Enjoying all the memories. Some of you might enjoy this story. The Doctors Son by Harold Eppley Copyright, 2000 Reprinted from Chicken Soup for the Soul: Teens Talk Growing Up I grew up in a small town in northern Vermont. I suppose its a typical small town—a few houses, lots of trees and a business district consisting of a dozen stores, two restaurants, three service stations and a doctors office. Like most villages in rural Vermont, Enosburg is a community where neighbors greet each other by name. Even now, although Ive lived elsewhere for nearly twenty years, the residents of Enosburg still welcome me with a smile. Doctor Eppleys son is back, they say. My parents moved to Vermont when I was still an infant. A soft-spoken man, my father settled quietly into his medical practice. Within a few months the people of Enosburg accepted him as one of their own. Word passes quickly in small Vermont towns. They know good people when they meet them. Around town the neighbors greeted my father as Doc Eppley. And I soon learned that as long as I lived in Enosburg I would always be known as Doctor Eppleys son. On the first day of school, my classmates crowded around me because I was the doctors son. If youre anything like your father, youll be a smart boy, my first-grade teacher said. I couldnt stop beaming. Throughout the first years of my life, I never tired of letting others know that my father was one of the towns most respected citizens. Somewhere in the midst of my teenage years, however, something changed. I was sixteen years old and the neighbors still called me Doctor Eppleys son. They said that I was growing up to be an honorable and industrious young man, living an honest life just like my father. I groaned whenever I heard their compliments. I wondered how I would ever fit in with my teenage friends. Having a popular father worked to my advantage when I was younger, but now that I was in high school my fathers good name seemed like an ugly shadow that followed me wherever I went. And so when strangers asked me if I was Doctor Eppleys son I replied emphatically, My name is Harold. And I can manage quite well on my own. As an act of rebellion, I began to call my father by his first name, Sam. Why are you acting so stubborn lately? my father asked me one day in the midst of an argument. Well, Sam, I replied, I suppose that bothers you. You know it hurts me when you call me Sam, my father shouted. Well, it hurts me when everybody expects me to be just like you. I dont want to be perfect. I want to be myself. I survived my last years of high school until finally I turned eighteen. The next fall I enrolled in college. I chose to attend a school far from Enosburg, a place where nobody called me Doctor Eppleys son because nobody knew my father. One night at college I sat with a group of students in the dormitory as we shared stories about our lives. We began to talk about the things we hated most about our childhoods. Thats easy, I said. I couldnt stand growing up in a town where everybody always compared me to my father. Just once, Id like to be known as someone other than Doctor Eppleys son. The woman sitting next to me frowned. I dont understand, she said. Id be proud to have a father whos so well respected. Her eyes filled with tears as she continued, Id give anything to be called my fathers child. But I dont know where he is. He left my mother when I was four years old. There was an awkward silence, and then I changed the subject. I wasnt ready to hear that womans words. I returned home for winter break that year feeling proud of myself. In four months at college, I had made a number of new friends. I had become popular in my own right, without my fathers help. My parents marveled at how much I had changed. For two weeks I enjoyed being back in Enosburg. The main topic of interest at home was my fathers new car. Let me take it out for a drive, I said. My father agreed, but not without his usual warning, Be careful. I glared at my father. Sam, Im sick of being treated like a child. Im in college now. Dont you think I know how to drive a car? I could see the hurt in my fathers face, and I remembered how much he hated it whenever I called him Sam. All right then, he replied. The keys are in the kitchen. I hopped into the car and headed down the road, savoring the beauty of the Vermont countryside. I drove a few miles and then stopped at a busy intersection in a nearby town. As I stepped on the accelerator my mind was wandering, and I failed to hear the screech of brakes in front of me. I only heard a thud as I reacted too late. The woman in the car I had struck jumped out of her vehicle unhurt. You idiot! she screamed. Why didnt you look where you were going? I peered through the windshield and surveyed the damage. Both cars had sustained serious dents. I sat there like a guilty child as the woman continued with her barrage of insults. Its your fault, she shouted. I couldnt protest. My knees began to shake. I choked back my tears. The womans words came so quickly that I didnt know what to do. Do you have insurance? Can you pay for this? Who are you? she kept asking. Who are you? I panicked and without thinking shouted, Im Doctor Eppleys son. I sat there stunned. I couldnt believe what I had just said. Almost immediately, the womans frown became a smile of recognition. Im sorry, she replied, I didnt realize who you were. An hour later, I drove my fathers battered new car back home. With my head down and my knees still shaking, I trudged into the house and handed the keys to my father. I explained what had happened. Are you hurt? he asked. No, I replied solemnly. Good, he answered. Then he turned and headed toward the door. Harold, he said as he was leaving, Hold your head up. Theres no need for you to slouch. That night was New Years Eve, and my family attended a small party with friends to celebrate the beginning of another year. When midnight arrived people cheered and greeted each other with laughter. Across the room I saw my father. I stepped toward him. My father and I rarely hug. But recalling the days events, I wrapped my arms around his shoulders. And I spoke his real name for the first time in years. I said, Thank you, Dad. Happy New Year. haroldeppley
Posted on: Sat, 02 Aug 2014 17:02:43 +0000
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