Where to Land

Where to Land

Rita, Phil’s mother, was worried about her son. He was almost 30 years old and didn’t seem to have any direction. At one time, she thought he would do great things. Become a big shot lawyer, like the ones he watched on TV as a boy. She wasn't that sure he was ever interested in law, just the way most of the lawyers dressed. She shook her head and muttered. “Always the fashion plate. He had to have after school jobs just to keep ‘in style’. Always had girls flutter around him. They’ve all gone to University and my boy is working construction.” Her husband Ralph came out to the garden. “Rita, are you talking to yourself or the birds?” He knew she chattered on to herself, especially out in the garden. Sometimes she was talking to the birds or the squirrels, or the calico cat that sat on their fence where tulips bloomed. “Oh heavens Ralph! You scared me. I’ve pulled out a weed instead of planting my tomatoes!” She sat up on her knees, wiped her hands clean of dirt and squinted up to her husband. A floppy straw hat shaded her eyes. Ralph helped her up. “Come to the patio. I’ve got some ice tea for us and a couple of sandwiches. You’ve been out here in the sun for two hours and need a break.” Rita gave him a peck on the cheek. “Careful, I’m all dirty and sweaty. Ice tea sounds about right  - I am hot and thirsty. Did you make the sandwiches yourself or did you stop by the Deli down the street?”  Ralph pretended to look guilty. “You caught me. Can’t fool you, can I? It was the Deli - they gave me some Kosher pickles to go along with the sandwiches. There’s a salami and Gruyere cheese, and a vegetarian one. You get to choose.” They ate their lunch in silence, enjoying the early afternoon sun. “Are you still worried about Phil, Rita? Working with his hands, outdoors, is good for him. Gives him time to think about what he wants to do. Who knows? He may want to get out of the manual labour part and take over my business. Make it a family affair. What do you think?” Rita poured herself another glass of ice tea and passed the pitcher to her husband. An innocent look on her face she said. “Well, if I recall, you were one of those rude guys that whistled at girls from two stories up on a scaffold. I didn’t think you had any direction either.”  Ralph leaned over to his wife, looking a bit of a devil. “And if I recall, you were a little bold yourself……..asking for me a date without even knowing me!” She stood and put her hat and garden gloves back on. “I don’t want him taking over the business unless he ………I just want him to be happy. And right now, he doesn’t seem to be. He just gets up, takes the lunch I have ready for him and goes to work. Gives me a quick hug before he goes. When he comes home, he barely says hello and goes upstairs to get out of his work clothes. Yes, I am still worried about him…..Thank you for lunch, honey. I need to get back to my planting now that the shade has come over the garden.”

~~~~~

Phil did come home as usual in time for supper, his mother just cleaning up from her gardening day. She did love her garden. Instead of barely speaking to his mother, he almost lifted her off her feet in a big hug. They danced across the kitchen, almost knocking Ralph over as he was setting the table. Laughing and singing, he let go of his mother and hugged his father. He suddenly realized what he was doing and stopped and said “I’ll just go upstairs, wash up and change. Be right down for dinner.” And then he was gone. “What just happened here, Ralph? I’ve never seen him like that since he graduated with honours.” Ralph had visited with Malcolm, Rita’s brother earlier in the day. “I suspect he has something to tell us at dinner. Some good news that may ease your worries.” Phil ran down the stairs and into the kitchen, crisp blue jeans and a fresh t-shirt on. “Yes mother, Uncle Malcom talked with Mr. Digby at that old Beaufort Estate. I don’t have a full time job out there, but I can work with him….Mr. Digby that is…..he’s the butler you know. Right now, it’s more like an interview and then just a couple of hours a week. I’ll have to keep my construction job, but I think there’s more for me to do than wield a nail gun.” He looked at his father. “I hope you don’t mind, dad. Construction’s ok and I like some of the people I work with, but it’s not in my blood like it is in yours.” His father just shook his hand. “Of course I don’t mind, son. You need to find out, like most of us do, where you want your feet to land.” 

“‘I want to make my mark,’ he says. 

‘But what target, I wonder, are you going to hit’”

~ Cecil Castellucci, Boy Proof