"No, Dad, you have to put the total amount into the register before the drawer opens. We've been over this three times now!"
"Well, I obviously didn't understand the first three times, now, did I?!" Roberto argued as he stood over the register, scratching his head. He had been going over the ropes with his son for the past hour, and it wasn't helping either of them much.
"-sigh- Dad, haven't you ever used a cash register before?"
"Well, yeah! Just not like this old thing…" he said, pressing the keys and fiddling with the knobs. "I mean, how old IS this piece of junk?"
"Don't ask me, I just work here…"
Roberto sat on the stool behind the counter, letting out an exasperated sigh.
"This is hopeless, hijo. I don't know how to use the register, I can't stack the deliveries… hell, I don't even know how to sign off on the mango guys shipments!"
He put his head into his hands, letting out a groan.
"I don't know how to do anything right…"
Bobby, sensing the disappointment in his dad, kneeled beside him.
"You just need practice, Dad. It took me ages to get the hang of all this… don't think that any of it's easy!"
Roberto looked up, narrowing his eyes in suspicion
"Why do you even care, hijo?"
"Well, I mean, Grandpa DID assign me to help you with-"
"No, not with helping me!" he said, standing up. "I mean, why do you care about ME? I mean, I haven't been here in ages, haven't done anything, and yet you call me 'dad' like nothing has changed! What gives?"
Bobby was alarmed at his fathers change in nature. He usually wasn't this paranoid… he was most always laid back and relaxed.
He took a deep breath and began to talk to Roberto, making sure he didn't say anything that could send him off.
"Listen, I'll call you whatever you want, alright? Roberto, Dad, it doesn't matter to me. What DOES matter, though, is your attitude. What's the problem?"
The fire in Robertos eyes dimmed to a smolder. He sat back down on the stool, and closing his eyes, began a tirade of stress relief.
"The PROBLEM, Bobby, is that I don't know how to do this! The register, the job, the whole dad thing, I'm lost! I've been going around the world for ten years, never worrying about anything like this up until now, and I just don't know if I can keep doing it! I love you and Ronalda, Bobby, I do, but… I don't know how to show it to you two…"
They both sat in silence for a few moments before Bobby began to talk again.
"I don't think you're TOTALLY lost, Dad. You've been trying to form bonds, I think… with the ice cream and the walks and-"
"No, no… I can't buy my way into your life, kid. I don't want to do that. I can buy you as much ice cream and as many corn dogs as you want, but that's not gonna make you love me any more than you do! Ronalda made that clear to me-"
"Ronnie Anne is too tough for her own good, you know that…"
"I DO know that! But…"
He stood up and walked over to the counter, putting his elbows on the smooth linoleum.
"I just feel like I'm doing it wrong… like I'm missing something. I know I can't make you guys love me in a day, not even in weeks or months. I just… I just want a map. T-To figure out how to do this."
He looked away from his son and towards the door, which gave Bobby an opening to jump up and put his elbows next to his.
"You know, Dad, I worry just as much as you do."
"-pfft- Oh, really?" he asked, turning to him with an amused smile. "You worry about taxes and child support?"
"Well, no… but I worry about other things. Like school, work, schoolwork, girls, all of that. It's stressful. I know."
"You're telling me…"
"But you know what you gotta do when you get stressed out?"
He pondered for a minute before opening his mouth again.
"Alright, you got me, kid. What's the secret?"
"Glad you asked," Bobby said, standing up. "All you gotta do is breathe."
Roberto raised an eyebrow at his sons secret.
"You're kidding, right?"
"Absolutely not! Why would I be kidding?"
"I don't know… it just seems so STUPID, you know? Like, you breathe everyday. I'm breathing right now, and I sure as hell don't feel relaxed!"
"Oh, dad…" Bobby chuckled, taking his seat again. "I'm not talking normal breaths. I'm talking DEEP ones. Like, inhale exhale, stuff like that. You get it?"
"No… no, not really, but if you say so…"
Roberto took a deep breath in, sucking air into his chest and exhaling when he couldn't hold any more. He sat there, eyes wide as if he had seen a ghost.
"That…"
"Was awesome, right?"
"That was probably the stupidest thing I've done today..."
Bobbys face fell faster than a safe stuffed with bricks off a cliff.
"But... it helped."
Roberto smiled at his confused son, who had raised both his eyebrows.
"Kid, you're going places. You're a people person, you know that?"
"So I've been told…"
"Well, you were told right," Roberto declsred, standing up. "You have good people skills, hijo. You'd be a good reporter. Or a radio announcer… OR a wrestling analyst! Yeah! Roberto Santiago, Jr, professional wrestling commentator! I can see it in headlines now!"
As Roberto rambled on about his sons people skills, Bobby sat with a beaming grin. No one had ever really told him he was good at… well, ANYTHING. And you know what? It felt… GOOD. As if he could do anything… if it only took one person to motivate you, then nothing was off limits!
"-and a doctor, even! There's nothing you can't do, Bobby! The world is your oyster, kid! And you have big things, MEGA things-"
"Dad?"
"GIGANTIC- oh. What, kid?"
Bobby looked down at his hands, almost as if he was embarrassed to ask what he was asking.
"Why… why are you so confident in me?"
Roberto stood puzzled.
"Well, why wouldn't I be?"
"I don't know… I've just, well, never really been told all of this. It's kind of weird for you to barely know me and hype me up so much, you know?"
Roberto thought about that for a while. After a minute of thinking, he walked over and sat next to Bobby, putting a hand on his shoulder.
"Kid, you're better than me, you know that?"
Bobby looked at his dad as if he had eaten a porcupine quill.
"Don't sat that, Dad. I'm no better than you at-"
"Yes you are, Junior… can I call you that? I feel like that's a good name for ya."
"Yeah, sure. Whatever works…"
"Sweet. Anyways… you've got a better life than I'll ever have. You have a bright future ahead of you. Something I can't say about me or your mother…"
"Mom does good for herself and us, though-"
"And she does a damn good job of that," he said, furrowing his brow. "Your mother works hard for you two because I didn't. That's another reason you're better than me; I never cared. You do. That girl you told me about at lunch the other day, Lori? She's lucky to have you, junior."
"Geez…"
"You're going to college in the fall. Nobody on my side of the family did that. Your mother's side has all the smart people, that's where you get it from…"
"And Ronnie Anne?"
"Uhh…" he said, scratching his head. "Ronalda is more impulsive, I think the word is… that's my side of the family. She goes off emotion instead of intelligence. She's a spitting image of her abuela, my mom…"
"Dad, I know I'm asking a lot of questions right now, but… uhh…"
"Yeah? Spit it out, kid, I don't want you choking on words…"
"What did you want to be? You know, growing up?"
The elder Santiago put his head down, smirking. He gave off the feeling that he didn't want to tell him… but he did.
"I, uh… promise not to tell anyone?"
"Promise. What is it?"
"I… wanted to work in a funeral home," he said, rubbing his shoulder in embarrassment. "I wanted to be a mortician… my grades told me otherwise, though. I went into wrestling, instead… not saying that was a worse choice, but it certainly wasn't the safest. I enjoyed wrestling, but it wasn't really right for me, you know?"
"Yeah, I get that…" Bobby said as he stood up and walked over to the register. "I've had 12 jobs and I don't feel like I'm good at any of them…"
"Kid, you're 18. Rome wasn't built in a day, you know. Your calling isn't gonna jump out and bite you in the ass. You gotta find it in the dirt and mud. What's your major in college gonna be?"
"Uhh… I'm undecided."
"Hey, that's fine," Roberto said, raising his hands in the air as if to surrender. "You just haven't figured it all out yet. You will."
"How do you know that?"
"...Gee, you're full of questions, huh?" he asked, walking to his son. "… I know because you're my son. And I think, no, I KNOW, that you can do whatever you want with your life. And whatever it is, your mother, Ronalda and I will be proud of you."
Bobby smiled, and opening his arms, embraced his father. They let go after a second as the doorbell rang, a customer walking in.
"Alright, Dad, you think you can handle this one? I have to go take inventory…"
"No problem, Junior," Roberto said as he sat down at the register. "I'll figure this thing out sooner than later…"
He was still trying to figure it out by the time Bobby turned the corner and got out of his sight. And to himself, he smiled.
So THAT was what having a dad was like...