The Pessimist

The pessimist; the cynic; the naysayer; the gloomy Gus; the wet blanket—the one who always takes the liberty of pointing out all of your faults and missteps since you were knee high to a grasshopper and cunningly overlaying them over your current life and any future aspirations. You know the family member who reminds you of every reason you should not have made the decision you came to, as well as any unknown pitfalls that will be your detriment. Oh, but since this person has graciously informed of everything (of course, it is only everything as the pessimist sees it) they can now look back on this conversation with you and say, “I told you.” Now that you know everything the Pessimist needs to inform you, it is no longer anybody’s fault but your own.

Yeah, you know who I am talking about. I think every circle has at least one. My circle has three: my mother, my father, and my neighbor.

Mind you, I am doing my best to be nice to my parents during our second chance. As a result, I am really biting my tongue. Because so, I do not always know how to best deal with a situation. I am pretty much accustomed to saying as I wish when I wish. However, in the intentions of being nice I restrain myself.

The pessimism happened twice in two days.

I began working for the city Public Works. So, I share this wonderful news with my folks’ friends at the Fourth of July barbecue they held at the base lake, approximately an hour and twenty minutes from my home. Everybody is there – drinking, eating, cooking, talking, playing horseshoes, talking about the different events at the lake – and a group of guys are over at the barbecue grill. We are all talking about our work, family; bullshitting, shooting the breeze—everything guys do at a barbecue. So, a groups of guys are over at the barbecue grill talking while watching my father cook various pounds of meat. We are kind of going around the circle talking about the latest news at work and when it is my turn, I share what I think is great news about getting on with the city’s Public Works. Everyone seemed to have good things to say but my father.

“Don’t loose this one like the other ones you’ve had. This is a good job if you don’t screw it up.”

First of all, I am shocked and taken aback by how rude and discourteous this remark. Second of all, I am shocked and pissed off by virtue of my father, my flesh and blood, has announced himself as the pessimist. Yeah, what does it say about my father speaking up with such negativity? More importantly, what does it say about me since my father felt the need to say this in front of everyone?

Maybe he tried to sound nice when he said. The only thing is, he does not speak that way with other men, only with children. Consequently, I felt like he was regarding me as a child. This only added insult to injury.

Here comes my bite in his ass: “Damn! Can’t be happy for a guy, can you? Always wantin’ to point the worst of things, the things that can go wrong. Hey, don’t lose your job by fuckin’ up either. Damn! Be happy for a guy that’s tryin’. Be happy for something good.”

He kept trying to interrupt and interject his explanations but I did not let him. When I told him not to lose his job, he clearly became annoyed. When I said “damn” the second time, he just shut up. His arduous silence was probably because the circle of guys had dispersed between the time he shut up and I finished. Later, one of the long-time family friends tried to explain to me about my father is just concerned about me no differently than any other parent.

“Well, that may be so, and that’s fine. However, I am not going to tolerate that kind of disrespect from anybody, especially my own father disrespecting me in front of everyone. That’s bullshit. If he feels he can dish it, he better be prepared to take it, too.” My words were harsh, but they were real. This particular gentleman had sheltered me from time to time during my turbulent childhood, so he was privileged with my candor.

“You’re right, he could have said his peace in a… better way. But, he is your father, and he cares for you. So, maybe the two of you can work things out so he can still talk you but do it privately, so you’re still comfortable.” His attempt to keep the peace only upset me more – nobody said a word to my father regarding his conduct, except me.

“Yeah, well, my father should have thought of that before he pulled shit with me when I was growing up.” Again, since this gentleman provided me shelter during times of tribulation with my father, he is privy to my family’s inner mechanisms. His insight has always made my family quite wary and reserved in his presence.

The conversation fell silent. Our lips occupied themselves with the bottle of beer we each had in our hands. No one spoke of the incident from that time on, and my father stopped speaking with me of anything more than the weather and the food. Perhaps I embarrassed him. Good. He embarrassed me too many times when I was younger. Honestly, it was nice not having his pessimism in my ear.

The following day, my wife and I spent most of the day at my folks’ house. Sometimes, I feel guilty since I live so far away from them, so I decided to hang around for the day.

Since my wife and I had unfurled our brand new tent for the first since we bought a year ago, my father asked the next morning how we liked sleeping in it. My wife and I had a few knots in our legs and back, so my father offered to give me his old military cots. Great deal, right? Just wait, it gets better.

We leave the base lake and head back to my folks’ house with me in pursuit of their pickup and camper. Back at the house, he and I go around back to his little aluminum shed and dig out the military cots from underneath years of accumulated junk, dust, dirt, and critters.

We carry them around front and I open the two cots so they can dry in the sun. Well, I finish cleaning them up completely – removing dirt and mud, and lubricating the joints so they operate easier.

While he and I are sitting there with the cots spread out under the sun in the driveway, he says to me, “I am going to give you these two cots. They’re my old cots from the Army. But, if anything should happen, or if you don’t want them anymore, I want you to give them back.”

Typical. My father can not give me a gift, or do anything nice for me, without strings attached.

“Then, why don’t you tell me I can use them, but you want them returned?” I say.

“No, no, no. I am giving them to you. All I’m saying is…,” he begins to explain.

“You want them returned,” I interrupt.

Just as he starts his explanation, again, I refute, “I can use them, but you want them returned. Just admit it.”

Reluctantly, he does admit it. “Okay, fine. You can use them, but I want them returned.”

You see, his admission that he is only letting me borrow the cots with the condition of returning them never removes his ownership of them. However, he was persistent about “giving” me the cots with the condition of returning, which would have implied he still has authority over me because he can take away my property.

I really hate that bullshit. I hate how my father and mother are always giving me something with strings attached. They can never simply say something in support of me, such as, “Good job,” and shut up so they don’t say anything to ruin it, nor can they simply give me a gift with no further instructions or conditions.

Either give me a piece of property or don’t. Do not give me conditions with your gift.

Sometimes, I enjoy returning the favor to them, and they dislike with great disgust. My consolation to them when they get upset about one of my gifts with strings is, “You can either take it or not at all, but my conditions stay the same.”

Conclusion

As I was writing this, I suddenly realized that I was upset about my father not giving me his praise or approval – fighting every thing that I do. Now that I understand this, I have a much better perspective how to deal with pessimists in my life.

Thank you, friend, for listening.