Cheesemaker

“What do you mean you don’t want to pursue the family business?” asked my angry mother. “I mean exactly what it sounds like. I don’t want to take it up”, I replied, projecting full confidence on the outside but tightly clenched by fear inside. “So, you don’t want to be a cheese sculptor?”, she asked in a tone that she used when I was kid. It was more of a warning than a question because the inference from the discussion was obvious and the fact did not need to be re-stated in different words. “That is correct”, I answered, trying not to give in because the tone always worked in my mother’s favour when I was a kid. “Why?” she asked again. “Because it is cheese sculpting. Listen to yourself say it. It is not only unimportant but also completely not required”, there, I said it. The expressions of anger on her face turned into a mix of confusion, disappointment, and contempt. Not a good combination, I would say. In the corner my father sat at the dining table chair, the chair reserved for the head of the family, his head hung down and just listened to the conversation that involved him but not vocally, at least not up till now. “And why would you say that?” he finally spoke as he got up and walked up to me, expressionless, the most dangerous of all expressions. I was losing control over myself and the clutches of fear were tightening even more. “Because” I managed to speak, “we eat it.” He looked at my face for some time, waiting for me to speak more. I did want to speak more but I didn’t want him to listen to my unsteady voice which took high pitches at points, when in fear.

“Hmm..”, he said and turned around to walk a few steps away. I was kind of relieved, I don’t know why because I still was in the same situation. “So, you think it is not necessary to sculpt the cheese if we have to eat it? Is that what you imply?” he asked the rhetorical but expected an answer. “No. I think it’s very creative. And I feel it is very important that our food looks good” I waited to gulp then proceeded, “but I don’t think I am as creative”, I stopped to sigh as I thought I handled the question well. He turned to look at me again. “So, you think the twelve generations that had been practicing it before you, transferred nothing to your genes? You were practically born with a chisel” he said. I didn’t know what to say so I looked down. I gulped down some more and said, “I agree with you 100% but don’t you think it is time we explored more?” I was amazed at my own confidence today. I didn’t know where all these sentences were originating from. “You don’t think I have thought about this?” asked my father. I was surprised to know he thought about that too, but before I could be too happy, he started speaking again. “In fact, last week I was thinking of adding more designs to the list. I also, thoroughly feel, that the taste of the customer has changed over the past 300 years” he paused a little to notice the expression of wow on my face but proceeded to speak as he couldn’t spot one, “although, I was divided in my opinion as we take pride in being consistent over all these years and want to offer a point of reference to the customer, expressing that we’d be the same whenever he returns, no matter how much the world has changed. At the same time, trying to test newer waters. So, our original motto won over my urge to evolve so I dropped the idea. Are you also trying to express the same?” he questioned me again. They were testing my hold. I kept trying to gather some courage for some time before speaking, “Yes, exactly. That is exactly what I am saying. But I wanted a go a little farther. We might explore some other territories. I mean other than cheese? I mean, it is such a brilliant business plan. Cheese sculpting! I mean Grandfather Louise, the 23^rd was a genius. Who could have thought about this? I mean, so needed and right in the face staring at you kind of business plan but, I mean, people have also kind of gotten lactose intolerant over the years and some have even turned vegan. I mean what profanity, but we can’t change the course of time, right?” I had no idea what I was speaking.

My father’s face was finally filled with expressions. His brows contracted together, and his teeth were beginning to clench. It wasn’t a happy sight. “What do you mean other than cheese? What is your full name?” he asserted. “Abraham Louise Cheesemaker”, I replied. “Need I say more?” he answered with pride in his voice. There was silence for some time. It was a no for me. I had to be a cheese sculptor whether I liked it or not. My great great (12 times great) grandfather had already decided it for me. People these days have all sorts of problems. Some people are breaking up, others have weight issues, still others worry about their follower numbers, but I am here trying to talk my parents out of a 300-year-old family business of cheese sculpting. For God’s sake, Cheese Sculpting! I would relish a hideous looking cheese block just the same if it tasted good. Everyone would do the same, but it is impossible to have my parents see it. Our house looked like it was begging for renovation. Every time I climbed up the stairs, I said a little prayer for survival. The rats in the house were also 50 generations old. They were closely related to the rats who were responsible for the bubonic plague. They needed the cheese business going just as much as my parents.

“I don’t want to do it” I said, “I can’t see myself, living in this house till I die. I can’t raise my kids here. I can’t do something professionally when I don’t believe in it. I want to break the tradition.” I could sense that although I was doing the talking, it didn’t feel like I was the one controlling myself. The situation did not feel real. I could faint anytime. I think the rats also came out to listen to this and express their shock. “Has it ever occurred to you” I continued speaking, “that I might be made to do something different. That I might not want to follow something that all my previous generations had followed? I mean what about Louise the 23^rd’s father? What did he do? I can tell you. He allowed his son to pursue something he believed in. Or maybe Louise the 23^rd was a rebel and did not listen to his father and followed his dreams, no matter how ridiculous. And it did work. It kept our family going for 12 generations. I’m grateful for that, but there always comes a point in time, when we have to let go of the trend and start something new. I don’t want to be a rebel, Dad. I want your support in whatever I’m going to do. It will kill me every time I’d have to think that what I’m doing is not giving you any happiness. And that is what I expect from you as well. Would it be ok with you if you’d have to think about the business bothering me every time you look at me working?” I spoke my heart out in hopes of them trying to understand my point of view. The chances were slim but what other option did I have. It was a chance for them to act like parents for once, and not like businesspeople.

My father walked away. My mother did too, after giving me a look of utter disappointment. I went out, deeply depressed that even after speaking what I really felt and opening-up to them, they still couldn’t understand. None of us spoke to anyone of us for a few days, then after what seemed like a lifetime, a letter was slipped under my door while I was in my room. “Come see me in my room!” it read. I gathered courage to go to his room and face the consequences of that little speech, although after so many days. He was sitting on his rocking chair that creaked every time he went back and forth. I did not need to see old classics to know how it was a couple of centuries ago. I used to live in the past. “I contemplated!” he started. He might as well have come to my room to talk, if he had come to drop the letter off. Maybe the drama that the rocking chair and fireplace provided was needed for this conversation. “It is wrong on my part to bind you into a contract that you didn’t sign” he said, “you know, though, that it is not easy for your parents to take this decision. I have to meet all your grandfathers in heaven and will have some explaining to do. But we can try to give you a chance.”

I was ecstatic. Cloud nine was very low compared to the number of cloud I was on. I couldn’t, in my fanciest dreams, imagine it would go like this. I had anticipated more struggle. Anyway, I thought I shouldn’t question the gifts that were being given to me and tried to accept the reality that was unfolding.

I went and hugged him with teary eyes. “Thanks Dad! You don’t know how much that means to me” I said in shaky voice. He smiled back. I did not see but could feel it. We hugged for a while before I started heading back to my room. As I opened the door of his room to leave, I thought if I could take another chance, so rubbing tears off my eyes I said, “Is there a chance I could change my name too?” He turned to look at me and before his happy expressions could change to anger, I said, “No, I mean, I love my name. Why would I do that? Got you Dad!” and left before he could say anything.

Next day, breakfast as the dining table was a happy affair. “So,” said my father, “what do you plan to do? There must be something that you must have thought of.” Spreading butter on my toast I replied, “I don’t know. I have this passion for carving, I don’t know how. But as is obvious, I am not strongly built, so I can only carve soft surfaces. So, I was thinking of becoming a baker. I could make really some good-looking cakes.” My parents looked at each other. “So, you want something to look good before you eat it? Is that necessary?” my father asked. “Of course, it is!” I replied, “It is a billion-dollar industry. The cake industry has taken the world by a storm. You should see the demand, Dad. And I think it is going nowhere for generations to come” I said as I hogged on my toast. “Interesting!” said my father, looking at my mother who rolled her eyes pouring juice in a glass while I was just happy in having convinced my parents to agree with me. The apple but, doesn’t fall far from the tree, especially a 300-year-old tree.