Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 80651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
“He felt very guilty at not being there when you were younger. I don’t think he handled the conflicting commitments very well, if I’m honest.” It was the first time I’d ever heard my mum say that about my father, but she was right. “He was hard on you. I think he thought he should be. He was trying to figure out how to be a dad while working. The way he describes it was that he wanted to make up for not being around a lot and wanted to make a mark when he did. He wanted to guide you and keep you out of trouble. I think he ended up undermining your spirit a little.”
“You’ve talked to him about it?”
“Of course I have. Your father and I talk about everything. That’s why we’ve lasted so long.”
I wasn’t asking whether they’d had roundabout conversations about parenting—but more specifically, whether they’d talked about me.
“You were our trial run. Our first born. The one we made all the mistakes with. You have to live with that and so do we. It got easier with each of you. We relaxed. Your father stopped trying to shape his children into perfect humans before they could speak. It took years, but eventually he realized that perfection in parenting doesn’t exist.”
We sat in silence as I let her words permeate.
“You’ll see when you have children of your own. It’s hard, particularly for your father. He’s programmed to be the best at everything and he wanted to be the best dad. It took him a while to realize that being a father was just about being around, listening, laughing with and loving his boys.”
“It feels like I can never measure up to you both. That I’m a bit of a letdown.”
Mum pushed away from me so she could look me in the eye. “How on earth could you of all people consider yourself a letdown? You’re kind and generous and a brilliant medic.”
“But I’m never going to be Government CMO, am I?”
“Jacob Cove, you were a self-made multi-millionaire at twenty. Not many people could say that about themselves. Certainly not me or your father.”
“I got lucky. And made myself a laughingstock of the entire family at the same time. An added bonus for Dad and my brothers.”
“A laughingstock?”
“This isn’t news to you, Mum. Even now no one can talk about going to the loo without making some joke.”
“Come on, Jacob—it’s funny. A female urinal? You have four brothers. You can’t expect them not to find your weakest spot and exploit it. Especially when you’re the older brother who gets to try everything first—and not just try it, but be excellent at everything he turns his hand to.”
I shrugged. My brothers’ jabs didn’t bother me. I gave as good as I got. But Dad’s barking criticisms? They were easier to internalize. “It’s better with Dad now. He doesn’t land the low blows.”
“Your father adores you.” She took her hand in mine. I couldn’t remember the last time she had. As a small child, I must have held it all the time, but there must have been a last time—when my desire for independence meant I no longer wanted the comfort her soft fingers provided. I squeezed and made a mental note to hold her hand more often. “He got it wrong when you were younger,” she continued. “There’s no doubt about that. He was too focused on his work. Too hard on you because he was worried he was going to fail you. He’s so proud of you, Jacob. We both are. Not because you’re following in our footsteps, but because you’re plowing your own path. Honestly, I know we joke about it, but when you invented the urinal, we were both—”
The kitchen door flew open and Dad appeared, his hair sticking on end as usual.
“Those bloody foxes,” he said. “I might get myself a gun.” He headed over to the sink and began to wash his hands.
My mother shot me a look and shook her head.
“What are you two talking about? You look very comfy.”
“Just about Jacob’s invention at university.”
He grabbed a towel from the Aga and leaned against the sink while he dried his hands.
“I was saying how proud we were of him.”
“Of course. Not many twenty-year-old men would be thinking about the gap in the market for something like that. Too busy drinking beer and messing about with corpses or women.” He began to chuckle. “Or both.”
“John, I’m being serious. What Jacob did was amazing. And the money he made? It was incredible.”
“Of course it was,” my dad said. “Very typical of him. Thoughtful. But what I thought was more impressive was not the idea—although he fulfilled a serious need—but the fact that he went off and got the legal protections, the protype, put it into production, and then sold it.” He raised his hands in surrender. “There are plenty of doctors who would moan about not having this or needing the other thing—like me. I’m an excellent complainer. You, on the other hand, are a doer. You have ideas and you follow through. No one can underestimate the power of that.”