Passing The Torch

“Walter, can you check the oven?”.

“I’ll be there in just a second”.

Each year on the 23^rd of January the Delaney family would gather for a holiday that was a unique tradition to their own family name. Rumour had it that it was started by their great, great uncle Samuel in an attempt to make amends for botching the family Christmas that year when he had burned the tree down by carelessly ashing one of his thick Puerto Rican cigars near the dried up old pine they had brought in from the local forest. Whether this is actual fact or fiction remains a hotly debated topic among the Delaney’s, but all of them participate in the unique customary traditions with religious loyalty regardless of where their beliefs lie in its origins.

Walter Delaney cracked open the oven door and was struck by the rich smell of sweet potato casserole and the savoury honey ham that was engaged to be paired with.  His tummy rumbled and he couldn’t resist reaching in to tear a piece off, but his lust for the greasy ham was cut short when the sting off his wife Marlene’s hand smacking the back of his neck disrupted his quest with harsh and immediate justice for the attempted thievery.

“OW” he whirled around with a look of hurtful betrayal in a retaliatory attempt to induce some guilt on his wife for the abuse he had just suffered.

“Oh, stop it you big baby. Keep your filthy hands off it” she paused, “Go check on the kids, maybe you and Matt should do that stupid thing you do so it is out of the way”.

“It’s not stupid, it’s tradition” Walter pouted.

“Tradition that you beat your teenage son at the stupidest game I have ever seen?”.

Walter sauntered off like scorned puppy having been demoted from his role as kitchen helper. Approaching the back yard, he found his 14-year old son Matt with a set of pantyhose on his head and a tennis ball at the end of the foot of one of the legs. He was rotating his head quickly generating propeller like velocity, in an effort to knock over a set of empty water bottles that had been set up on a table.

“Getting in some last-minute practice?” Walter said smugly with the confident knowledge he was still the undisputed champion in this event. But just as the words escaped his mouth his son made contact with the set of bottles sending all of them flying before looking up and staring at his father with a look that meant game time.

“Whaaaaaaaat?” Matt responded, staring at his father with fiery direct eye contact that delivered a message to the reigning champ that he a new sheriff was now in town.

“This is Matt’s time, and I’m coming for you”. He continued his head games by pounding his own chest while staring daggers directly at his father.

“Yeah, well…we’ll…uh…see”. Clearly rattled he sputtered the response as he was lost for words.

It didn’t happen often that he couldn’t respond to a bit of trash talk. In that moment, Walter looked at his teenage son, his own flesh and blood with a set of lady’s pantyhose on his head, proving to be so adept at such a completely useless skill he was involuntarily left mute by his own feelings. This was because Walter couldn’t help but be overwhelmed by a combination of confusing emotions a melded of shame, fear and pride. Pausing momentarily, he became somewhat lost in retrospective thoughts about the decisions he had made in his son’s upbringing.

Yet he knew he couldn’t stay lost in this emotion for long. The balance of power in his household was in jeopardy; his role as the alpha male was being threatened by his son with this clear act of evocation Matt had prompted. There was little Walter could do now, he had taken his reign of power over their household for granted, not thinking or fearing he could ever be outdone.

He walked back through the screen door of his house. His pulse was pounding nervously through his body at the thought of relinquishing his role as overlord of useless skills. His mind raced for excuses to change or alter the competition so as to rig it back in his favour. It was too late, Matt had played it perfectly. His son was in his head now and there was nothing he could do.

His thoughts were interrupted when his wife’s voice hit his ears, alerting him that his time had come. “Dinner is ready in 20min, you better go get that stupid thing out of the way with Matt”.

Sounds around him began to drown out. All he could here was the thud of his own pulse now, throttling his insides with the pressure to perform. Taking a deep breath, he made his way down the stairs and outside. He heard the hinges on his screen door wheeze as he swung it open and took steps towards the battleground. There in the dusty lot, he found the spawn of himself, awaiting his arrival with a confident competitive look on his face.

“I’ll let you do the honors…...Old man” Matt said before cackling with delight at his own humour.

Walter glared at his son, the bonds of immediate family would be set aside for the time being, he needed to focus now. There was too much at stake to allow his emotions take over. He gripped the fuzzy green felt of a Wilson rubber tennis ball dropping it down into the thin material of the pantyhose. He then stretched the legging out so the top would fit around his large shiny balding scalp. The moment was upon him, he began to rotate his neck in a circular motion giving the ball the centrifugal force that was needed to blow apart the empty water bottle stack. 

The tension was mounting, as he moved closer. His technique felt good, but something was off. He felt his balance begin to give way and tilted to the left just slightly as he was about to make contact with the bottles. He only managed to catch three of the 12 bottles and almost as if in in slow motion he fell to the ground. Crumpling along with his era of reigning of champion.

His son cackled with an evil laugh, kneeling down beside his old man and ripping the pantyhose off his scalp.

“It’s my time now dad. You don’t own me at this anymore.” He said, placing the pantyhose on his own head.

All Walter could do now was watch and hope something could go wrong. Matt secured the leggings around his head. 

“Damn, he looks so focused”, Walter thought. 

As Matt began to wield his neck in a circular motion Walter also noted what incredible form he had. As hard as it was to let go, he had to feel a degree of pride for the unbelievable focus and skill his son was displaying. Matt moved toward the water bottles with perfect form as Walter pridefully looked on, having to let go of the young boy he had known. In slow motion Matt struck the water bottles sending all of them flying and in an instant, the student had become the master.

Matt pointed to the sky and yelled, high stepping and jumping around the yard celebrating his win. To Matt, it was as though he had just slayed Goliath. Only Goliath in this case looked on with tearful pride because of the man his son was becoming.

“Now, this nonsense is over Dad, this game ends with me. I’m breaking this tradition and retiring as champion”.

“I’ll have a new competition next year. My game, my terms.”

Matt turned and walked away leaving his old Dad in a heap of shattered rubble, left to wonder what could possibly be in his future.