Page 30 of Switch!
“No,” I say. “I went the speed limit.”
His eyes narrow. “That’s new.”
“All right, a little faster than that, but still within the limit. Nobody gets a ticket for going five or ten miles over, do they?”
“Not usually,” he says, looking elsewhere in the restaurant as if the subject no longer interests him.
“I’m happy to be out of the car,” my mother says. “We only stopped twice for potty breaks, which wasn’t easy. I can’t wait to reach somewhere more scenic. I’ve never been so bored in my life! I hope Idaho is more interesting.”
“Don’t count on it,” my father grumbles.
“Do you miss home yet?” my mother asks me.
“No,” I say honestly. “I’m too eager to get where we’re going.”
The conversation continues without much effort on my part. The adults choose the topics, and I only have to weigh in on occasion. When the food arrives, I scarf down most of it before I remember my manners. Caleb must not be the most patient eater either, because neither of my parents seem surprised.
“I should have ordered two of these,” I say.
“You like it then?” my mother asks.
“Yeah!” I say, not hiding my enthusiasm. “The flavors are amazing.”
“Then maybe we can eat somewhere similar tomorrow,” she says with a smile. “How does Thai sound?”
“Great!”
My grin falters when I notice my father glaring at me. Caleb used to turn the same expression on me, like the sight of me alone was offensive to him. I’m not sure what I’ve done wrong, so I resume eating. It’s only at the end of the meal, when my mother leaves to use the restroom, that I’m informed of my transgression.
“What’s gotten into you?” my father scoffs.
I shake my head, not understanding. “What do you mean?”
“You embarrassed yourself, that’s what.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “Be a man.”
The phrase hits me hard. Like a sleeper agent hearing a trigger phrase, a lifetime of instruction overwhelms me, every memory accompanied by those same words.Be a man.That means not getting excited about girly food, which includes salads or basically anything that isn’t grilled or fried. It also means loyalty. To him and our kind. I remember being Caleb as a child, sitting at the kitchen table and watching my mother sew, excited when she asked if I wanted to try. I was in the middle of attaching a button to a blouse when my father walked in the room.
“Wouldn’t you rather be outside playing?” he asked me.
I shook my head. I couldn’t have been more than six or seven at the time. “It’s fun, Daddy! You should try!”
Then next thing I knew, he grabbed me by the back of my neck and yanked me to my feet. He didn’t let go as I stumbled along with him to the garage. When he set me down again, he shoved a baseball and catcher’s mitt into my hands.
“Thisis fun,” he said. “Sewing is for girls. Is that what you are?”
“No,” I responded, not understanding. I was still sensitive enough back then that my lip had started to tremble, which only seemed to make matters worse.
“For God’s sake, Caleb,” my father had spat. “Be a man!”
After that we went into the backyard, where he made me play catch for so long that my arms shook from the effort. It was the first of many such lessons.
Maybe me wanting tofu is what upset him today. Or it might be even simpler than that. I remember another time, back when I was ten, when the topic at the dinner table was where we’d go on vacation that summer.
“Orlando would be nice,” my mother suggested. “It’s only a short trip to the ocean, and just imagine how much fun we’ll have at Disney World.”
“Vegas is better,” my father countered. “We can drive down and make it a sightseeing trip. Wouldn’t you like to see the Grand Canyon instead?”
This question was addressed to me, and I was still naïve enough to be honest. A giant hole in the ground couldn’t compete with Mickey and his pals. “I’d rather go to Disney World.”
