The American Dream 8/16/2014 6:19:00 PM

Father who believes anything is possible if you work hard enough

Believes family can one day own a large home in the suburbs live in the
cookie cutter homes, all the same. Face the large homes with two cars
and boats
Wants everything the neighbours get
The son is skeptical doesnt believe in the concept of achieving anything
from hard work
Father owns a small butcher business not very good.
Mother is house wife
Its the end of the war Julie; we are no longer in the midst of a depression
or global conflict. We can afford these things.
One-day son comes home to find father with head in his hands and
mother consoling him. They have gone bankrupt. Realizes the dream
cannot come true.

The one thing my father firmly believed was that success could arise out
of anything, if you waited long enough. Since we were American, that
success would allegedly be hand delivered to our doors. It was the land of
opportunity after all. According to him, an individual can easily go from
nothing to a state of extreme wealth. Were in America, for God sakes!
he would exclaim, We can do anything. I remember at the age of seven,
he sat me on his lap and explained, You see, George. It isnt really about
the work you put in. Of course, hard work does amount to some part of it
but really, you know, a man does not choose to work for a life of success;
success chooses the man. If you are patient, prosperity will come your
way. I heard this speech, or something along those lines, almost every
afternoon. We would sit by the window, him smoking a cigar and me
racing my matchbox cars. Back then I couldnt care less about what he
was saying and was more concerned about which two cars I would race
next. I realise though, that even at a young age, I was skeptical of his
belief. Now, where I would like to believe age has provided me better
judgment, I see how wrong he really was.

Julie! Julie! Where are my trousers Julie? I sat idly at the kitchen table,
absentmindedly buttering my toast while I watched my father rush madly
around the house searching for his work trousers. I marveled at how
quickly he could move when he was agitated. He was a stout man with a
rather rotund frame and normally walked at a crawling pace. It was
fascinating to see him flustered and how his forehead creased as he
mumbled irritably to himself, Where is she when you need hergoing to
be latecant believe this. He checked his watch and barked louder, For
God sakes Julie, where are my trousers?
Stop yelling Angelo. Your trousers are right here! Marching into the
kitchen, my mother indignantly held out his pants. He seized them from
her and hastily stepped into them, ignoring her pointed stare. In the
midst of his frenzied hurry, he realized my presence and glanced at me in
displeasure. Julie, look at this boy. Sitting around useless all day. Youd
think at 23, he would have his act together by now. Most boys his age
have a job, they move out, theyre married for God sakes! Are you
satisfied with your life George?




8/16/2014 6:19:00 PM

8/16/2014 6:19:00 PM