so here you are...
So here you are, father. What have you achieved?
You have trained your son not to drop crumbs on the floor, and at what price?
That he will resent you forever for making his life unhappy, because he's basically obsessive-compulsive about every little detail, and he's intolerant towards all those who drop crumbs, including you, since you have raised him to standards you don't even meet.
What was the point of all this madness. Of criticizing me endlessly about everything I did, said, wore, thought.
Do you expect me to be grateful? No, I still fear you, and when you wish me goodnight, I hear "**** you" and reply "**** you", and your wishing me "goodnight" interferes with my sleep.
Do I use what you taught me? Precision, meticulousness: yes. Did it help me realize anything? Things that people don't really show appreciation for. Those who appreciate them, don't say it. Others are bothered by them. Others are envious. And I am miserable because I see everyone else doing whatever the **** they want and getting away with it, and living happily.
I went on vacation with my careless German highschool mate, and I was bitten by mosquitoes dozens of times, because he was too ****ing "serene" to ****ing care about closing the door, while the lights were on. I was cleaning after his mess all the time, treating him out to dinner. What did I get? Nothing. He had a good vacation because he was careless, and because I was taking care of the details. He even was so stupid to tell me that living carelessly is better - yeah, especially if you someone not careless to clean after you.
You taught me how to be unhappy and made my childhood and adolescence miserable in order to teach me how to be unhappy by being burdened with everyone's else problems and taking responsibility for all problems around me. I live to solve problems. And to create them when they are not there, because I don't enjoy anything else other than solving problems and working all the time.
Father, you really ****ed up.
It reminds me the Godfather talking to Michael, his son:
MICHAEL (reaching over, touching his father)
What's the matter? What's bothering you?
(then, after the Don doesn't answer)
I'll handle it. I told you I can handle it, I'll handle it.
VITO CORLEONE (as he stands)
I knew that Santino was going to have to go through all this. And Fredo -- well --
(then, after he sits besides Michael)
-- Fredo was -- well -- But I never -- I never wanted this for you. I work my whole life, I don't apologize, to take care of my family. And I refused -- to be a fool -- dancing on the string, held by all those -- bigshots. I don't apologize -- that's my life -- but I thought that -- that when it was your time -- that -- that you would be the one to hold the strings. Senator - Corleone. Governor - Corleone, or something...
MICHAEL
Another pezzonovante...
VITO CORLEONE
Well -- this wasn't enough time, Michael. Wasn't enough time...
Yeah. "I refused to be a fool" is what sticks in my mind. My father refused to be a fool, but he did a whole mess because of that. It's like living with a dictator. It wasn't a ****ing family - it was like being in the army.
I never enjoyed his company, never enjoyed talking to him. He's either in lecture mode or in interrogation mode. You can't just tell him what's on your mind. You are always just a student, whoever you are. You can listen and learn from him, or be interrogated by him. But you can't tell him anything. If you do, he shows no interest at all, with what he replies, with his expression, and by the fact that he quickly interrupts you to resume his lecture.
I like writing about this. It makes me feel better. It's the biggest problem in my life. My father and his influence on my life. Mostly negative. Or at least I didn't get anything good out of it yet. All qualities that don't bring any happiness: meticulousness, precision, honesty, sincerity, generosity, fairness. Superficiality and stupidity bring you much farther and give you a much better life. You can live a happy and carefree life, resting on the shoulders of those workaholics that people like my dad train. A few people get trained by their parents to work their asses off, regardless of the need to do it, and the large majority sit on their asses, enjoying themselves.