly want?
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