After my mother's death, my father became stricter and more stubborn towards Elizabeth and I. He kept reminding us that we needed a mother in our lives, but for some odd reason, he never remarried. Perhaps the loss of my mother was too great for him. I was sent back to my boarding school, and Elizabeth was enrolled in a local academy for girls. I started to notice a strange feeling inside of my body. For some reason, the girls who strolled past my father's house in the summer seemed beautiful to me. During the summer holiday of my 12th year, my father sent for me. As I sat in his office, my father paced about the room, feverishly smoking his pipe.

"Christian, there comes a time in every man's life when…" he started, but stopped to regain his thoughts.

"When what Father?" I asked. I wasn't completely sure what he was talking about.

"Son, it's time that you learned about…" he started again, but stopped.

"Father, do you want to talk to me about the special relationship between men and women?" I finally asked, seeing a look of relief and surprise on my father's face.

"Yes, unless you have something to say." He responded.

"Oh Dad, I already know all about it. What do you think I do in the library at school and here? You have all those medical books upstairs and they have some at school. When there is nothing else to read, I look at them." I told my father, who sat behind his desk with a stern look on his face.

"Very well then, um… why don't you go work on your mathematics." He said, looking through his papers.

I nodded and headed back to my room. As always, summer vacation wasn't about relaxing and going on trips to the beach or visiting family, it was about getting extra school work done and complying with my father's will.

One beautiful late-June morning, my Uncle Rupert came back from holiday in America. Even though he was technically poor, my father allowed him to go to foreign countries so that he didn't have to deal with his younger brother. My uncle had spent a few months in Pennsylvania, visiting a friend of his. He returned home with a million stories, and we sat in the garden as he told them to me.

"Christian, you are so young." He said when he had finished.

"I'm not that young, Uncle. Soon I'll be eighteen." I remarked.

"But not soon enough. Oh, I wish I could take you on some adventures with me. Your father would never allow it though. Plus, you have school." He responded with a sigh.

"My father would allow it if it was educational, wouldn't he?"

"Christian, you see, your father thinks that I am a bad influence on you. He thinks that one of these days, you're going to spontaneously get up and go somewhere, like me."

I sat back in the lawn chair, deep in thought. I didn't think that my uncle was a bad person. In fact, I thought the opposite. He lived life the way he wanted to. It seemed as though nothing held him back, and he came and went as he pleased.

As it turned out, my uncle was right. My father sat me down and told me about his feelings towards my uncle. He scolded me and told me that I should stay focused on the family business instead of "foolish dreams" as he put it. I didn't have any foolish dreams at that time, but I had a feeling this wouldn't be the first time we had this discussion.

I was correct in my assumption. On the eve of my 16th birthday, my father confronted me with a handshake and informed me that I would be attending a business school that year instead of the boarding school. In my heart, I had been hoping that I could keep attending the boarding school. They were offering a new course that year, 'Writing'. I figured that, since I enjoyed the works of William Shakespeare and the Ancient Greek and Roman writers, I would find the course interesting. When my father heard that I wanted to take the course, we had the 'foolish dreams' lecture once more.

"Christian James, what am I going to do with you? You are sixteen years old and you still want to continue being a child!"

"What are you talking about? All I want to do is take a writing course!"

"That's just it, Christian. Writing is something that you take when you are a child so you can learn how to hold a pen."

"Not this kind of writing Father. The course teaches you how to write stories and poetry. I find that very interesting."

"What are you saying? Are you telling me you'd rather waste your time on silly verses then on the family business? It's time to act your age and you social status, Christian. A young man in this type of society should be focusing on matters like keeping the business in the family!"

"But that's not what I want!" I shouted. There, I had said it. I was tired of following his orders.

My father turned away from me, shaking his head, "Damn those rebellious years!"

"I'm not being rebellious!" I shouted again.

"Yes, you are. You will go to business school and you will inherit the business. I'll have no more on the subject until the day I hand it over to you." He said, opening the door and showing me out.

Little did my father know, but I had a plan of my own. I was going to go to business school, but I was also going to take the writing course. For once, I was glad that I had spent some time getting to know my teachers. It wouldn't be a problem to take the course on the weekends, and since I was a fast learner, I figured it wouldn't be very difficult to catch up to the other pupils.