My Replacement

The viewing had ended. Only my mother and I remained. She was collapsed in a chair emotionally and physically exhausted. I stood comfortably playing a familiar role: The Good Daughter/Hostess.

In walked My Replacement.

I'll call him Rick (you guessed it, not his real name). Rick was dressed in my father's prescribed uniform: well-tailored charcoal (grey) suit, white button-down collar shirt, red club tie, camel-colored trench coat and well-shined black shoes. He looked the perfect young executive. Rick also wore the look of a harried man, which wasn't part of my father's uniform although it was a result of being My Replacement.

I'm not sure whether it was when I "retired" at age 30, deciding instead to take some time off (with the full support of my spouse), or when I failed to attain the position and prestige he desired, but somewhere during that time my father gave up on me. I was a failure. The career he had invisioned for me, all the things he had repeatedly told me I should and needed to do, all his hopes for me had died. If I was a failure, then he needed a replacement to make in the image of himself. Enter Rick.

My father always spoke very highly of Rick. I have no doubt he followed my fathers instructions and leading. And really, who could blame him? His highly educated, successful, intelligent boss recognises his potential and takes a special interest in him. As his boss rises in the organization, so does he, adapting and learning as he goes.

Looking at Rick standing in the funeral home, I felt so sorry for the man. He was harried and hurried and running himself ragged. He'd lost his little boy and his lovely wife to divorce. His life was his work. He was obviously unhappy. Looking at Rick was like looking at what I could have been, what I escaped. I have never been as thankful as I was at that moment that I found my way out of my father's trap.