It was the year 2015. Every man in his middle to late twenties seemed to have knelt in front of a fine, young lady to ask for her hand. Every man, well, except for Ryan. This had given life to a repressed thought in his father’s mind, an immensely bothersome one that, during one Sunday afternoon, he finally decided it was time to ask his son about it once and for all.
He found him busied in the kitchen. Why am I not surprised? he thought as an awkward, rare smile gave shape to his full lips. Ryan loved to experiment with food. He even considered becoming a chef once—another bothersome fact that he tried to set aside. So what if his son loved to cook? But then, his other career choices have equally etched wonder in his mind. Teaching. Counseling. Noble as they were, he would not have these odd questions in his head if his son had chosen engineering or IT instead, even architecture or medicine.
“What are you cooking?” he asked casually, peering over the pot on the stove. A mustard-colored liquid was simmering and spitting strong Indian flavors. His stomach gave a lurch.
“Curry,” was his son’s short reply.
“Nice, nice.” He couldn’t think of anything else to say, which was a problem, as always. “Uhm…Your wife will be very lucky, having a husband who can cook curry.”
His son looked up. “You don’t like curry.”
He felt his temper roused a little. His son knew he didn’t like curry, but why was he still serving it for dinner? He didn’t entertain the thought, however. There were more important matters to discuss than his own preferences.
“You love to cook.”
“Yep.”
Another short answer. Why does he get this all the time?
“Why,” he started, calculating his tone with tact, “Why cooking? Or teaching? They’re not very common, are they?”
“Why not? And what do you mean, ‘they’re not very common’? They are.”
There was a distinct tone in his son’s voice that told him he has already reached where he was getting at. He’d like to continue, nonetheless. “Well, you see, I would have thought you’d do better in more, uhm, common professions, like computers or building infrastructures—”
“They’re not interesting.” His son’s voice was hard and cold as stone. That’s a common one.
“But what is interesting? Blackboards? Spices? Photographs? Or what, fashion?” He never meant to say it, but it just slipped, and not without a tinge of sarcasm he never intended. His son loved fashion shows and the social gatherings that surrounded them—bothersome, very bothersome…
“I’m a corporate professional, if in case you haven’t noticed.” Of course he was. But his father knew better: it was just a stepping stone to his bigger plans.
Ryan remained silent thereafter, transfixed with the now boiling pot of curry on the stove. Won’t he say something? People said his son was smart, other people would think he must have had an idea by now, he thought so—
Clash. The pot slipped off his son’s hands, spilling the contents on the floor. He didn’t even realized that Ryan had lifted it off the fire.
“Stupid git! I paid for that, and you’re wasting my money!”
“I’ll pay for it, then.” His son started scooping the spilled curry back to the pot with the ladle he was using.
“Arrogant! How arrogant! Just because you have a job now—”
Ryan rose from the floor. “This,” he said through gritted teeth, “is what I have been wanting to make you understand. Life is not just about money. I am not your property. I am not your puppet. I have free will, I need you to respect—”
“I am your father!” he retorted, livid beyond measure. “You live in my house, I fed you—sent you to school—just because you have your own money now—how arrogant! And it’s me who deserves respect!”
Ryan threw the curry into the trash bin. “Well, start showing that you deserve it.” And before leaving the kitchen, he added, “You know that I’m not getting married, do you? Do you know why?”
Despite the rage and hurt ego from the war he had just inadvertently staged with his son, he couldn’t hide the look on his face, both questioning and wanting.
His expression must have asked the question on his behalf. “Aside from the fact that it doesn’t interest me, among the things that you think should have attracted my interest, letting our so-called family survive in the male line is simply not worth it, considering that it’s your name my sons and daughters would be carrying.”
With that, he turned his back on him and left.
