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Chapter1
To my son, Neal,
I don’t know if you remember this, but when you were young, about five or six, you got this idea into your head that you could fly. You used to climb onto things – boxes, trees, ladders - and jump off with your hands spread out and your eyes closed. You mother thought your next attempt would be to try jumping off the roof. She got so worried that she made me have a chat with you, and when I asked you why you thought you could fly, you told me that you knew you couldn’t. You were just doing it so that I would sit and talk to you for a little while.
I realized then, that where you were concerned, I was guilty of neglect. I knew that as a father, I could have done better, but sometimes, when you are young and building a business out of nothing, you think you have all the time in the world. There were times I thought I would live forever, and I figured that there was plenty of time to make up for all those lost years. So I kept doing what I had been doing and eventually, you stopped jumping off things to get my attention. I think you realized it wouldn’t work anymore.
I’m not trying to justify my choices. I just want you to know what I was thinking at the time. I was thinking that if I built a successful enough business, then one day I could hand it over to you and George, and you boys would never have to want for anything the way I did growing up. I wanted to secure a future for both of you, I wanted you to have a safety net. I want you to know that this business that I built from nothing, became what it is today, because of you and your brother. The two of you were the driving force behind my ambition. My love for you was the hard days and the long hours and the endless meetings. Why do you think I named it ‘Hargrove Brothers’? This company was built on the last of my savings, my sweat and tears, but more importantly, it was built on you and George.
Find something you love to do, son. It doesn’t matter what it is. It doesn’t matter if it involves my company or something completely different. It doesn’t matter if it pays a lot or nothing at all. Do it because it makes you feel worthwhile. Make something of yourself. Lean on your brother when you need to, but let him lean on you too, and remember to always look after each other.
Love,
Dad
Neal read the letter one last time before he put it back in its envelope and into the top drawer on his writing desk. He walked back into his expansive living room and waited for his brother. As usual, George was running late. He switched on his flat screen and stared at the television without really listening. The noise crowded out his thoughts and he was grateful for the distraction.
He was starting to worry about his brother, when the doorbell finally rang. Neal picked himself up of the sofa and went to the front door. George was dressed immaculately in his navy blue business suit. Neal remembered the one; it had been a gift from their father. Still, his face was worn and tired.
“You look like you’ve had a bad day,” Neal observed as George walked in.
“Not bad,” George clarified, “just long.”
The brothers walked to the sofa where Neal had already laid out their takeout meal on the coffee table. George kicked off his shoes and unbuttoned his collar. He fell onto the sofa with a loud sigh and signaled to Neal to pass him his dinner.
“Chang’s?” George asked.
“Of course,” Neal confirmed.
“I don’t know why dad loved this place so much,” George said, taking a bite out of his stir-fried chicken, “they use too much oil.”
Then he said, almost as an afterthought. “Remind me why we do this every year?”
Neal smiled. “Because Dad loved this restaurant, and we thought it would be a good way to honor his memory.”
“Hmm… by eating food he loved, but we can’t stand?”
“A testament to our love and respect for him,” Neal said.
“Tell me,” George said in mock seriousness, “were we drunk at the time?”
Neal laughed, “Of course we were. Why else would we have come up with such a ridiculous way to honor the man?”
George laughed with Neal. George was always busy with the company, and Neal was always busy with traveling, socializing, or another one of his ten-minute projects, that usually ended up lasting only five minutes. But on this one night every year, they re-arranged their schedules so that they were together. They had come up with the idea a few months after their father’s death. Both were still mourning him, and neither one had figured out a way to let go of their pain.
So they came up with a plan of action. Each year, on their father’s death anniversary, they would get together, order food that their father loved and eat it while they exchanged stories about him. It hadn’t been a serious plan. It was simply a way of channeling their grief. It was a way to feel like they could do something about a situation over which that they had no control.
When their father’s first death anniversary came along, Neal and George both remembered their drunken plan and followed through with it, and it had been a surprising success. After eating, they bonded over their mutual distaste for the food they had just consumed, and that had inevitably led to stories about their father. They ended up talking the night away and somehow their father’s loss did not seem so fresh or painful. It was still there, but it was a shared burden now
