– Acting! – I said, with the firmest voice I could muster, to mask the nervous rush going through my body. – I want to study acting, Dad.
-That is not even a major, Grey; that’s a hobby! – he yelled, getting up from his chair to grab another glass of bourbon, masking a very different kind of nervous rush. – How would you even study that?
I never liked talking to my dad about anything that was remotely important to me. He had a way of making any dream or idea I had seem foolish or childish. He always found a way to make it seem impractical or inconceivable. He was a naturally agitated man who got nervous fast. Being nervous for him meant throwing things against the wall and yelling until his voice got hoarse. For me, it meant wanting to evaporate and get as far away from his line of sight as possible.
-Besides, you already have a place in the family business, which will be all yours to run one day.
There it was—the sentence I dreaded most. It always came down to that: my duty, my legacy. I had known this speech for as long as I could remember. It was engraved so deeply in my brain that it had become a pillar of my identity.
Every time he said “yours to run,” it made me want to do just that. Run.
I could already feel my stomach turning with where this conversation was heading.
-That’s the thing, Dad. I don’t want to run the family business. I never have. – I whispered the words, as if saying them softly could make them hurt less—for him, or for me.
-That is nonsense! Since when? – he yelled, slamming the glass of bourbon onto the table so hard I flinched.
My dad rubbed his forehead and clenched his jaw, a clear sign of his irritation. Most of the time, that’s what I felt like to him—just an annoying child getting on his nerves.
-Running the family business is not just a job, Grey. – His voice was quieter now but heavy with finality. – This business is the family. Walking away from your role in it means walking away from everything.
He winced as he said it, his face contorted with disappointment, anger, and something else. Sadness? No, of course not. Not that I’d recognize it if it were.
-So, that is it, son. That is the choice you’re making.
His words hit like a punch to the gut. He couldn’t be serious, could he? Making me choose between my family and my dreams? But my dad wasn’t the joking type. I’d never heard him make a joke in his life.
It didn’t matter what I chose. Something would get left behind. But what could I bear to leave?
-I’m sorry, Dad.
________________________________________________________________________
“And scene.”
I blink rapidly as the actor in front of me, Dylan, gives me a small but proud smile. Slowly, I remember that I’m in character. This isn’t my dad. This isn’t that conversation.
It still hurts, to think of that day and how everything changed—for me, in me. I don’t know if there will ever be a day when the memory doesn’t feel like a tight fist clenching my heart.
I got so lost in the memory I forgot I’m not me right now.
Dylan is already moving to the side of the stage, clearly not paralyzed by this scene like I am. Of course not. It’s not meant to be that dramatic, just a heated exchange between father and son. He doesn’t know this scene like I do. He didn’t live it.
As the curtains begin to close, signaling a break between acts, I glance at the audience. Shaken, I manage a frail smile as my breathing calms—then catches. Right as the curtains meet, I see a familiar pair of navy-blue eyes, identical to my own.
There is something in them—I catch it for only a glimpse of a second—a mix of anger and pride.
And scene.