Please Never Let My Father Read This

I've always had one very special ability; doing absolutely nothing. This "inaction" has led me to where I am today, sitting at the keyboard trying to come up with something. I think I'll give some background on this "ability." Whenever I'm not given work to do I shut down. I spend my days sleeping or on my phone. I believe that it all stems from the days of laying on my couch watching cartoons all day, or perhaps just my fear and avoidance of problems. I can genuinely say that the majority of the paths in life I’ve wandered on have come from this "special" skill I hold, or as WebMD refers to it “disassociation.” A yucky word in my opinion. This “ability” I have has always been kept in check by my father. Back in middle school, I had an essay to complete for a school-wide competition. Being the zoned out, procrastinating  kid I was, and still am, I decided to wait until two days before it was due to complete it. See, the strange part about my “ability” is that it is contrasted by an upbringing of forced academic pressures. I grew up in a strict, Jewish household where everyone in my family is either a doctor, lawyer or something having to do with a bank. I know, I know, I hate to reinforce stereotypes, but this environment has always given me a lot of pressure to achieve academically. My mother hasn’t been very involved in my life, but my father has always pushed me to achieve my best. I can honestly say without his guidance, pressure and support  I would most likely be a failing student. Anyways, I was working on my essay. I was putting in the minimal effort and trying my best to rush it. That’s when my father walks in, a short, stocky man with a temper like fire. I gulped. 

“Zoe, what are you doing?” he asked. 

“Just working on my essay, don’t worry about it.”

He grabbed my laptop and skimmed the paragraph. “This is garbage.”

This wasn’t exactly what I wanted to hear at the time, so of course it blew up into an argument which ended with me sobbing and running to the library to find more primary sources. I worked as hard as I could on the essay, the subject matter being very bland mind you, “The Oyster Wars.” The day it was due, I turned in the essay. Fifty one pages double spaced, most likely partially stained by tears. My teacher looked at me in awe. I ended up with second place on an essay I hadn’t even planned on writing. If not for my father pushing me, I know that I would have failed. This brings me to another story. Back at the start of high school, I had no clubs or anything that I was working on. I focused on school, hanging out with friends and going to parties. My life didn’t have any structure and I was living my days as the carefree teen surrounded by friends like Mary Jane. That’s when my father stepped in. 

“Zoe, you need to join a club.”

“What? Why? My grades are fine.”

“You’re doing it.”

I continued to protest, yelling at my father. It spurred into a large argument that ended with me signing up for the debate team. Now, mind you, I have a huge fear of public speaking. I always tend to shake and stutter uncontrollably, feeling the pressure of everyone watching me. It has always been one of my greatest fears. I resented my father for making me sign up for such a frivolous activity. In my eyes, I knew I would fail. Despite all of it, my moodiness and resentment to my father, he drove me to practice everyday at 7 am. I was never late once. I practiced and practiced at the club, facing my fear of public speaking everyday. My father drove me to competitions and helped me practice. He supported me and comforted me, even when I failed. I can honestly say that if not for being forced to join the debate team, I would’ve never conquered my fear. Being forced to stand on the pedestal and perform in front of others, even failing sometimes (or a lot), made me stronger. The discomfort allowed me to grow, face my fears and mature as a person. All of this brings me to yesterday. I had finished my online school around a week ago and passed with flying colors. In the midst of all of this I forgot about job applications or setting anything up for the summer. Yesterday, my father had informed me that I forgot to attend an orientation in my midst of inaction. I had completely forgotten and was lazing around. 

“You need to find something to do this summer!” he yelled, “You must be productive!”

“There’s nothing I can do, I can’t get a job anymore, I’m going to spend this summer how I want!”

I think you can guess where all of this dialogue led. Boom- a large argument that ended with me sobbing trying to find opportunities for writing competitions and programs. I decided to sit at my keyboard and try to find something to satisfy my dad’s wishes, which led me here. I quickly searched into google “writing competitions” which led me to a list of prompts here. I saw the option “Write a story about inaction,” I chuckled. 

“Boy do I have a story,” I thought to myself.

It’s quite funny in a way that my inaction led to finding a writing prompt about inaction. It’s almost like everything does truly happen for a reason. So, currently I am sitting here trying to write something that will make me look productive and fix my inaction because honestly, I know my father is right. Let us all please hope and pray that he never reads this, for I know that I will never hear the end of it.