5864. Writing Tips: @CrimsonVengeance. My son texted me don't come to my wedding

 

 @CrimsonVengeance. My son texted me don't come to my wedding  (He was a mechanic with calloused hands)

 

(He sold his house etc)

I opened a new account, the Katherine Kowalski Scholarship Fund. Ir was for kids who want to go to trade school, for kids who want to learn how to weld, how to plumb, how to build things that lasted. It was the best investment I had ever made.

Now I sat in the seat 1A of a Boeing 777. The leather was soft, much softer than the seats in my truck. The air smelled of conditioned oxygen and expensive cologne. "Mr Kowalski," a flight attendant asked, leaning over with a bottle wrapped in a white napkin. "Would you like a glass of champagne before takeoff" ?

I looked at the bottle. Dom Perignon, the same stuff that had been going flat on the counter of the house my son had destroyed.

I smiled. "Yes,"  I said. "I would love one."  She poured the golden liquid into a crystal flute. The bubbles danced. rising to the surface in a frantic race to be free. I took the glass. It felt light in my hand.I looked out the window. The tarmac was busy with baggage carts and fuel trucks, men in neon vests doing the hard work that made the world move.

Beyond the airport, the city of Chicago sprawled out a grid of gray and green. Somewhere down there, in a county facility, my son was waiting for a plea hearing. He was learning how to make his own bed.He was learning that actions have mass and velocity.

I didn't feel angry anymore.The rage that had fueled me on the day of the wedding had burned itself out, leaving behind a clean slate. I had done my job. I had provided for him. And when he went astray, I had corrected him. The rest was up to him.  

The plane began to push back from the gate. The engines wind spinning up to a roar that vibrated through the floorboards. I rook a sip of the champagne. It was cold and crisp. It tasted like victory. Not the victory of beating someone else, but the victory of reclaiming yourself.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone. I looked at it one last time. There were no missed calls, no unread messages. I held the power button. The screen went black. I put the phone my my bag and zipped it shut. I wouldn't be needing it for a while. I was going to Italy.

Catherine had always wanted to go the the Amalfi Coast. She wanted to paint the light on the water. We never went because I was aways too busy working. Too busy building an empire for a son who didn't want it. 

Well, I was going now. I was going to eat pasta and drink wine and look at the ocean. I was going to sleep in until noon if I wanted to. I was going to spend my money on memories I could actually keep. 

The plane taxied to the runway. The pilot came over he intercom announcing our flight time to Rome. I leaned my head back against the headrest. I closed my eyes. For 66 years, I had been Bernie the contractor, Bernie the husband, Bernie the father and Bernie the bank account. 

Today I was just Bernie.The engine roared to full power. The force pushed me back into the seat. We gathered speed faster and faster until the bumps of the runway smoothed out and the ground fell away.

I opened my eyes and looked out the window. The city was gone, hidden beneath a layer of white clouds. The sun was shinning on top of them, brilliant and blinding. I raised my glass to the empty seat beside me. "Here is to you, Catherine," I whispered. "And here is to me." I took a drink. The champagne bubbled in my throat. I was flying. and for the first time in my life, I wasn't caring anyone else's weight.I was just flying.

We spend our lives trying to give our children the things we never had. But in the process, we often forget to give them what they actually need - character. I thought loving my son meant shielding him from the rain. But I only succeeded in raising a man who couldn't handle a storm.  True wealth isn't the balance in your bank account or the label of your suit. It is the ability to look in the mirror and respect the person staring back.       

Never allow anyone, not even your on blood, to treat you like a resource instead of a person. Dignity is the only currency that matters. And sometimes you have to be willing to lose everything else just to keep it. 

Would you have bailed your son out or would you have walked away just like I did? 

 ----------------------- 

 Dom Pérignon is a brand of vintage Champagne. It is named after Dom Pérignon, a Benedictine monk who was an important quality pioneer for Champagne wine but who, contrary to popular myths, did not discover the Champagne method for making sparkling wines.