“I don’t want you to be sorry, Orion. I want you to do better. I need you to set an example to the younger members and the recruits. You’re gonna be their president one day and I want you to have already earned their respect.”
“Jesus, Dad. This shit again?”
He scowled. “The club and your future presidency is shit talk to you?”
“That’s not what I meant,” I said defensively before stopping and taking a deep breath, reaching for a calmer tone. “I hear you about the disrespect and you’re right. But if you continually treat me like a teenager, I’m gonna act like one.”
“Fair enough,” my father said before sitting down behind his desk. He motioned me towards the only other chair in his office and I sat. My father hated meetings. Outside of church, which he always kept as brief as possible, his conferences were always one-on-one. He believed in keeping the flow of information tight. It was one of the few things he and I agreed on.
“Look, it’s not that I don’t take the president’s patch seriously. It’s the exact opposite. It’s a big fucking deal. Especially when your old man is the club’s founder and president.”
“If you understand what the presidency means so well, then why don’t you want it?”
In all the times my father had talked about handing his patch down to me, I’d never detected a hint of urgency, until now.
“I didn’t say I didn’t want it, only that I don’t know right now. If I do take the patch it’ll be because it’s my choice to take it, not because I feel obligated to take it. Becoming president would have to be my decision and mine alone.”
“No decision belongs to you alone,” Dad countered. “Every decision you make affects other people. Sometimes in ways you can predict, but oftentimes, not. That’s the first thing you need to know about being president.”
I threw my hands up. “You’re a broken record,” I said with an exasperated smile.
“I’m also coming up to the end of side B,” he said in a tone that reached right through me and grabbed ahold of my spine.
“You’re notthatold,” I replied, trying to ignore the fist.
“The kind of cancer I got don’t especially care about that,” he said and the fist in my chest squeezed.
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Acute myelogenous leukemia. It’s aggressive and most patients don’t survive once it spreads to the organs,” my father said plainly. “Which it has.”
“Jesus, Dad. How long have you known about this?”
“Not long. Maybe a month.”
“A month! And I’m just hearing about this now?”
“Sure, we can make this all about you if that’s what you need.”
“Save the martyr shit. You should have fuckin’ told me about this right away,” I snapped.
“Well, now you know,” he replied matter-of-factly. “Not that it changes anything.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“What does it matter if I die if you’re not gonna take my patch?”
“Holy shit! You’re unbelievable,” I exclaimed. “First of all, the topic of whether or not I will ever wear the president’s patch is hereby tabled indefinitely.”
“Careful, you sound like you’re leadin’ church.”
“Secondly, you’re not fuckin’ dying,” I said flatly. “There’s shit the doctors can still do, right?”
“I started chemo last week.”
“You fuckin’ started chemo and didn’t tell me?”
“My oncologist said chemo had to start immediately.”
