Mr. New Jersey Part III

Ten years later

Shortly after commencement, a redheaded, slightly hunched, thirty-nine-year-old man slouched in. It was Mr. New Jersey in person. Ten years older than at our last meeting. He motioned to the piano stool, I nodded, he sat and surveyed the office. Not much had changed. The enormous Japanese Geisha parasol still covered most of the ceiling; the shelves were crammed with hand puppets; production posters covered the walls and the costume rack overflowed with Children’s Theatre colors.

He scanned the production chaos purposefully. His eyes stop searching when they saw the slightly faded baseball picture of dad. He smiled wistfully and tried a sympathy ploy, “I got fired a few days ago so I came for advice.”

I loathed arrested development. “How do you expect me to help? You argue rather than embrace change and you’re too arrogant to admit your mistakes.”

He stared without a word. I responded in kind. We stayed that way as the clock ticked. Knowing that his time was running out, he reached for my baseball photo of dad. “You once found the time to teach me through his stories.”

Realizing he was manipulating for much-needed attention, I replied, “You were my student then, you aren’t now.”

“OK, you’re right.” He avoided my eyes. “Every time I got a new job I failed. I finally realize that I  blamed others for my inability to relate to people. I even got in an altercation with a dishwasher. ”

I exploded, stood and took Dad’s picture away from him. “You were in a position of leadership. You had to work harder than anyone else, know every employee by name, know the names of their children, their wives. Dad always took a sincere interest in all his employees. He always whistled “Fly me to the moon” as he walked through the club. When I asked him why he always whistled the same song he told me it was to alert the employees that the manager was on his way. He never wanted to catch anyone goofing off, because he hated the thought of yelling or disciplining people. He was a fabulous inspiration to those around him.”

Mr. New Jersey replied slowly. “I tried to trap them so I could discipline them. It made me feel superior"

“That is absolutely ridiculous, that’s no way to ‘win friends and influence people’. Now there’s a book you should study. I looked at the clock. “I’m heading home. Call me when you’re ready to listen to some truths about yourself. Oh, and lock the door on your way out.”

After a summer of travel I returned to find an envelope stapled to my office door. It contained a stick figure drawing of a girl in floor length dress. Holding her hand was a balding man. I turned it over and found a stick figure of a left-handed baseball player. Under the picture was written, Sorry, but I need him more than you ever needed that dress.

I entered my office and stopped. The picture frame was empty. That impervious man/child needed a father so much that he had stolen mine.