佚名/Anonymous
I listened to them while I ate my breakfast, a young boy and a man, apparently father and son, on the other side of the wall in the smoking section of the restaurant. The boy's voice seemed small and quiet, in that awkward range between childhood and puberty. The man's voice boomed abnormally loud in contrast.
The man had done nothing during all that time but denigrate his son, belittling him for wanting to lift weights, for wanting to read his father's newspaper, for every thing he did and said.“Jerk,”I thought, then was overwhelmed by a wash of pity for the boy, always seeking and never winning his father's approval. Couldn't this man see what he was doing to his son?
“I think I can do it,”the boy mumbled in that dull, beaten-down tone. I could visualize him, looking down at the table, maybe blushing. His father laughed, cruelly it seemed to me. It was a laugh that told me that he had no confidence in his son's abilities as clearly as any words could have.
“You ain't smart enough,”he told the boy disparagingly, and there was another peal of mocking laughter.
I wondered then what kind of life that boy would have. He must already have suffered enough disapproval for a lifetime. With so consistent a message that he was a failure, how could he ever be expected to succeed?
On an afternoon with nothing but sports on television, my mom and I had watched a documentary on one of the first students who'd shot up a high school, killing his parents beforehand. The documentary pointed out that he had consistently failed at everything he'd tried, but despite his shortcomings his parents had been unflaggingly supportive. He'd simply snapped when he lost his girlfriend, broken under the weight of his failures. In his own words,“I was tired of letting everyone down.”
If that kid, from a loving, nurturing family could go berserk, what should we expect from boys like the one in the next room, constantly belittled by his father?