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One August Night
My father always said I couldn’t do it. Ironically, he was the one who pushed me to do it.
I was a senior from Tiburon, South Carolina. Most kids were star football players or track runners. Not me. I was an introvert, someone who was pointed at during the rare times I walked the streets.
I remember the night like it was yesterday. A humid August night, the kind where the air hangs around, refuses to budge when you move through it. I was in the garage, working on a new project that would come to dominate my life.
My father came in the way he always did, a silent looming presence. “You’re still at this?”
I didn’t look up. “Yes, dad.”
“You know,” he slowly worked his way through his motorcycles and tables, “most kids your age would be playing football or hitting the town.”
“I’m not most kids, dad.”
His eyes flashed for a second. “Oh, I know. Who knows how someone stupid enough to join the military would have a genius son?”
I finally turned up to face him. “What do you want, dad?” I could see in his eyes that he was drunk.
The solemn expression didn’t change. “You know, there’s a festival down by the lake on Sunday. It’d be fun.” He trailed off.
“What do you want?”
“Might be some girls there, you know,” he gave me one of his rare small smiles.
“Dad, what do you-”
“I want a normal son! I want someone that people won’t point at me behind my back and whisper about,” he roared. The blue in his eyes grew sharper, the way they always did when he got angry.
“I’m sorry I’m not normal enough for you, dad, but this is my passion!” I stood up, looking painfully lanky compared to his built frame. “Why can't you just accept me for who I am, what I like!”
His grey grizzle flared out. “Why can’t you just be someone I can be proud of?! When I was your age, I was fighting Vietcong in the jungle, not tinkering away in pursuit of some damned dream!” He threw his hands in the air. “People think you're a nutcase who’s barely seen outside, and they look at me like I'm the reason!”
“Shut up, dad!”
He puffed himself up, now towering over me. “What the hell did you just say? I oughta-”
I cut him off. “I hate you!”
He stopped cold. The fury that dominated his expression a second before was suddenly replaced by the typical stoicness. He left without another word.
Those three words are the biggest regret of my life.
I moved away to California just two months later to go to Stanford. My mom always called or emailed me, but I never talked to my dad.
I got the call the day before graduation. As soon as I got out of my robes, I was on a plane back home.
I'm not ashamed to admit I cried at the funeral.
When I was a little kid, I'd always admired my dad, a war hero who wasn't afraid of anything and who loved us with all his heart. As I grew up, my childish idolization began to crack at the seams under reality: my dad had a drinking problem. He was short-tempered. He had PTSD that caused him to have horrible nightmares.
After that night in the garage, we grew distant for good. And that was what drove me on, through the long nights at Stanford, the failures, the setbacks.
South Carolinians like to sit on their porches, drinking sweet tea and watching the clock tick away. It's no surprise that the passage of time is more thought about in sleepy towns like Tiburon, surrounded by farm fields.
Time heals most wounds. Not all, but most.
Time travel? I guess I'm about to find out.
I was a senior from Tiburon, South Carolina. Most kids were star football players or track runners. Not me. I was an introvert, someone who was pointed at during the rare times I walked the streets.
I remember the night like it was yesterday. A humid August night, the kind where the air hangs around, refuses to budge when you move through it. I was in the garage, working on a new project that would come to dominate my life.
My father came in the way he always did, a silent looming presence. “You’re still at this?”
I didn’t look up. “Yes, dad.”
“You know,” he slowly worked his way through his motorcycles and tables, “most kids your age would be playing football or hitting the town.”
“I’m not most kids, dad.”
His eyes flashed for a second. “Oh, I know. Who knows how someone stupid enough to join the military would have a genius son?”
I finally turned up to face him. “What do you want, dad?” I could see in his eyes that he was drunk.
The solemn expression didn’t change. “You know, there’s a festival down by the lake on Sunday. It’d be fun.” He trailed off.
“What do you want?”
“Might be some girls there, you know,” he gave me one of his rare small smiles.
“Dad, what do you-”
“I want a normal son! I want someone that people won’t point at me behind my back and whisper about,” he roared. The blue in his eyes grew sharper, the way they always did when he got angry.
“I’m sorry I’m not normal enough for you, dad, but this is my passion!” I stood up, looking painfully lanky compared to his built frame. “Why can't you just accept me for who I am, what I like!”
His grey grizzle flared out. “Why can’t you just be someone I can be proud of?! When I was your age, I was fighting Vietcong in the jungle, not tinkering away in pursuit of some damned dream!” He threw his hands in the air. “People think you're a nutcase who’s barely seen outside, and they look at me like I'm the reason!”
“Shut up, dad!”
He puffed himself up, now towering over me. “What the hell did you just say? I oughta-”
I cut him off. “I hate you!”
He stopped cold. The fury that dominated his expression a second before was suddenly replaced by the typical stoicness. He left without another word.
Those three words are the biggest regret of my life.
I moved away to California just two months later to go to Stanford. My mom always called or emailed me, but I never talked to my dad.
I got the call the day before graduation. As soon as I got out of my robes, I was on a plane back home.
I'm not ashamed to admit I cried at the funeral.
When I was a little kid, I'd always admired my dad, a war hero who wasn't afraid of anything and who loved us with all his heart. As I grew up, my childish idolization began to crack at the seams under reality: my dad had a drinking problem. He was short-tempered. He had PTSD that caused him to have horrible nightmares.
After that night in the garage, we grew distant for good. And that was what drove me on, through the long nights at Stanford, the failures, the setbacks.
South Carolinians like to sit on their porches, drinking sweet tea and watching the clock tick away. It's no surprise that the passage of time is more thought about in sleepy towns like Tiburon, surrounded by farm fields.
Time heals most wounds. Not all, but most.
Time travel? I guess I'm about to find out.
Lots to like here. The opening lines were good and drew me in; the subject matter is hefty (makes it super tricky to deal with in a minific), and I really enjoyed it for the first third, before the father lost his temper. It got a bit rocky after that.
Now I have to be careful here, because this could very well have come from direct personal experience. If that's the case it changes things. As witness to lots of conversations like this myself (so I have only my own experience to draw from), the dialogue is too on the nose here. Specifically, the father outright saying his true feelings: why can't you be normal, I'm embarrassed, etc. In my experience, these rarely if ever come out directly, instead masquerading behind arguments that lean on "what's best for you." Instead of "why can't you be normal" it's "lack of sunlight and a social life isn't healthy for you. You spend too much time on this."
I understand the father is drunk, and angry drunk parents are outside my experience. And to your credit, you're obviously spot on with comparisons to "what I did when I was your age."
You'll have to see what other readers say. For me, their conversation felt too unnatural and melodramatic once tempers skyrocketed. I know you didn't have much space to build the emotions, and space is really what this kind of story and its material need. When you don't have that comfort, a more subtle approach is best, I think. What you had going right up until the dad loses his temper is great. I really liked his attempts to bond by suggesting the festival, but of course, the son doesn't see it as such. This is very true to life.
Hmm, I know you might really like this bit, but I suggest avoiding it. It sort of undoes any emotional heft, for me at least. Why bother feeling a sense of loss when the narrator is poised to undo it? Plus comes out of nowhere.
I know you probably wanted this to inject a sudden swelling of hope at a happy ending--for us to cheer the narrator on. So maybe it's just me.
Either, nice work. ^.^
“I want a normal son! I want someone that people won’t point at me behind my back and whisper about,” he roared.
“Why can't you just accept me for who I am, what I like!”
“Why can’t you just be someone I can be proud of?!
Now I have to be careful here, because this could very well have come from direct personal experience. If that's the case it changes things. As witness to lots of conversations like this myself (so I have only my own experience to draw from), the dialogue is too on the nose here. Specifically, the father outright saying his true feelings: why can't you be normal, I'm embarrassed, etc. In my experience, these rarely if ever come out directly, instead masquerading behind arguments that lean on "what's best for you." Instead of "why can't you be normal" it's "lack of sunlight and a social life isn't healthy for you. You spend too much time on this."
I understand the father is drunk, and angry drunk parents are outside my experience. And to your credit, you're obviously spot on with comparisons to "what I did when I was your age."
You'll have to see what other readers say. For me, their conversation felt too unnatural and melodramatic once tempers skyrocketed. I know you didn't have much space to build the emotions, and space is really what this kind of story and its material need. When you don't have that comfort, a more subtle approach is best, I think. What you had going right up until the dad loses his temper is great. I really liked his attempts to bond by suggesting the festival, but of course, the son doesn't see it as such. This is very true to life.
Time travel? I guess I'm about to find out.
Hmm, I know you might really like this bit, but I suggest avoiding it. It sort of undoes any emotional heft, for me at least. Why bother feeling a sense of loss when the narrator is poised to undo it? Plus comes out of nowhere.
I know you probably wanted this to inject a sudden swelling of hope at a happy ending--for us to cheer the narrator on. So maybe it's just me.
Either, nice work. ^.^
Since I've finished my slate, I think I'll just try to work through the rest of the stories, starting with the ones with the fewest reviews.
I agree with >>axis_of_rotation about the dialogue. My impression was that you had just chosen to sacrifice realism and subtlety for length. And since this is a minific, I don't really blame you for that, but it does hurt the story a bit.
I thought it got a bit tell-y towards the end, especially when you tell us that the dad is short-tempered and has a drinking problem, since you pretty much showed that to us in the first scene.
I have mixed feelings about that final line though. On the plus side, I am glad to see that the tinkering away he was doing on the project earlier came up again and wasn't just a way to keep him inside earlier. On the other hand, it seems like a bit of a cop out ending. I think that if you could extend this story to include a scene where he goes back and visits his dad, it might improve the story. Of course, there are probably a lot of other ways to improve the story once you're not constrained by the wordcount.
I agree with >>axis_of_rotation about the dialogue. My impression was that you had just chosen to sacrifice realism and subtlety for length. And since this is a minific, I don't really blame you for that, but it does hurt the story a bit.
I thought it got a bit tell-y towards the end, especially when you tell us that the dad is short-tempered and has a drinking problem, since you pretty much showed that to us in the first scene.
I have mixed feelings about that final line though. On the plus side, I am glad to see that the tinkering away he was doing on the project earlier came up again and wasn't just a way to keep him inside earlier. On the other hand, it seems like a bit of a cop out ending. I think that if you could extend this story to include a scene where he goes back and visits his dad, it might improve the story. Of course, there are probably a lot of other ways to improve the story once you're not constrained by the wordcount.
Nitpick: "Most kids were star football players or track runners" … the point of stars is that they're not most kids. ;-p
I'm gonna join the upvote chorus on >>axis_of_rotation's post analyzing the melodrama of the central conversation, though for me it was a little less about the melodrama and more that the progression of the conversation rang false to me. This is near the beginning:
So right off the bat the father is jumping straight into the deep end of self-loathing, passive aggression, and confrontation. That's the verbal equivalent of throwing a punch. Then the son asks him what he wants, and suddenly they're not in a fight any more — dad asks him to go attend a festival as a father-son bonding moment. This is a bizarre de-escalation, especially considering that dad's drunk.
That melodrama/conversational fault is my main complaint here, though. The story doesn't feel crammed into the wordcount of the competition, which is no small thing, and it's got a solid arc. I do think it might help, if you expand this, to show us the dad in a better moment, to establish why the narrator regrets the encounter so much — since we only see the dad in full scenery-chewing mode, that regret never feels justified.
Tier: Almost There
I'm gonna join the upvote chorus on >>axis_of_rotation's post analyzing the melodrama of the central conversation, though for me it was a little less about the melodrama and more that the progression of the conversation rang false to me. This is near the beginning:
His eyes flashed for a second. “Oh, I know. Who knows how someone stupid enough to join the military would have a genius son?”
I finally turned up to face him. “What do you want, dad?” I could see in his eyes that he was drunk.
The solemn expression didn’t change. “You know, there’s a festival down by the lake on Sunday. It’d be fun.” He trailed off.
So right off the bat the father is jumping straight into the deep end of self-loathing, passive aggression, and confrontation. That's the verbal equivalent of throwing a punch. Then the son asks him what he wants, and suddenly they're not in a fight any more — dad asks him to go attend a festival as a father-son bonding moment. This is a bizarre de-escalation, especially considering that dad's drunk.
That melodrama/conversational fault is my main complaint here, though. The story doesn't feel crammed into the wordcount of the competition, which is no small thing, and it's got a solid arc. I do think it might help, if you expand this, to show us the dad in a better moment, to establish why the narrator regrets the encounter so much — since we only see the dad in full scenery-chewing mode, that regret never feels justified.
Tier: Almost There
Oh yes, I forgot to write a review for this one. I'll be brief.
The “I'm a nerd/I say fuck to my parents/When one of them die I regret it” kind of plotline seems a bit hackneyed to me, as well as the opposition military = dimwit and wino vs. scientist = genius. All that is too cliché.
But for me the biggest roadblock here is in the construction. That sentence I'm not ashamed to admit I cried at the funeral. should've been the last one of your story. Instead, you rewind all the way to the beginning and start over with something that looks like the same story but phrased differently. I thought: “oh, the author thought the story was too short and padded extra material to make it more acceptable.” Either integrate this tail into the main story, or ditch it.
The “I'm a nerd/I say fuck to my parents/When one of them die I regret it” kind of plotline seems a bit hackneyed to me, as well as the opposition military = dimwit and wino vs. scientist = genius. All that is too cliché.
But for me the biggest roadblock here is in the construction. That sentence I'm not ashamed to admit I cried at the funeral. should've been the last one of your story. Instead, you rewind all the way to the beginning and start over with something that looks like the same story but phrased differently. I thought: “oh, the author thought the story was too short and padded extra material to make it more acceptable.” Either integrate this tail into the main story, or ditch it.
>>The_Letter_J
If you click the phrase "Add another" at the bottom of your ballot, the machine will select another story that you can then read, review, and rank with the others you've already read, reviewed, and ranked. It's all automated these days, y'know! :)
Mike
If you click the phrase "Add another" at the bottom of your ballot, the machine will select another story that you can then read, review, and rank with the others you've already read, reviewed, and ranked. It's all automated these days, y'know! :)
Mike
>>Baal Bunny
I know. I'm just choosing not to use it. If I was only going to review a few more, I would, but since I'm planning to go through all of them, I'm using my own system. Doing it this way lets me give more immediate attention to the stories that have been woefully neglected, and it makes it easier for me to sneak in a fake review of my own story. ;)
I know. I'm just choosing not to use it. If I was only going to review a few more, I would, but since I'm planning to go through all of them, I'm using my own system. Doing it this way lets me give more immediate attention to the stories that have been woefully neglected, and it makes it easier for me to sneak in a fake review of my own story. ;)
*skips over other reviews*
Hmmmmm... Clever twist there at the end... I find the break between father and son to be a bit... meh. I mean, one single argument and an "I hate you!" and it's all over? Sure, we're given the impression that things have been brewing for quite some time... But that seems rather. .extreme. And unlikely. Maybe if it had been a big row, with a kick down, drag out fight and some proper insults and cursing... But as it stands, I can't see that little tiff being enough to earn two months of silence and then permanent estrangement.
The end was a bit of a stretch. But I thought it was a clever inversion and use f the prompt... All this time he's been working on a time machine... "Time may not heal all wounds, but now we're going to see if time travel does." Clever and unexected. I liked it. :)
Hmmmmm... Clever twist there at the end... I find the break between father and son to be a bit... meh. I mean, one single argument and an "I hate you!" and it's all over? Sure, we're given the impression that things have been brewing for quite some time... But that seems rather. .extreme. And unlikely. Maybe if it had been a big row, with a kick down, drag out fight and some proper insults and cursing... But as it stands, I can't see that little tiff being enough to earn two months of silence and then permanent estrangement.
The end was a bit of a stretch. But I thought it was a clever inversion and use f the prompt... All this time he's been working on a time machine... "Time may not heal all wounds, but now we're going to see if time travel does." Clever and unexected. I liked it. :)