Short Story Repost: The Apple Doesn't Fall Far from the Tree

The Apple Doesn't Fall Far From the Tree

This writing prompt response is from the early days of  my original "The Eighth Shot of Espresso" writing blog on Wordpress. I've reposted it here in the new prose blog. 

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Yes, he was a coward, but he wouldn't have put it that way. He always called it 'self preservation'.

When he was young, his father flew into rages at the slightest thing. There was no ice in the freezer when he wanted iced tea. Bureaucracy never moved along at the speed he expected it. His father ranted and raved loudly. He and his mother ducked their heads and waited for the storm to pass. Don't rock the boat. Don't say anything to him; it would make it much worse. Don't make him turn his wrath on you.

As an only child, he bore the brunt of it. As the only son, it fell to him to make his own destiny. He would never take out such selfish rage on those around him. So he put up with it in silence and fumed about it in private. Yet he would never lose control in the face of something so...trivial.

Control was the most important thing, and he would make his mark in the world.

His father was a workaholic, who chose to spend time with his family unless he chose, in his own time and place, and in his own manner. His interests took priority in that way. They watched whatever he wanted on the television. God forbid they ever tried to change the channel while he drowsed in his easy chair. He always knew. The same programs over and over. Police procedurals, westerns, shows that had its heyday fifty or sixty years before. They were his security blankets. Evenings were spent watching these and listening to his lectures on any topic under the sun. He was the utmost authority to his captive audience.

His mother sat on the couch and did her needlework, and occasionally nodded. It didn't surprise anyone when she started to go deaf in one ear...the one pointed at her husband.

He resolved not to be like that, but the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

He took great pride in his work, so much that when he worked from home, it was just like being in the office. No interruptions of any sort would be tolerated. Any niggling details like paperwork, issues at his childrens' schools, medical appointments, and housing maintenance could be directed at his wife. Never mind that she also worked from home...she had the time, and was a convenient substitute for a secretary.

He controlled everything from what they had for dinner (but made sure to ask her first! After all, appearances were necessary! And it soothed his conscience, for she couldn't say that he didn't ask) to what they did during the weekends. "I pay the bills, therefore, I make the rules." As long as he was comfortable with it, and he could pay attention to the details, then it was acceptable. He needed to make sure everything was just right for 'us'. He spoke with the royal 'we' and 'us'. Never mind that she would glare at him whenever he proclaimed this kingly right.

When she spoke, he stepped in to elucidate and clarify what she said, even in the presence of others. "I have a natural tendency to correct you," he said with grin. She never found it funny.

Whenever there was conflict, he did what he always had done. Duck his head and wait for the storm to pass. His wife got the brunt of whatever problem reared its head and was usually the one who took care of the solution. When she accused him of never supporting her, he countered by pointing out that he provided financial support, and that she was better at dealing with people than he was.

"That's not in my skill set," he would say, and that was technically true. He worked with computers and with people who aligned with those interests. When it came to other aspects of real life, not so much. But why learn to deal with it when you have your 'secretary' who could do it for you?

Little by little, she withdrew from him. She stopped watching football on Sundays, even though she was the football fan. After all, the referees didn't know what they were doing, and always made bad calls, and he told her so. She stopped playing certain video games after he jumped on the bandwagon. After all, he knew how to do game mechanics, even when he constantly whined and cursed how the games were making his life a living hell. She even stopped practicing her instruments in his presence, although she was a musician. After all, he took up music too, and loudly talked about his interests.

She began to call out his ignorant takes, his bluster, his intolerance for anything that he wasn't comfortable. His cutting criticism disguised as 'helpful advice'. He didn't understand it...after all, he was trying to help. If he knew more about something, wasn't it a good idea to let someone know about it, just to make sure they didn't do something wrong?

It never occurred to him that perhaps what he said was the wrong kind of information or only his opinion of what was 'correct'. His views were certainly not the views of other people, but they should be.

When his daughter began talking about issues he didn't like, he panicked and told her "When you're not living under my room, you can do whatever the hell you want. While you're here, you live under my rules." She stopped talking to him about those issues altogether. When he asked about how her life was doing, it was just 'fine'. Just the answer at face value was fine with him; there was no need to go any deeper.

At the end of the day, he wondered why children didn't care about their parents when they grew old. Never mind that he rarely spoke to his now, and his wife had to remind him about birthdays and anniversaries.

The apple didn't fall far from the tree. Without anything to support it, it just rots on the ground.