Page 7 of Forever Foolish

Drawing in a deep breath,J.J. hesitated, looking at the pamphlets on the table before him – and at his parents’ expecting faces. His father was pushing for him to join the Army, while his mother was trying to encourage him to go to college, and he wanted neither. He was able to put this discussion off for a year, taking a break, but now some ‘clock’ inside of his parents was obviously ticking because they were bringing it all back up again.

“You say the word, and I’ll get you enlisted,” his father began – again – and nudged the pamphlet toward him. “You’ll love the Army, and it gives you a chance to become a man, learn responsibility, and you can travel the world.”

“Afghanistan?” he said glumly – only to see both of his parents hesitate. His father looked slightly concerned for amoment, whereas his mother panicked. It was almost like watching a set of wrestlers ‘tag in’ during a match.

“You could go to college here and work part-time,” she invited. “I could get you a small position doing odd jobs at the station and…”

“I don’t want to work at the station,” J.J. interrupted quietly, looking at them. “I honestly don’t want to go into the Army either.”

“What do you want to do?”

“How can we help you, son?”

“I want to apprentice under Mr. Murray – and stay here.”

“The butcher?”

“He doesn’t have any children and is looking for someone to learn the job. I would be taking over the business and…”

“The man’s a butcher and a taxidermist, J.J.,” his father repeated, completely dumbstruck. “If you want to see blood, guts, and gore – then what’s wrong with the Army? I mean, the man has all sorts of marbles that he uses for eyeballs and…”

“Jamie,” his mother hissed, covering her mouth and looking green around the gills. “Please… we don’t have to describe it.”

“If the kid wants to be a butcher, then he needs to understand what it’s going to be like to skin an animal, hack it into pieces, and yank out the entrails…”

“JAMISON…” his mother yelped before turning and racing down the hallway, her heels clacking on the wood before slamming the bathroom door shut.

His father looked at him – and grinned.

“I love that woman’s sensitive tummy and her heart of gold, but seriously, J.J. – why would you want to dosomething like that?” he asked, looking slightly concerned. “Why don’t you do a brief stint in the Army? Give them four years and try it. You might really like it, and at the end of those four years, if you still want to come home and mount deer heads on cheap wooden plaques…”

“Dad…”

“Well, I’m not exactly a hunter, but then again, it’s obviously something a lot of people here enjoy,” his father chuckled easily. “People here hunt moose, elk, deer, rabbits, and all sorts of things – whereas I just prefer some good ol’ moo-cow on a slab of Styrofoam from the grocery store.”

“If I become a butcher, I’d be happy to fix you up with a nice steak or two,” J.J. grinned. “Might not be from a cow, but you’ll never know.”

“Kid, you are not right in the head.”

“Dad,” J.J. laughed easily, smiling at his father. “Look, not everyone is destined to be a teacher, a mechanic, a firefighter, a soldier, or a reporter,” he began pointedly as his mother re-emerged from the hallway looking pale. “Some of us just want to have our free time, to get by doing a few things for the community, and I know being a butcher isn’t something glorious or exciting – but it’s steady, honest work.”

“It’s filthy work,” his mother admonished. “You’ll be covered in… stuff. If you are doing taxidermy, then there will be chemicals, stuffing the animals, and who-knows-what-else.”

“Mama, it’s one of those jobs that people fall into. Nobody wakes up and says, ‘I want to be a daycare worker’– but they are needed badly. People don’t sit up in bed and snap their fingers saying, ‘I think I’ll grow up to be a funeral director’… but the jobs are there.”

“Oh mercy… a mortician? J.J., really?”

“I think the little twerp is picking on you, Lucy,” his father said, staring him down and then cracking a slight smile. “And he’s got a point.”

“Don’t encourage him, Jamie.”

His father looked at him silently, opened his mouth, and then closed it again before grabbing a napkin off the lazy Susan in the center of the table. He yanked a pen out of his shirt pocket and stared at him before scribbling on the napkin.

“What are you doing, Dad?”

“Showing you something,” he said distractedly, drawing a sweeping arch across the napkin – and then another one. “You’re eighteen, almost nineteen, and this is your path.”

“Okaaaay?” he hedged, drawing out the word. “What’s that?”

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