Page 35 of Something Rad
“Robert,” my dad shouts, slamming his fist on the table.
The dining room grows deadly silent. I grind my teeth together, slowly turning back to my family. “Yes, sir?” I mutter.
“You know, it’s calledSummers Optometryfor a reason.”
Here we go again.
“Because it is a family business,” my father continues. “A familydynasty.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes.
“And the intention is that the dynasty will continue.”
“I know, Dad.”
“Do you?” he asks, shoving away from the table to stand up. “Because you sure don’t act like it.”
I don’t respond to him, slightly shaking my head as I glance away. We have this conversation at least once a month. My father’s greatest fear has always seemed to be that hisdynastywill one day fall apart. He has two children already who have followed the path he set out for them at birth step by step. Janet and Steven are there to carry on what he and my mother created.Happily, I might add. But it’s still not good enough for my father.I’mnot good enough for my father. Not that he’s even given me a chance to prove it yet. I’m still in high school for crying out loud.
“You’re too busy putting on stunts and acting like a child,” he says, approaching me.
“Dad, it wasn’t a big deal, I swear.”
“Of course not. Because nothing is a big deal with you.”
I take a step back. “Dad–”
“Where are your college applications?” he asks, cutting me off. “In the mail, I presume?”
“I…I’m, well, still working on them…” I stammer, rubbing the back of my neck.
“Unbelievable,” my father scoffs, turning away from me.
“Dad, really. I’m almost done. And you said you had connections at the Dean’s Office at the University of San Francisco. I figured you could–”
“Cover your ass? As always?” he asks, cutting me off.
“No,” I shake my head. “I…” I trail off, shifting my gaze to the rest of my family. My mom and sister are staring straight down at their plates while Steven is staring at Dad, the greatest look of pride on his face. “I’m going to get them done,” I insist, my voice firmer. “I’m serious, Dad.”
He looks up slowly at me. “You’re serious?”
“I am,” I nod.
“You are,” Dad agrees, nodding back. I start to feel the breath reenter my lungs, but it quickly dissolves at the next words he utters.
“Aseriousdisappointment.”
He shakes his head at me, returning his gaze to his plate and stabbing at his meatloaf loudly with his fork.
My mouth goes dry. I look away, flexing my jaw so hard that it aches. “I gotta go,” I say, backing out of the room.
“Can’t you stay for dinner?” my mother, suddenly finding her voice, calls.
“I have dinner plans–”
“Sit down, Robert,” my dad says.
“Dad, I can’t. I–”
