She always wanted a different life. A tall, thin, Russian beauty, her focus was on her physical appeal, which the genetic Gods conspired to give to her in abundance. That led to her winning local pageants, but also a few bigger titles. She won Miss Pittsburg, and that led to a whirlwind romance with my father. When they got together, his family already owned Countrywide Insurance, one of the largest insurance companies in the country.
They weren’t always so legit, but by the time my father was in his twenties, he was a second generation immigrant and the family had given up most of the bootlegging, enforcement and darker sides of their underground businesses and traded up for the more acceptable sort of American dream. They started in the steel mills of Philadelphia, then other legitimate businesses followed creating an empire of sorts among the Kozlov’s who arrived here in American with little more than a bag of tattered clothes and a drive to succeed.
It was the fairy tale my mother always wanted.
Enter her first and only child, arriving just a short eight months from the date of their wedding. What my parents lacked in love for each other, they made up for in a fierce drive for acceptance into the upper class so their roots of poverty could be forever forgotten.
I came into the world hell-bent on not following in the family footsteps of three-piece suits and board meetings. Country clubs and golf.
Expectations and bullshit.
Instead, after college—which I completed as a favor to my grandparents more than anything—I took a job at a local machine shop and learned to weld.
Turns out, I fucking loved it.
I thought my mother was going to have a breakdown. Her only son, heir to a national insurance and investment conglomerate and a fortune into the hundreds of millions, working manual labor? Isn’t that what her parents and grandparents left, to come here to American and make it big?
I was supposed to want the Mercedes. The cigar and vodka lunches at the downtown steakhouse. The invitations to the upper-crust events of polite society that make us feel like we belong. What was I doing as a welder?
Doesn’t matter that I’ve made myself into a success on my own terms. I own my business. I have close to a hundred employees. Since I have almost zero social life, I’ve made investing my side gig and if I so chose, I could have all the trappings of what my parents view as success, I just don’t see the point.
Still, the scandal of it all nearly drove my parents mad.
“Your grandfather is going to be the guest of honor.” My mother goes for the jugular. “Would be such a shame if his one and only grandson, home for Christmas, didn’t even come to the event honoring him.”
Roan gives me an amused, sympathetic look, raising an eyebrow on a tight smile. He and I are not blood related, but we’ve been mistaken for brothers more times than I can count. The only big difference between us now is my face is covered with a thick brown beard in contrast to his two-day scruff.
I rub my forehead, knowing I’ve been bamboozled.
But there’s no way I’d bring any shame to my grandfather. He’s the one that taught me the values that led me to my life now. Because of him I know how to bait a hook, work a hard day’s labor, fix a carburetor and be proud of my accomplishments, even if they don’t stand up to someone else’s expectations.
He also taught me to treat women with respect. How waiting for the right one to come along can pay off in spades. I didn’t always believe him, but as time went on my doubt faded away. Unfortunately, inching toward my fortieth birthday, I’m coming to believe the right one may not be in the cards for me.
Years ago I dated here and there. Thinking if I just gave it time that feeling my grandfather always told me about would suddenly, magically appear. Didn’t happen. I cared for some of them. I liked them. Didn’t wish them ill.
But, that thing? Nyet, and at least for me, without that, year after year my interest in looking for hidden treasure became less and less.
So, I work. Hard. I also weld for the art of it. I do a few big weekend juried art shows each summer. Takes me months to create some of my largest sculptures and I have commissions coming in every week, no matter how high I raise my prices. I’ve taken a different road, but it’s made all the difference for me.
My bank account is in solid shape, even if I’ve turned down my father’s offer to come work at Countrywide, and by so doing, I would be rewarded with a trust fund that could support a small city.