Fatal Flaws

by Clyde Lawrence

  “Ha-ha, real funny,” he replied. “I just hate losing.”

  Even Corey had realized what a jerk Brandon had acted like throughout the game and had commented, “Jeez Brandon, it’s just a game. Pull out your tampon and quit whining!”

  We all chuckled at Corey’s perfectly apropos comment. I probably shouldn’t have encouraged this kind of talk from my fifth grader, but I loved the fact that even he could see how ridiculous Brandon was being. Plus, what was Brandon going to do about it, throw a punch? Not likely, even for a complete tool like him.

  Although I agreed that he was behaving like a total douche bag, I decided not to push the issue at the moment. No point in calling him out in front of everyone and making things worse than they already were. If I pushed him into a corner with a critical comment, he actually might come out swinging, either figuratively or literally. I knew from experience that I would, in such a case, turn out to be the one who took most of the heat from Mandy and Ryan. Rather than focusing on Brandon’s attitude, I decided to take a different approach and said, “Well, who said anything about losing? Let’s clinch this thing and go have some dessert. I know that the ladies would be happy to clean up our ice cream bowls while they are handling the rest of the mess.”

  “We’ll see about that, Daddy,” Ryan said, as she hopped back into the pool. “My bladder is now empty and I’m ready to kick some butt. I think I’ll have Brandon get me three scoops of ice cream, maybe one of each flavor. Oh, and I’ll have fudge sauce and whipped cream. And, of course, I’ll need a cherry on top.”

  “Better not get too far ahead of yourself, little smarty pants,” I said. “The game is not over yet.”

  Unfortunately, for the guys, the game actually was over shortly thereafter, and we did not come out on top. The final serve of the game dropped right into the largest gap between our front and back rows. I had jumped up to try to block it as it came over the net, but the trajectory of Lizzie’s serve had made the ball arc just centimeters over my fingertips, at which point it began its downward path toward the surface of the water. Jonathan was positioned to my left, and upon seeing me miss the block, he dove behind me to get a hand on the ball and keep it live. He was barely able to tip the ball, which then shot toward Corey, who quick handedly bumped it high into the air. This bought us one more chance to get it over the net. The ball drifted toward the back corner, where Brandon was positioned, but then kept on drifting out of bounds. In an effort to swat it back over the net and keep the game going, he jumped toward it and reached out his arm. Just before he would have made contact with the ball, he yelled, “Ouch!” and looked down, losing track of the ball, which struck the edge of the pool and, as if to literally add insult to injury, it bounced back and hit him square in the middle of the face, where a small trickle of blood coming from his right nostril would soon appear. Brandon slapped at the ball, then reached down under the water and grabbed his left leg as he grimaced and called out “Goddammit!”

  Ryan immediately called out, “Oh my gosh, Brandon, what happened? Did you hit your leg on the ledge?”

  “Yes, I fucking hit my leg on the ledge. What the hell do you think? I totally raked my shin across it and it fucking hurts!”

  Mandy spoke up and asked, “Brandon, are you okay? Do you need some help?” Of course, he didn’t, but she was just trying to show concern and she certainly didn’t deserve his reply.

  “I’m fucking fine. Everyone just leave me alone, okay? Jesus Christ! If it wasn’t for that stupid ledge, I would have had that shot, by the way. This is total bullshit. We should get a redo!” It was obvious that he was the typical poor sport who always had to have something to blame when he missed a shot or a catch, or when his performance was otherwise found to be lacking. I recognized the behavior immediately, because I grew up acting like a little shithead if I struck out playing baseball, if I dropped a well thrown pass in football, or if I couldn’t beat my opponent in basically any recreational activity in which I was involved. Looking back on my outward displays of poor sportsmanship and thinking about the impression I had created in the minds of my friends and family members, I’ve always been mortified. While raising my own children, I’d taken extra care to make sure to let them know that this kind of behavior was not just pitiful, but that it was completely unacceptable. Obviously, Brandon’s parents, like my own, had not taught him that games and sports were meant to be entertaining, and that a failure to succeed in these types of activities should not bruise his ego to the point that an emotional outburst would be his automatic response.

  I knew that jumping in at this point was only going to embarrass Brandon further, but I was not going to let him disrespect my wife or my daughter.

  “We are not going to have a redo. They won fair and square. Why don’t you go take care of your leg, Brandon,” I said. Then, I lowered my voice so that the others could not hear, so that he would not feel like he was being called out in front of the whole group. I came in close and looked him in the eye while I quickly said, “And, by the way, don’t ever cuss at my wife or daughter again or you’ll have a lot more to whine about than a scraped-up shin, you got me?”

  Although the others could not hear what I’d said, it was clear to anyone watching us that I was letting Brandon know that he had crossed a line. I was aware that Brandon’s ego was going to be further traumatized by the fact that he was being chastised by me in front of his girlfriend and her family, but this was a defining moment between the two of us and there was no way I was going to let him think that I wouldn’t stand up to him for the sake of my family, regardless of the situation or whose feelings might get hurt.

  I started to see a change in the look in his eyes. His initial hurt look morphed into a look of hatred, and I could see the wheels turning as he considered how to best defend his ego from further damage and, possibly, strike back at me with a challenge or an insult. I knew right then that no one had ever spoken to him in this way and that he was unsure of how to respond. It was painfully obvious that what he really wanted to do was to launch a counterattack, either verbally or physically. I held his gaze as I studied his body language and mentally prepared myself for some type of physical altercation. In these few moments, I could physically sense the negative vibes that were emanating from him and I was nearly convinced that he was going to throw a punch, or at least try to shove me aside. Instead, he seemed to realize that there was nothing to be gained by taking me on in this moment, so he shot me a look of disgust and turned away from me, both robbing me of the satisfaction of holding his motherfucking head underwater until he turned blue and saving me from the total shit storm I would have endured if it had come to that. He then hopped over to the side of the pool, holding the mangled stump of tissue that used to be his left leg off of the bottom of the pool, and climbed out.

  Once he was out of the pool, we could all see that he had a five or six-inch abrasion running down his shin. There was not even any blood trickling down his leg. I couldn’t resist the temptation and I called out to him, “Whoa, dude, looks like a compound fracture. Do you want some help pushing that bone back into your leg?” Listen, if you are going to be a dick to my family members, I’m going to look for an opportunity to burn you with some red-hot sarcasm, so you’ll have no doubts regarding how I feel about you.

  He paused, looking as if he was internally searching for a comeback, but then grabbed a towel and limped to the door leading into the living room.

  About this time, Ryan was jumping out of the pool and calling out, “Daddy, that’s enough.” Followed immediately by, “Brandon, honey, are you okay?” as she followed him to the door. Brandon did not reply to her before darting through the door and closing it with a ‘whump’ which was not quite a slam, but was definitely meant to convey that he was pissed.

  “Do not go into that house without drying off, young lady,” I called. “And your boyfriend can go in and lick his wounds without you attending to him. This is actually a time that you need to let him know that his b
ehavior was unacceptable, not jumping to his defense and coddling him regardless of how he’s been acting.”

  “Daddy, just stay out of it for once!” She finished drying herself and hurried through the door, presumably to search out her little shithead of a boyfriend and help attend to the small wound on his shin and the much larger wound on his ego.

  “Mark,” Mandy said, “Do you always have to be the big, tough father who has to keep everyone in line? You know that Ryan is going to be upset with you now. It’s natural for her to want to stick up for her boyfriend.”

  I hopped up on the side of the pool, put my elbows on my knees and took a slow look around at the remaining wet bodies milling around. No one was sure what to do or say next. Swim time was ruined by the sudden awkwardness that had settled over our aquatic playground.

  Mandy waited a few moments for me to respond. I began to feel the increasingly large and menacing daggers that seemed to be emanating from her eyes, so I went ahead and pronounced my judgement on Brandon’s behavior and Ryan’s response to the situation which it had created.

  “I certainly hope that all of you really paid attention to what just happened. Furthermore, I hope that you really appreciate what an asshole Brandon was being to Ryan and Mom, and that you realize when someone talks to one of us that way, he is disrespecting our entire family. To me, that is completely unacceptable, and I do not intend to tolerate any guy who thinks he can get away with showing us that kind of disrespect—especially in our own house. Corey, if I ever hear that you are treating a girlfriend or her family like that, you’re going to get my boot up your ass. Girls, if you bring someone home and he acts like Brandon has acted today, you had better understand that I’m not going to keep my mouth shut about it, regardless of how embarrassing it might be to have me point out what an asshole he is being. While we’re on this subject, Jonathan, please take this opportunity to absorb the situation and understand that I will never put up with this kind of shit from you or any other kid that is lucky enough to hang out with Lizzie.”

  Jonathan had not been seeing Lizzie very long at this point, so it was not likely that he’d be a permanent fixture around the Bishop household, but I appreciated his immediate response.

  “Don’t worry about me, Doctor Bishop,” he replied. “That dude is acting like a total jerk! You’ll never have to put up with that kind of behavior from me. Honestly, I thought you were about to deck him, and I wouldn’t have blamed you a bit.”

  Having had a few moments to reflect on the situation at this point, Mandy was able to see that my response to Brandon had not been purely motivated by a desire to assert my dominance over the other males in my home. She realized that I was sticking up for her, Ryan, and the rest of our family, and making it clear that, even though we were a very laid back family that drank and cussed and told off color jokes, there were certain lines that could not be crossed when speaking or demonstrating a certain attitude toward us. She said, “Well, thank you for not allowing someone to disrespect me and the kids. You are going to have to talk to Ryan, though. I’m sure she is not happy with you right now. She is the one who will have to deal with Brandon’s bruised ego. Hopefully, she’ll finally see what a jackass he is and put him in the wind.”

  “Alrighty then,” I declared, “I think it’s time to move on. I believe that Jonathan, Corey, and I have some ice cream sundaes to prepare before we start cleaning up the kitchen. Right guys?”

  The boys immediately affirmed their agreement by jumping out of the pool and grabbing towels to dry off with.

  “Ladies, we will now start taking your dessert orders,” I said. “Mandy, would you like to begin?”

  Chapter 18

  I was headed to Dallas to meet Hank for a Mavericks game. We had both become avid fans and had made a habit of going to at least one home game every month during basketball season. The team had been kicking ass and it looked like they had a good chance at making it to the NBA Finals. As I approached the city, I could see the Dallas skyline lit up in front of me. Traffic was flowing well, and I had the music cranked up. Metallica was belting out their high energy, heavy metal version of ‘Turn the Page,’ and I was singing along with James Hetfield as he sang about life on the road for a rock superstar. As usual, I felt like I was totally nailing every note and was thinking I might have to add it to my list of songs that I might someday sing on karaoke night. It’s true, much to the embarrassment of Mandy and whoever else was along. I love a good karaoke bar and would always immediately put my name on the list for at least a couple of songs. I was, a bona fide karaoke dork. I don’t kid myself that I can sing well, but I totally dig getting up on stage and giving a memorable performance, complete with facial expressions and hip-hop hand gestures, when appropriate. Mind you, I said memorable, not good, but I do think that my songs are entertaining. At least to a crowd of drunken idiots, like me. I’ll admit that I normally look ridiculous as I wail on my air guitar and strain to hit the right notes, but I figure dipshits should be allowed to have fun just like everyone else. So, in order to be ready for my next karaoke opportunity, I always kept a running list of good, potential karaoke songs on my phone. As I drove into the big city that night, I mentally added ‘Turn the Page’ to my list. Mandy was going to be so excited!

  As Metallica’s final guitar notes faded into the night, the next song began with a loud church bell gong and I immediately recognized the lead in to ‘Hell’s Bells’ by AC/DC. The rock fest would continue, or so I thought.

  As if fate wanted to deny me the heavy metal tale of a rocker who was poetically celebrating his journey to Satan’s lair, my frickin’ phone rang. Bummed out, I looked at my phone to see who was interrupting my jam session. I was pleased to see that it was Ryan. I’ll trade an AC/DC jam for a call from the oldest member of my posterity any day, so I picked up the phone and said, “Hello, you have reached Angus Young of AC/DC, how can I help you?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, “I was trying to reach Tom Petty. Do you happen to have his number, or can you transfer me?” What a pistol! There was definitely no mix up in the nursery when this kid arrived.

  “Nicely played, young lady. Not even a delay. You really know how to make your old man proud,” I replied. “You know all I’ve ever wanted for you is to be quick witted and as much of a smartass as your old Papa Bear. You are really coming along. Oh, and all that success you’ve had in your educational and professional pursuits is kinda’ cool too.”

  “Well, I’m glad that I’ve not disappointed you too much, then. Seriously, though, how are you? What are you up to?”

  “I’m headed to see the Mavericks with good old Hanky. We are going to get some burgers at Angry Dog in Deep Ellum first. Maybe even a beer or two.”

  “Does that bar serve fine wines so Hank can impress everyone with his vast knowledge of the best wine producing regions of central and northern France?” she sarcastically asked. Ryan had been around Hank many times when he had given an impromptu vinology lecture at a social gathering. Although she loved him like a favorite uncle, I knew that she shared my impression of Hank as a blowhard and an attention whore.

  “Actually, they decided to eliminate their wine list in order to focus more on their selection of body shots and appetizers covered in chili and nacho cheese.” Ryan and the rest of the family had accompanied me to Angry Dog many times. This place had a rowdy, sports bar atmosphere and offered some of the best, if not the healthiest, selections of burgers, hot dogs, sandwiches, fries, and other culinary masterpieces. And no, they did not have a wine list, nor should they. Hank would be out of luck for this meal.

  “Well, I guess I won’t be scheduling my rehearsal dinner there.”

  “Wait, rehearsal dinner? You didn’t really get engaged, did you? Tell me that dipshit didn’t really propose to you. I thought I had dreamt all of that. He couldn’t have popped the question before coming to ask for my blessing.” Of course, I’d already made this point several times since they had gotten engaged two months
earlier. This conversation was quickly taking an ugly and upsetting turn.

  “Daddy, please don’t call Brandon names. I know you guys got off on the wrong foot, but he really is great, and I know you and Mom are going to love him once you really get to know him. He knows he screwed up by not doing the ‘proper’ thing and asking for your blessing.”

  “Um hmm,” is all I could muster at the moment.

  “Well, we are both really happy. I know that he’s given you a bad impression of him, but he really is the one for me.”

  “Well, I don’t think that you are suddenly going to care about what Mom and I think of him, so let’s drop this part of the conversation. I’m just about to get off I-30, so I don’t have a lot of time to chit chat about jackass megalomaniac—oops, I mean potential husbands for my daughters. What can I do for you? Unfortunately, I don’t get the impression that you were calling for relationship advice.”

  “Correct. Okay, so I have my OB/GYN test coming up in two weeks. Brandon is out at a business dinner tonight, so I figured I could get some studying in. I just have a few questions about fetal circulation and the changes that occur at birth.” So, we talked for a few more minutes and I was able to clear up some confusion Ryan had about the complex series of physiologic changes that occur in the cardiovascular system of an infant at the time of birth. I had really come to love the opportunities I had to share my medical knowledge with her as she progressed through her medical education. I knew that Ryan really appreciated the way I was able to break down a topic and explain it in the way she would best understand it. For her part, she soaked up the information like a sponge and I knew she would subsequently be able to retain it and put it to good use when the opportunity arose. It was really cool to be able to share this with her. We finished up our conversation as I pulled into one of several public parking lots in the progressively gentrified area in eastern downtown Dallas known as Deep Ellum, where I would be joining Hank for our pregame feast of burgers and beers. Ryan expressed her gratitude for my tutelage, and I told her how proud I was of her. I hung up with a smile on my face and a warm feeling that Ryan was going to have a successful career.