The Tuesday I Thought I Won
The Tuesday that changed my life started like any other.
I came home from the shop with grease on my hands, feeling the good ache of a hard day’s work.
Leo was in the kitchen, staring at a bowl of cereal.
It was 6:00 PM.
“You just waking up?” I asked, irritation rising in my chest like bile.
“No, Dad,” he said softly. “Just got back. Did a few deliveries.”
“Deliveries,” I scoffed. “That’s not a career, Leo. That’s a hobby.”
“When I was your age, I had a mortgage and a baby on the way.”
“You can’t even pay for your own gas.”
He put the spoon down.
He looked pale, thinner than I remembered.
“The market is tough right now, Dad,” he said. “Nobody is hiring entry-level without experience. And rent… a studio is two thousand a month. I can’t make the math work.”
“The math works if you work,” I snapped.
“Stop blaming the economy. Stop blaming ‘the system.’ It’s about grit.”
“You think it was easy for me in the 90s? We didn’t have safe spaces. We just got it done.”
Leo looked up at me.
His eyes were heavy.
Not sleepy—heavy.
Like they were holding up the ceiling.
“I’m trying, Dad,” he said. “I really am. But I’m just… so tired.”
I rolled my eyes.
I actually rolled my eyes.
“Tired? From what?” I said. “Sitting in a car? Playing on your phone?”
“I’ve been on my feet ten hours. I’m tired.”
“You’re just unmotivated.”
“You have everything handed to you—electricity, food, a roof—and you act like you’re carrying the weight of the world.”
The kitchen went quiet.
The refrigerator hummed.
The news murmured something about inflation, but I wasn’t listening.
I was waiting for him to fight back.
To argue.
To show some spark.
Instead, he nodded.
“You’re right,” he whispered.
“I’m sorry I’m not who you were at my age.”
“I’m sorry the math doesn’t work for me.”
Then he stood up, walked over to me, and did something he hadn’t done since he was ten.
He hugged me.
It wasn’t a strong hug.
It was a lean.
A collapse of weight against my shoulder.
“I won’t be a burden anymore, Dad,” he whispered. “I promise.”
“Get some sleep.”
I stood there, feeling vindicated.
Finally, I thought.
Finally, I got through to him.
Tough love.
That’s what this generation needs.
I went to bed feeling like a good father.
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