Shocking Revalations

For as long as I could remember when I was growing up, my parents would always try to convince me to go to work with them, just to “experience” what they were doing. My father always said to me,

“Hey boy, you should come to work with me and your mother sometime and see what it is we do, you might just be doing it one day, I certainly hope so!”

I always wondered what that meant. I had the basic understanding of what it meant, but I just thought about why he said it. I do remember them telling me they work at the same job, but they never told me what they did or what the job was. The first time I heard of this job was when I was just a young boy, 5 or so maybe.

Every Sunday, our family would have dinner together (these usually consisted of me, my sister, mother and father, occasionally grandma and grandpa or an Aunt and Uncle, but usually just the four of us in the house) At our family dinners, my mom and dad would talk about how work was that week, and how much “fun” work was. I thought to myself how in the world work was “fun”, considering that my grandfather had said, “Work is a time for work, not play.”

And I never knew what it was they did there. They said they “sold a lot” most times, so likely something to do with sales, right? And I never did find out what it was they did until I was 18. Can you believe that? 18. They didn’t tell what it was they did for work until I was an actual adult. To be fair, I didn’t ask but a couple times, to which I can’t recall their response. But I was just a kid living without a care in the world. Why would I care about what my parents did for a living?

I myself was into Golf. My grandpa got me into the game when I was 7, got me a set of clubs for Christmas. I would hack up the yard trying to hit that little white ball around, until I was finally good enough to hit the ball maybe 10 yards, then far enough to accidentally hit it into the neighbor's yard one time. At that point, my grandpa would take me to the driving range sometimes. And then I could use all the clubs, from wedge to driver (although my wedges seemed to go further than my driver most of the time, I never considered myself the most consistent) Now that I am 20, my game has gotten significantly better. I went from the god awful 110’s all the way to 70’s and 80’ on average, which is exactly where I want to stay.

So I guess it finally ended being me, when I was 18, who asked my parents what it was they did. It was kind of weird question to ask, at least in terms of our family. I know most people reading this would not find it weird to ask someone what they did for a living, but there’s something about the way our family had lived for generations that just didn’t allow those types of seemingly easy and simple questions to be asked.

I walked into the living room on a cold Tuesday morning in December, with snow piling up outside and the loud, calming noise of the heat running in the house. My father was sitting in his usually spot (in his large brown reclining chair) reading the newspaper in one hand and what I would believe to be a cup of coffee in the other. And my mother was at the dining room table, with a plate of eggs and toast and between bites filing out the daily crossword puzzle. That was the typical morning every morning before they would head off for the day, so I usually try not to shake things up too much, but the time just finally came to ask the questions that I had only recently just started wondering about. So my mind started running and mouth before moving.

“Good morning guys,” I uttered from a dreary yet still awake me.

“Morning, boy.”

My father replied in a deep voice. Which is typical, whether he was trying to sound tough or that was just his natural speaking voice, I don’t know. I’ve heard him talk in a higher pitched voice too, so yet another question I had, but this wasn’t the time for that, there were more pressing questions to be answered.

I also never understood why he called me “boy” all the time. My name is Greggory. I must admit, I never liked my name, but did he hate it so much he actually refused to call me by it? After all, he and my mother did give me my name, so one of them must have liked it. But “boy” just kinda became tradition so I never said anything about, I had no reason to.

My blurry eyes glanced over to Mom, who was taking a bite of toast and filing something out on the crossword simultaneously. She set the toast down and looked over to me.

“Oh good morning honey. What’s got you up so early?”

“Nothing much, I’ve been laying in bed for an hour and couldn’t fall back asleep so I just decided to get up. What are you eating over there?”

She looked down at the food, then back up to me.

“French toast and scrambled eggs, just like every morning!”

Turns out I was wrong again, it wasn’t just toast, but French Toast. Please forgive me. There was a moment of silence before I heard the sound of the reclining chair legs closing, and prompting my dad to slowly stand with normal dad noises, if you know what I mean.

“Well, I am going to get in the shower and get ready for the day. Talk to you in a minute”

I knew that he would only be in there 20 minutes or so, and I had all the time in the world but I couldn’t wait to ask my question. So I stopped him

“Oh dad, mom, real quick. I have a question.” my father looked at me sideways and looked almost annoyed.

“Boy, can’t it wait 20 minutes while I get ready for work”

Time for me to go, I thought to myself.

“Actually, it’s about work.” I began to say. “And I've been waiting for a couple years so I think it’s time for me to just get it out.”

My father continued to look at me but the expression on his face completely changed from a look of disgust and annoyance to a look of wonder and actual interest, possibly. My mother had also dropped her crossword puzzle and gave me an intense stare as well. I continued.

“I don’t know if you have been keeping a secret or not, but I’ve always wondered what you guys actually do for work.” I said as I looked back and forth between them. “I mean, I remember asking a couple of times in the past. But I never got a real response. So what is it you do for a living?”

The total atmosphere in the room flipped. My father, who I was looking at when I was finished talking, gave me the coldest stare ever. I swear, he was piercing his eyes right into my soul. And I glanced at my mother who had an equally scary look on her face, though less menacing than dads was.

They then looked at each other blankly, like they were telecommuticating or something with their minds. My mother gave my father a nod and he looked down to the ground. He then walked back over to his recliner and sat down, looked back up and me, and spoke in a calmer, slightly higher voice.

“Have a seat, boy.”

I thought about it for a second, as if I didn’t hear him or something. But I sat down about 5 feet away from him on a couch adjacent to the chair. My mother came into the room with her crossword puzzle rolled up and tucked under her arm. She sat down on the opposite end of the couch and put the crossword on a small nearby table and looked back to my father. He looked at her again and then back to me.

In this moment, I had so many feelings inside of me building up that I didn’t know which one to express. Fear. Excitement. Curiosity. Sadness. My mind was running a marathon inside and I just sat there, with an empty stare back at my father. Until he finally began to speak. Then the feeling of fear shined internally.

“Greggory,” he said. “This is something I’ve been waiting to tell you for a long time. Ever since you were born really. But I always knew you had to be old enough or else you wouldn’t understand it.”

That made enough sense to me. I didn’t say anything, just gave little nods here and there to show acknowledgment. He continued.

“What we do for living should have been none of your concern up until now. I know you were curious about it and that's fine. But I just couldn’t tell you before. But now I feel it is the right time.”

He glanced at my mother, to which I copied. She only gave a subtle nod to us and continued looking down to the floor.

“Ok” I responded to my father. I was getting a little antsy here, I’m not going to lie. I just wanted to know. He went on.

“Boy, are you ready to hear this?”

When he said those words, I didn’t know what to say or think. That honestly made me rethink my decision to ask that question. The fact that he didn’t just come out and answer the question was weird, exactly like he was hiding something from me, something that he may have been hiding for years. I thought for a moment but I knew what I was going to say.

“Yes.”

He took a deep breath and finally answered.

“Me, your mother, and a small group of our employees sell Oxycodone.”

I quickly looked to my mother but she had turned her away from me and was covering her head with her hand. My father continued to look at me. He wasn’t, but he almost looked teary eyed, I don’t know why.

But as for what he said, I couldn’t believe it. I always had a suspicion that something they were doing was wrong, or that they couldn’t tell me about. But now I know. I have had too many Health classes in school to not know what Oxycodone is. Basically, if you don’t know, it is a drug often used for moderate pain. It must be prescribed by doctors and anyone sells it or distributing it without consent by the government is purely illegal.

I never looked at my parents this way before. I thought for the longest time that they had some regular day job, some 9 - 5 bullshit but no. Not anymore. Now I know. My parents and a few other drug smugglers were selling a drug, illegally. Doing so could lead to jail or prison time and significant fines. Our house is nice, we have nice cars (not your super sport cars but nicer cars, ) I get basically anything I want and we have a pretty rich lifestyle. I guess this just proves that there is always a truth that you don’t know about.

“What?"

After all this intense thinking, all I could say was one word. What. My mother looked at me with a confused look. She finally spoke.

“You know, Oxycodone, a drug often……”

I interrupted her, very upset.

“I KNOW WHAT THE HELL OXYCODONE IS, OKAY!”

My father looked at me, seemingly mad.

“Son, would you calm down, please”

I don’t know why but I was fuming at this point, I knew what they were doing was illegal and I wouldn’t stand for it, no matter how rich it made our family or whatever. I put my hands on my mouth and spoke in a quieter voice.

“Mom, Dad, You know that is illegal, right?”

I peered back at fourth and they were both silent, but giving slight, meaningful nods to me. So they know it is illegal to do, but now I don’t know what to say. My mind completely shuts down. I knew that this was how our family got its wealth. But what is the point of doing something if you know full well that the way you are doing is wrong and completely morally wrong. But I had a feeling that they didn't care about that. All they cared about was the money. And maybe I was overreacting, maybe just a little, but the truth was right in front of me.

“Boy, our family has been doing this since the 40’s, it’s just something we do and will continue” Father said to me while I was, a guess you could say, still upset.

“What, so this is like a family business or something.” I asked. He nodded in response.

And then it hit me, the truth finally hit me. This was our family business, something my family has been doing for about 80 years and something that my parents would inevitably try to get me to do.

And to clear it up, it was my dad's side of the family that did this, but when my mother married my father, she joined in for whatever reason. I always thought she was a reasonable, well behaved person, but I figured out she was not completely rational at all.

Without much thought, I made a critical decision.

“Obviously, I won’t be doing this for a living, you are well aware of that, right guys. I don’t have to make money in a completely fucked up way, okay!”

My dad flew out of the chair onto his feet, and the look on his face was as vicious as I had ever seen him. And then he yelled as loud as I had heard in a while.

“GET THE HELL OUTTA HERE, BOY! GO! NOW!”

“THAT'S FINE, AND HEY, DON’T EXPECT ANY VISITS OR PHONE CALLS FOR A WHILE. GOODBYE!”

I said that without a lot of thought, but I still meant it.

My mother leaped up from the table and tried to say something to get me to stay, like it’s not that bad and you are overreacting.

Bullshit. I thought.

***

It has been 3 whole years since I actually talked to my parents. Well, since I talked to my mother. My father died not long after I left, the doctor said from Cardiac Arrest from an abnormally large amount of drugs. Other than when I found out what my parents did, my dad was a great person. He was a determined, hardworking man, and guy who, if he started something, it didn’t matter what it took to finish it but dammit, he would finish it. I went to his funeral. I saw my mother and we reconnected. Since his death, my mom has gotten drug free and ended the business. Thank god, I always think to myself. I loved my parents, know matter what they did and that's the bottom line.

As for me not continuing the business, I kind of have to believe it’s for the better