Week 9
Granted, his father would grumble whenever he saw his son at the table or in a chair, scribbling away in his notebooks, but Nebraska learned to tune out the mumbled barbs and jabs of the old man.
He was almost amazed at how the bitterness of his father no longer bothered him the way it used to. The fear, the recoiling, toeing the line - it all dissipated once the former college athlete grew more into the person he wanted to be, felt he was meant to be, rather than the extension of his father's failed dreams.
The old man felt the change in the attitudes of his wife and son. He slowly realized the power he once held over them was gradually becoming no more than an unpleasant memory. At first he railed at the quiet rebellion- screaming, throwing breakables, denying even the small slivers of affection he once showed them. But his violent fury was stemmed one night when, frustrated that nothing else worked to bring them back under his thumb, he threatened to hit his wife. He raised his hand, but she looked at him calmly, no fear left in her eyes.
Then Nebraska stepped forward and grabbed his father's wrist. The old man looked up at his son, saw the calmness in the eyes that looked so much like his - minus the ever present anger - and realized that his old regime had fallen away.
He yanked his wrist back, impotent fury burning in his breast, and shuffled into the other room.
Week 10
Had Nebraska wanted to admit it to himself, he would have recognized a bit of sadness at his father's seeming deflation. Though he had grown up with an edge of fear threaded through every thought, every action of his youth, he had looked up to the old man for many years, seeing him as a larger than life personality to be respected. And yes, perhaps loved, if his father had ever allowed it.
But as Nebraska grew older he saw the cracks appear in the blustering facade the old man wore like an increasingly badly fitting suit. It was the recent diminishing of his father's role in the family - and his own supersedence - that caused Nebraska to subconsciously mourn for what once was.
There was no way Nebraska would ever cop to that. Not to himself, not to his mother, and most certainly not to his father. Especially when he saw his mother's quiet strength grow and flourish under the new order of things.
Granted, his father would grumble whenever he saw his son at the table or in a chair, scribbling away in his notebooks, but Nebraska learned to tune out the mumbled barbs and jabs of the old man.
He was almost amazed at how the bitterness of his father no longer bothered him the way it used to. The fear, the recoiling, toeing the line - it all dissipated once the former college athlete grew more into the person he wanted to be, felt he was meant to be, rather than the extension of his father's failed dreams.
The old man felt the change in the attitudes of his wife and son. He slowly realized the power he once held over them was gradually becoming no more than an unpleasant memory. At first he railed at the quiet rebellion- screaming, throwing breakables, denying even the small slivers of affection he once showed them. But his violent fury was stemmed one night when, frustrated that nothing else worked to bring them back under his thumb, he threatened to hit his wife. He raised his hand, but she looked at him calmly, no fear left in her eyes.
Then Nebraska stepped forward and grabbed his father's wrist. The old man looked up at his son, saw the calmness in the eyes that looked so much like his - minus the ever present anger - and realized that his old regime had fallen away.
He yanked his wrist back, impotent fury burning in his breast, and shuffled into the other room.
Week 10
Had Nebraska wanted to admit it to himself, he would have recognized a bit of sadness at his father's seeming deflation. Though he had grown up with an edge of fear threaded through every thought, every action of his youth, he had looked up to the old man for many years, seeing him as a larger than life personality to be respected. And yes, perhaps loved, if his father had ever allowed it.
But as Nebraska grew older he saw the cracks appear in the blustering facade the old man wore like an increasingly badly fitting suit. It was the recent diminishing of his father's role in the family - and his own supersedence - that caused Nebraska to subconsciously mourn for what once was.
There was no way Nebraska would ever cop to that. Not to himself, not to his mother, and most certainly not to his father. Especially when he saw his mother's quiet strength grow and flourish under the new order of things.
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