But most of it is symbolic. This is representative of something I feared was coming for some time. Now that it's here -- and it is here, I'm not paranoid -- this is the end of an important part of the family identity forged when they crashed on America's shores.
I fight with my folks a lot, and I will still disagree with them. I've never told them this, but the thing I most admire about them is that they started their own small business with their bare hands and got three kids through college on it. That's a hell of a thing to do. And, not to be a mawkish teabagger, but that is the embodiment of the American dream. I am forever lashed to this country because of the success Father and Mother earned for themselves. For that I am forever grateful and obligated.
It's the downside of that that scares me. The reality is that it's very hard work to maintain your own business, and most of them fail. It could be said that they have -- had? -- this store/delivery business going for 30+ years, and that it was a nice run. But with Mother moving on, this spells the end of the store. Is it failing? I don't want to ask because I don't think they'll tell me, and besides, I don't know if I want to know. But I think the answer is yes. I mean, they've been bitching for the past two decades that business isn't what it used to be, and it isn't. But their threats of closing the store, selling the building and retiring has just been talk, like Father's threats to throw me out of the house. Mother getting a new job? Shit just got real.
Moreover, this sends a signal to me, a very bad signal. I am so proud of my parents for finding their own way, and creating their own image. They were small businessmen. They were their own boss (well, they had to answer to their customers, but it's not as if they had someone who could fire them), and they could do whatever they please. But, for some reason, whether it be continuing economic slowdowns or The Great Recession, they came to the conclusion that that was untenable.
Worse than that was what Mother did. She took a job working for another company, to be willingly employed by someone else. They worked the assembly line for several years after they immigrated to the U.S., but in my lifetime I have never seen them work for anybody. I have to repeat myself, in bold and italics: I never thought I would ever see my parents work for anybody. And now she has, because of circumstances.
To me, that represents a loss of independence and freedom. Being under the employ of another means you are under the whim of a human who has control over you. When you wake up, you go to work not on your own time, but your boss'. You take vacations when they decide, not you. And cross him or her, and he or she will cut you. That isn't the family way -- well, that's not how I believed my parents would behave. They would sooner retire. Shit, they'd sooner put a bullet in their heads than work for somebody, at least I thought.
And that's why I feel so, dare I say it, ashamed. I have to work for somebody else because I don't have the business acumen or the balls to go off on my own. I'm trying to write my way towards self-sufficiency, but I haven't really committed to it. They say you can't really be your own man until you cut ties with every safety net that could hold you back. But in the back of my head, I'm afraid I will fail. And when that happens, after pouring all your resources into your dream only to see it smack you in the face, you're done. You're just done.
I guess that's why I can't commit to a regular joe job. I love being a scorer, but, sadly, it's going to end after this week, maybe even, fuck, tomorrow. Then what? Well, there's the U., I can put myself in an MRI, and I could do temp jobs. Nothing too taxing, nothing I have to commit to. It's not a stable lifestyle, but the more I think about it, the more I think I'm just ... happier doing it this way. I remember the last long-term temp job I had. When I lost it, I lost a piece of my identity. I've had to go back to work because I need the money, but that bad memory never goes away. I am a changed man. Now, I prefer jobs that I can't identify with because if I lost them, I lose myself with it.
Such an identity crisis should not have happened to my folks, as much as I hate them sometimes. I have to knuckle under some schmuck employer, not them, because it's too late for me. Times have changed in this country; now, everybody's working for The Man. But they don't. They're close to retiring, and they're just hanging on, eking out a lifestyle that lets them get by. Why couldn't you just let them run the store successfully, on their own modest terms? What the fuck would it hurt to just. ...
What about the store? If there's no one to run it except Father and his two employers, what's going to happen to it? Are they selling? Closing down? I've been torn in the past about keeping the family business alive and just running the store. But they never wanted it for me, and I don't think I want it for myself. For several years when I was young, every Saturday they would force my brother and I to help out. We did it, but we hated it. But now, I understand the importance of the store. It helped us survive. And it was no one else's, just my parents'. And it's about to be gone.
Furthermore, that self-contained success has been replaced by the humdrum of the American workforce. Mother has willingly given up being self-employed in order to be a cog in the machine, some lifeless drone ready to be given up as a statistic in case Asian Foods decides it needs to cut its workforce. I never thought she would acquiesce to being chewed up and spat out. That's what creating your own business was supposed to prevent. But she couldn't make it work. Yeah, it's been over three decades. But I helped her fill out the goddamn employment applications. My fucking God, she filled out employment applications. How ... demeaning.
I'm still in such a shock that I still can't comprehend this. I don't care how necessary this is. That such a drastic measure is necessary makes it even worse because it means they have no choice. This, what's going on with them, and with this family, this isn't them, and this isn't us. But it's turning out to be exactly that. My worst, wildest fears have come true.
And I got home tonight to see one headlight of their minivan smashed in. What the fuck is going on? I am losing my grip on reality. What I know to be true is dead. And I am sad, so goddamn sad, that the life I know is slipping away from me.
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