THE WAFFLE BARN

I reached down to open the menu, but stopped myself from taking a peek. I had memorized the menu years ago and knew it was only logical to get some waffles from a restaurant called The Waffle Barn. My father and I had become well known amongst the wait staff due to our weekly visits. It also didn’t hurt that we managed to leave tips above the normal recommended percentile. These trips had turned more into an excuse to be alone with my dad, which was more difficult nowadays. I always insisted on picking up the check and after an hour or so I would leave with a filled stomach and another story to tell. My father could spin a yarn and today was no exception.

"Let me tell you something Charlie. I am not too enamored with where this country is headed. Thanks to this idiot in the White House my boys in the military are out they’re killing themselves for a cause that only fools believe in. If I was running this country I would. . ."

"Let me guess, Dad. You would let the military do their jobs and you would tell all the bleeding heart liberals and right-wing conservatives to stick it," I said sarcastically.

My father had a way of looking at a person to communicate his displeasure. It was his way of saying are you an idiot without actually saying the words. I was on the receiving end of this look on more than one occasion in my life and today was no exception. Not that I went out of my way to provoke him, but it also was fairly amusing to get a rise out of the old man. After two heart attacks he rarely got the opportunity to show much passion for anything and who could blame him. I would not be in a hurry to raise my own heart rate after going through what he had gone through.

"What can I bring you today?" asked Sarah, one of our regular waitresses.

"Two orders of Belgium waffles, one with strawberry topping and the other with some maple syrup. Add two cups of coffee and we will be all set," I responded.

"You do realize we serve more than waffles at this place don’t ya?" quipped Sarah.

"Not to be too cliched, but if it ain’t broke why fix it?" I stated.

Sarah walked away smiling and shaking her head.

I couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride as I sat with my father in recent trips to The Waffle Barn. I had many conversations with him in the past few years of my life that were filled with depression and self-doubt. I can’t say that I had managed to pull myself together through these breakfast therapy sessions, but it certainly didn’t hurt either.

"What’s wrong with you Charlie?" barked my father.

"I was just daydreaming is all. You know how I get when I am fresh out of bed and starving," I proclaimed.

"That’s not what I mean and you know it Charlie."

I sensed anger in my father’s voice as I listened to him berate me with a speech that I could only guess he had been practicing for quite some time.

"You are 29 years old. You have been telling me the same sad tales for 3 years now. Ever since you moved into that place with those two roommates you have regressed. What happened to you? Life is not about watching all the latest TV shows. Your best friend is your dog for God’s sake. I have to believe that no one has ever done spoken to you in this manner. I have share in the blame on that one cause I guess I assumed you were not in need of this kind of treatment. You use to be so poised and mature. I thought that if I laid back and let you figure it out then it would all work out. Any man who makes something of themselves in life has to stand on there own two feet and be accounted for as a contributing member of society. You have sat around acting like the world is going to hand you the blueprint."

In the midst of my father’s rant I found myself just nodding my head as I blankly stared through his eyes.

"Your mother and I just wanted to give you guidance and show you the many options you had in life. Instead of taking a chance and going down one of the roads we presented you we had to sit by and watch you sit in the stands and watch the parade pass your lazy-ass by. Doesn’t all of this bother you? And by this I mean the constant aid you have to get in order to attain any kind of semblance of a normal life. Granted, you are not hurting any one. You also are not helping. It is as if you enjoy just existing. Witness the world and write an anonymous Internet diary about the life you are not living. Do you strive for mediocrity?

Sarah, our waitress, inadvertently cut off my father to present our meals. I politely thanked her and watched my father dig right in to his plate of waffles. I had to say something and forgo my sweet tooth for the moment.

"Do you have any idea how long I have waited for you to give me a talking to like that Dad?

I looked up from my plate at my father. I could see the confusion on his face. My statement had my father waiting with baited breath.

"I guess I got your full attention seeing as how you left those waffles alone so I will try to answer some of those questions you just posed. I have never been a situation where I just had to get my work done or else. Never! All I can do is thank all the people around me in my life that have given me a safety net throughout my life. That said, I know that I have no real motivation, self or otherwise, to get ahead in anything I do. I can see the good in doing work and getting out of life what you put into it. It just doesn’t stir me into action. It just doesn’t matter to me either way. All my decisions in life or all the things that have and do occur don’t effect me in extreme ways. The highest highs and the lowest lows produce the same reaction. I just shrug my shoulders. In my little world it doesn’t matter much to me and I tend to believe it doesn’t matter much to any of those people around me. I jump to that conclusion cause this is the first time in my life anyone cared enough to take a stand and put a mirror to my face to show me what I have become. I am a living, breathing memory. I am the guy people know through association with another person. I am Terry’s brother or Peter’s friend. Half the time people can’t even remember my name. It is as if I am just a ghost and I accepted this role many years ago."

My long-winded response had managed to capture my one-man audience. The waffles had cooled off and the coffee cups remained filled. Even our waitress had managed to sense the emotion at the diner table cause she avoided us for an extended period as I continued to express my frustrations to my father.

"I realize the exaggeration that is coming out of my mouth, but it feels very real to me on a daily basis. It is as if I appear for temporary moments in the day and have an interaction with someone and then just like that. Poof! Back to day dreaming my life away. I am always attaining goals years after they would have had any significance to my growth as a human being. All because I didn’t know what it really meant to do work. To really have to put forth an effort and sacrifice a part of my slacker lifestyle to find something of substance, so I can be more than just a worker ant. I can not tell how many times I have sat in my bedroom wondering if my parents know what a disappointment I think I am to them. Eternally waiting should be a motto I tattoo on my body to signify my self-awareness of what I truly am. Only now in this very moment with you Dad do I accept truths that have always been evident to me. It was just easy to deny the reality of how I live my life in fear of everything."

I turned my attention to Sarah as she tapped my shoulder and handed me the bill for the breakfast that managed to go unfinished. I could feel the pity she had for me as she walked away. I had become an excellent observer of body language and she exhibited many of the symptoms of a person who wants to help, but has no idea what to say to open that door. A lack of eye contact is a major giveaway. Sarah also brought her hand to her mouth as she handed me the check. Nervous habits or ticks rear their ugly head come times like this. It is difficult to act normal or relaxed when you just are a tense ball of misguided sympathy. The phrase most commonly uttered about me by first-time encounters with people is "poor guy." Unfortunately, I had managed to make long-time acquaintances have the same exact reaction more and more nowadays.

"Charlie. I have no cliched quote to guide you on the path in your life. Honestly, there is no right and wrong path. The only path that exists is the one you make for yourself. Apparently, you have been following the path left by others. A life worth living is one that hasn’t been lived before and won’t be lived afterwards. I know that is a load of crap, but it is also a lot more truth than fiction. You have to believe in something. Otherwise, you just go around playing a role. A never ending journey filed with loneliness and depression."

My father had made some valid points. I had always considered him a smart man, but even though he was saying the same things I had told myself many times in the past it just made more of an impact on me this day.

"What if I am too late? What if I can’t break the cycle? What if I am just a whole lot of lip service right now and back to my old ways come tomorrow? What do I do Dad?

I was anticipating a delayed, well-thought out response from my father. Instead I got a sudden impact.

"I can not tell you what to do. If I did then you would just be following the path I took. Or the path of someone I knew back in the day when I was a young man trying to figure it all out just like you are doing right now. My only advice to you right now is that you should never reach a point in life that makes you stop. Don’t ever stop and admire your work. That is the sin of the procrastinator."

"That is exactly what I do. I work hard to get 75 percent of the way and then I shut it all down to admire how far I have come in my journey to almost getting to the end of my temporary goal. I know I am always suppose to be growing and learning but become so enamored with myself that it sidetracks everything. A cycle of vanity that gets me running the same steps over and over again. I just have to become something. Being nothing is just an empty, meaningless life. At least if I try to be something I can say I was more than just a title someone else gave me."

I looked across the breakfast table at my father. He smiled and rose from his chair and stood next to me. I looked up at him as he placed his hand on my head. I felt like I was 4-years old again as he attempted to tussle my hairless head. I followed close behind and headed for the front counter to handle my bill. My waitress Sarah had her back to me as she spoke with one of her co-workers. I could not help but eavesdrop as I approached her. I heard her tell her co-worker that it broke her heart every time I came in to get breakfast. I heard Sarah wonder aloud if I was all alone since my father had died two years ago, yet I still managed to make weekly visits to The Waffle Barn without my father. As I turned to face Sarah I heard the co-worker ask rhetorically, "So that’s whom Charlie is talking to across his table?"

"Thanks again Sarah. Guess my eyes were more ambitious than my stomach. See you next week."

Sarah politely wished me farewell and I left without addressing the conversation I just heard her have supposedly behind my back. I prefer it this way cause I can still see my father every week at the same time. Guess I am still just waiting.