Tuesday, October 30, 2018
The Chosen by Chaim Potok
So my son thinks I don't understand him. He comes over the other day and he says he wants to talk. I can see where this is going a mile away, and I am in no mood. I do my best to refrain from interrupting as he is talking about his relationships with his students, his book, yadda yadda. He tells me that he just came from giving a lecture, and at that point I can't resist so I tell him that surely he didn't because he has a big hole in his shirt. I assume that is part of the mad genius professor look he is trying to cultivate, and I kindly refrain from giving advice about why people who are going bald shouldn't have long hair. My kindness is overlooked as usual, however, and he starts to rant, yelling "This is what I'm talking about!" and other pointless criticisms. Eventually, he leaves me a pile of books and walks out in a huff, so I win! And he thinks I don't understand him, but he's got it all wrong. I knew he was going in for the mushy father/son bullshit, and I knew what exactly what he was going to say, and I didn't want any part of it, and I knew just how to make him stop. So how's that for understanding? I mean, in this book, the father didn't talk to his kid for like 10 years! So I think I'm not so bad after all.