Max looked around his freshly painted office pleased with the quality of work. He headed to the kitchen and picked up two cans of beer from the refrigerator. His wife eyed the second can and looked up at him with a questioning expression on her face. He winked at her.
He went out to the garage where Robert was putting away the painting supplies. Clearing his throat, he said, "Robert."
His son turned around to face his father. Somewhat defensive, he asked, "What?"
"Catch," Max said tossing a beer to his son using a gentle underhand throw.
Robert caught the beer. Surprised, he looked at it and asked, "What is this?"
"It's a beer," Max said.
"I know, but..."
Max said, "You did a good job. I'm proud of you."
"Thank you," Robert said. He hadn't been expecting that.
Max opened his can of beer. He gestured to the can in Robert's hand. The young man opened his can and took a tentative sip from it. He had expected it to be a little sweet. The bitterness of it surprised him.
"Is that your first?" Max asked.
"Yes," Robert answered.
Max said, "It's right for a boy's first beer to be taken with his father."
"Did you have your first beer with grampa?" Robert asked.
"No," Max answered. "I stole a six pack beer out of the refrigerator and drank it out back of the house with a couple friends of mine."
"Did grampa find out?" Robert asked.
"Yes he did," Max said. He laughed at the memory and then said, "He took a belt to my ass. I couldn't sit down for two days."
"Grampa did that?" Robert asked shocked by that revelation.
"Yes," Max said. "He wasn't mad that I drank the beer, only that I took it without asking."
"Oh," Robert said.
"I never stole anything after that," Max said.
"The whipping?" Robert asked.
Max shook his head no. "I learned a valuable lesson that day. You see, that six pack of beer cost about a buck fifty or so. It wasn't really that much money. I took something that was far more valuable than that."
"What?"
"My Dad didn't drink much, but whenever he finished a particularly tough job he would sit back and drink a beer – just like you're doing now. It was a little reward for having worked hard. I didn't steal a sixpack of beer from him, I stole his reward," Max said. "Sometimes, it's the little things that we do for ourselves that mean the most. You interfere with that and you've damaged something that is really important to someone."
"I see what you mean," Robert said.
Max said, "For a while there, I forgot what my job as father was."
"What is your job?" Robert asked.
"I'm to teach you how to be a man," Max answered.
"I'll grow up," Robert said.
"Do you think I'm having you mow the lawn because I'm lazy? No. You need to know how to do it yourself. You need to get in the habit of looking at things around you and realizing that they need maintaining. It doesn't come natural to a person. You have to get into the habit. Every week the lawn needs mowing. Checking the lawn to make sure it doesn't need to be mowed becomes a habit.
"Painting is another of those things you need to learn. You'll own your own home one day and you won't be able to afford someone to come and do the work for you. You'll have to do it all – painting, plumbing, and other minor repairs. Five, maybe six years from now, you'll be picking up five gallons of paint and painting your own place. You'll know what needs to be done to do the job right. You've learned that today."
"I didn't think about that," Robert said.
"I'm supposed to help mold your character," Max said. "That's probably where I've been the most remiss with you and your sister. I apologize for that."
"No need to apologize," Robert said. "Things were just fine."
Max laughed. "Things were fine because you were getting and doing everything you wanted. Being an adult isn't about doing what you want. Being an adult is doing the things you don't want to do and doing them with a smile. It is making tough choices when there are no right answers."
"I guess so," Robert said.
Max said, "I'm going to be riding your ass a lot more from now on. I've let things slide for too long. There are going to be times when you hate me, but just remember one thing."
"What?"
"I'm doing it out of love," Max said.
He raised his can of beer and said, "You did a real good job on painting the study, Son."
"Thanks, Dad," Robert said.
Max said, "I better see what's going on in the house."
"All right," Robert said.
He couldn't figure out his father. There were times when he was a real hard ass and times when he was a nice guy. That morning, his father had taken him to the hardware store and had him pick out all of the painting supplies. It hadn't been fun. They hadn't gone home with much, but it had taken them almost two hours to get it all.
The first thing his father had done was send him over to the paint section to pick up enough paint to cover six hundred square feet of wall and thirty square feet of trim. He had picked out one gallon of paint. His father then had him read the label concerning coverage. The label said that it would cover four hundred square feet or two hundred square feet if two coats were required. He had gone off and returned with two gallons of paint. His father then pointed out that what he had gotten was paint for trim rather than flat wall paint. Then he had picked out two different colors of paint by accident. His father had been all over his ass about that. He ended up getting two gallons of wall paint and one quart of paint for the trim.
Then it had been paint brushes and rollers. Robert's inclination was to buy the biggest brush he could find. His father pointed out that wouldn't work so well on the narrow parts of the trim that were less then half an inch wide. He came back with a one-half inch wide brush. It was then pointed out that the trim had another side that was almost three inches wide.
Then it had been drop cloths and masking tape. He learned that drop cloths came in different materials, sizes, and thicknesses. Since they were not making a living by painting, his dad had pointed out they could get by with plastic drop cloths. Robert had come back with the cheapest package only to learn that it was too thin and would tear when he walked around on it. Thick was fine, but it was also more expensive. The thin stuff could be used to cover furniture. Robert discovered that they did want to cover the office furniture rather than moving it all out of the room.
The entire process had been humiliating. He had run back and forth looking at one thing and then another before finding the right thing. It was like his father was enjoying his misery. Only now in hindsight did he realize that his father had not only criticized him, but he had also explained what was needed to do the job they wanted done and how what he had gotten was to be used for a different purpose. Each mistake was two lessons in one.
He wondered if half the reason his father had taken so much joy in each mistake was because he was given the chance to teach his son a little more about painting. Having his errors pointed out to him had made an impression that would last longer than a simple lecture would have produced. If his father had just talked about it, he would have tuned him out and learned nothing. Humiliating? Somewhat. However, he was pretty sure that his father could send him to the storesecure in the knowledge that he would bring home the right stuff.
He finished his beer and tossed the can into the rubbish bin. After all that work, he could now say that he'd had his first beer. He also realized that he would be boasting about this to all of his friends in school Monday. The last thing he was able to boast about was making another level in his computer game.
Inside the house, Max walked over to his daughter's room. Her door was open and she was on her bed painting her toenails with black nail polish.
He said, "Barb, you..."
"My name is Barbie," his daughter said.
"Barbie is the name of doll or a little girl. You aren't a little girl any more," Max said.
"I don't like being called Barb."
"You've got your choice. I can call you Barb or 'Hey you.' Which will it be?"
She glared at her father knowing that he would call her 'Hey you' if she told him that was her choice. He would give her choices and if she chose the wrong one, then he made her live with the consequences. He had been doing a lot of things like that lately and it was driving her crazy.
"Call me Barb."
"Go help your mother prepare dinner."
Max felt that his wife had not helped prepare Barb for the future. She would need to know her way around the kitchen. So would Robert for that matter. It was time for both kids to start helping out with preparing meals. Cooking wasn't that complicated, but there were some essential skills one should know. It involved a bit more than boiling water.
"I'm painting my toenails," Barb replied.
"I didn't ask you what you were doing. I told you to go help your mother in the kitchen," Max said.
"I'll be done with this in an hour," Barb said. She knew by that time her mother would have finished cooking dinner.
"Your mother is in the kitchen now," Max said.
"I can't go until my nails are dry," Barb replied. She smiled at him thinking she had just given him an unassailable excuse.
Max looked around the room. His eyes landed on a ripped and torn tee-shirt that had graffiti written upon it. It was one of the outfits that he detested. He had already told her to throw it out twice. Last time she had told him that she had thrown it out. It looked like she had lied to him. He leaned down and picked it up.
"What are you doing with that?" Barb asked.
"Born to be fucked," Max read off the tee-shirt. He looked at his daughter and shook his head.
"It's a protest," she said belligerently.
Reaching down, Max wiped the nail polish off her toes using the tee-shirt. She reacted by scrambling across her bed trying to put as much space between her and her father. She let loose an eerie screech throughout her journey.
"Now go help your mother," Max said.
"Fuck you!" Barb said.
She knew she had blown it the moment the words left her mouth. It wasn't that he looked angry, because he clearly wasn't. It was just that there was that weird look on his face – a kind of disappointed expression with a tinge of purpose to it.
She fought the best she could. She tried scratching him. She kicked out at him. None of her efforts had much effect. She ended up draped over his knee. Three smacks of his hand landed on her butt with her screaming like a banshee the entire time.
He released her. She scrambled away and shouted, "That's child abuse!"
"No. That's called a spanking," Max said noticing that she wasn't even rubbing her butt. It had been more of a symbolic swat on the ass than a real spanking. "The only thing injured is your pride."
"You had no cause to do that," Barb shouted.
"I told you three times to go in the kitchen and help your mother prepare dinner. I'll keep spanking you all night until you go in the kitchen and help your mother," Max said.
Barb believed him. Keeping her distance from him, she ran out of the room. She'd go in the kitchen and tell her mother all about what her father had done. He'd be sorry.
Max sat there trying to decide what to do about her use of foul language. He didn't think it was right for a young lady to go around dropping the f-bomb like it was candy. In the old days, his parents would have put a bar of soap in her mouth. It might come down to that one day, but for now he'd try to address it reasonably.
He got up and walked towards the kitchen to see what was happening.
"Use a potato peeler," Marylou said patiently.
"What's that?" Barb answered.
Marylou went through a drawer and pulled out a potato peeler. Holding it up, she said, "This is a potato peeler."
"What's it for?" Barb asked.
"Peeling potatoes," Marylou answered wondering if Barb was actually that dumb.
"It looks stupid," Barb said.
Marylou said, "I'll show you how to use it. You'll discover that it is perfectly designed for peeling potatoes."
"I don't want to," Barb said. She crossed her arms over her chest and stood there defiantly.
Max stepped into the kitchen and said, "It isn't a matter of whether you want to do it or not. You have to do it."
"Why?" Barb spat back. "I don't have to do anything."
"How are you going to eat when you get a place of your own?" Max asked from the doorway to the kitchen.
"I'll go to restaurants," Barb answered.
"You won't be able to afford it," Max said. "You'll have a choice between sleeping in your car and eating out or sleeping in an apartment and eating in."
"Not with the choices," Barb said rolling her eyes. "This isn't a world where you have to chose A or B. You can have both. I'm going to have both."
"How are you going to afford that?" Max asked.
Barb shouted, "I'll sell my body if I have to."
Marylou stared at Barb in horror. She couldn't believe the words coming out of her daughter's mouth. Everything Cody said about his daughter came rushing back to her. He had remarked that there had been little hints that his daughter thought of sex as a tool to use in order to get what she wanted. He had heard her make statements like that and hadn't reacted to them thinking it was just talk.
Max was about to let loose when Marylou released her inner badger. Putting as much venom in her voice as possible, she asked, "Do you have no shame?"
"It's my body and I can do what I want with it," Barb shouted.
Marylou could see that Barb was being perfectly honest at the moment. She wasn't going to argue this one. "You're grounded."
"What's that mean?" Barb asked sarcastically.
"You aren't leaving the house for a week," Marylou said. Seeing that threat wasn't having much effect, she added, "and I'm taking away your cell phone."
"No way," Barb said horrified by that prospect.
Her whole social world revolved around texting on her cell phone. She didn't talk to people, she texted them. Losing it would be like having her mouth taped shut. Her friends wouldn't know how to contact her. She'd become the laughing stock of the entire school.
"Yes, way," Marylou said happy to have found a threat that really worked.
"I'm not giving it to you," Barb said.
"I'll cancel your service," Max said.
"You wouldn't dare," Barb said knowing that he wasn't making an idle threat.
"Try me," Max said pleasantly. He might have to pay a penalty, but it was worth it.
"I'll pay for my own," Barb said.
"With what money?" Max asked reasonably.
It always came down to money and she never had enough of it. Her parents were too cheap to give her as much as she wanted. Barb stared at her parents in horror. She could see her comfy life evaporating before her eyes. Less than a week ago, life had been so easy. She demanded and then she got what she wanted.
Then one day her father came home drunk and her world changed. Suddenly, her control over the household was gone and she didn't know what to do. She had tried all of her techniques for breaking their will, but none of them worked. The challenges had been met and over come. Didn't they know that she was the child and they had to take care of her wants? They had watched her throw tantrums without reacting. Didn't they know how tiring that was? Tears had no effect. Her father had even spanked her.
Barb ran off to her bedroom. Her wails could be heard throughout the house.
Marylou said, "Your friend Cody was right. I hope we're not too late."