KELSO'S SWING, CHAPTER 9
BY DELL FRANKLIN
“I don’t know why you’ve come to hate success, Rick,” Ray Kelso told him.
Kelso and his dad sat in chaises in the shade beneath an umbrella on the patio area a few yards from the pool Kelso hated and had never been in because he was an ocean guy. His mother used it daily in countless laps and the sister used it when visiting and some relatives of May used it when they held parties, and sometimes at these parties Ray Kelso’s business associates and friends and their families used the pool he was so proud of, but in ten years Ray Kelso had only been in the pool three times. Even the dog had been in the pool.
Kelso, who never smoked his stubs while in the company of his father, watched the bar b cue issue small wisps of smoke. “I have no problem with success, dad, none whatsoever. It’s the exalted trappings of success that I find meaningless…and…well, needless, in most cases. Half the crap you got around here, you don’t need.”
“There’s nothing wrong with having a few nice things, quality things to make life easier, Rick.”
“I don’t want life to be easier, Dad. Besides, quality or not, when all is said and done, it’s all just junk and ends up as junk.”
“Jesus Christ,” Ray grumbled, shaking his head. “You’re too cynical. You’re unreasonable.” He sipped his martini. “Hell, most of these things are for your mother. We had nothing when we grew up, so it’s nice. Christ, I’d like to buy you something…hell, I’ll buy you a phone, at least. Why is it you insist on not having a phone, a car, a goodam toaster even? Anything modern you hate. I know you’re not a hippie, never were, but I’m still trying to figure out what you’re trying to be.”
“Marstrulavich calls me a luddite.”
“What’s that?”
“Somebody Spartan-like, who strips all conveniences from his life. All I need is books and music and a basketball, dad. Also, by the way, I’m coaching.”
Ray perked up. He smiled. His smile had been described by his customers as worth a million dollars and like a stream of bright sunshine on a gloomy day. He turned to Ray. “That’s great news, Rick. Great news! You’re a born coach, just like your old man. Who you coaching—American Legion team? Babe Ruth? High school…?”
“I’m coaching women, dad, a bunch of misfit softball players desecrating the great game as we know it. Called slo-pitch. It’s pretty competitive.”
Ray leaned back in his chaise. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered. He shook his head slowly. “Why the hell would you wanna coach women? They got nothing to do with baseball.”
Kelso drank his beer, shrugged. “They begged me, dad, because they heard I could play and was the son of a former big leaguer. They’re the worst team in the history of all competitive sports. Never won a game. Twenty straight losses. Absolute klutzes. Wanna hear the worst of it—Marstrulavich is my assistant coach.”
Ray Kelso was speechless. Finally: “Good Christ, I love Ted as my own kid, you know that, but he’s a total ineffectual, he’s no apart of anything. Why are you scraping the bottom of the barrel?” When he saw that his son had no answer, he sighed. He stood, found a prod to poke the ashes around in the bar b cue. “Here I want to talk to you about something important, something that’s been on my mind for some time, and you come up with this bullshit that you and Ted are coaching a woman’s softball team.”
“What did you want to talk about, dad, that deals with important matters?” He pulled on his beer.
Ray again turned to face him. “I’m getting ready to retire. I’m tired of the business. But it’s a good business. I’d like to sell it, but what I’d really like is for you to run it, to take it over, and I know you can, you’re capable of it, you worked for me when you were a kid and when you got out of the army, you did a great job, you’re smart, you work hard when you put your mind to it…” He saw his son shaking his head. “I know, I know you hate business, think it’s bullshit, but Rick, it’s a future, it’s a vital undertaking, and right now, I don’t see what your future is, you just seem to be treading water with no direction…”
“Dad, for the hundredth time, I appreciate what you’ve done, I think it’s a great business, but it’s yours, your creation, and there’s nothing driving me to want to take it over. I’d only do it if I had to, and I don’t, and furthermore, I don’t ever want to have to do what you’ve done. Sell it. Take a vacation with Mom. Travel the world.”
Ray Kelso sat back down, leaned forward. “Rick, I only want what’s best for you. I think I know a little something about my son, and I have a feeling, with your competitive nature, that once you sunk your teeth into the business, you’d enjoy it, and you’d make a good businessman, you’d experience a real joy in being a success…”
Kelso said, “Speaking of success, we won our first game, dad. They were O for 20, and now we’re undefeated. How about them apples?”
Ray stood quickly. “I’m getting the steaks. You don’t make any goddam sense at all.”
He walked inside just as mother May entered the patio, placed both arms around the shoulders of her son from behind and whispered in his ear, “How’s my handsome boy?”
“Just fine, mom.”
“I want you to know—your father is very proud of you, Rick.”
“Yeh sure,” Kelso scoffed sarcastically. “Why would he be?”
“Because he knows where your heart is.”
Kelso shrugged. “That’s not enough, and you know it.”
“I don’t know why you’ve come to hate success, Rick,” Ray Kelso told him.
Kelso and his dad sat in chaises in the shade beneath an umbrella on the patio area a few yards from the pool Kelso hated and had never been in because he was an ocean guy. His mother used it daily in countless laps and the sister used it when visiting and some relatives of May used it when they held parties, and sometimes at these parties Ray Kelso’s business associates and friends and their families used the pool he was so proud of, but in ten years Ray Kelso had only been in the pool three times. Even the dog had been in the pool.
Kelso, who never smoked his stubs while in the company of his father, watched the bar b cue issue small wisps of smoke. “I have no problem with success, dad, none whatsoever. It’s the exalted trappings of success that I find meaningless…and…well, needless, in most cases. Half the crap you got around here, you don’t need.”
“There’s nothing wrong with having a few nice things, quality things to make life easier, Rick.”
“I don’t want life to be easier, Dad. Besides, quality or not, when all is said and done, it’s all just junk and ends up as junk.”
“Jesus Christ,” Ray grumbled, shaking his head. “You’re too cynical. You’re unreasonable.” He sipped his martini. “Hell, most of these things are for your mother. We had nothing when we grew up, so it’s nice. Christ, I’d like to buy you something…hell, I’ll buy you a phone, at least. Why is it you insist on not having a phone, a car, a goodam toaster even? Anything modern you hate. I know you’re not a hippie, never were, but I’m still trying to figure out what you’re trying to be.”
“Marstrulavich calls me a luddite.”
“What’s that?”
“Somebody Spartan-like, who strips all conveniences from his life. All I need is books and music and a basketball, dad. Also, by the way, I’m coaching.”
Ray perked up. He smiled. His smile had been described by his customers as worth a million dollars and like a stream of bright sunshine on a gloomy day. He turned to Ray. “That’s great news, Rick. Great news! You’re a born coach, just like your old man. Who you coaching—American Legion team? Babe Ruth? High school…?”
“I’m coaching women, dad, a bunch of misfit softball players desecrating the great game as we know it. Called slo-pitch. It’s pretty competitive.”
Ray leaned back in his chaise. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered. He shook his head slowly. “Why the hell would you wanna coach women? They got nothing to do with baseball.”
Kelso drank his beer, shrugged. “They begged me, dad, because they heard I could play and was the son of a former big leaguer. They’re the worst team in the history of all competitive sports. Never won a game. Twenty straight losses. Absolute klutzes. Wanna hear the worst of it—Marstrulavich is my assistant coach.”
Ray Kelso was speechless. Finally: “Good Christ, I love Ted as my own kid, you know that, but he’s a total ineffectual, he’s no apart of anything. Why are you scraping the bottom of the barrel?” When he saw that his son had no answer, he sighed. He stood, found a prod to poke the ashes around in the bar b cue. “Here I want to talk to you about something important, something that’s been on my mind for some time, and you come up with this bullshit that you and Ted are coaching a woman’s softball team.”
“What did you want to talk about, dad, that deals with important matters?” He pulled on his beer.
Ray again turned to face him. “I’m getting ready to retire. I’m tired of the business. But it’s a good business. I’d like to sell it, but what I’d really like is for you to run it, to take it over, and I know you can, you’re capable of it, you worked for me when you were a kid and when you got out of the army, you did a great job, you’re smart, you work hard when you put your mind to it…” He saw his son shaking his head. “I know, I know you hate business, think it’s bullshit, but Rick, it’s a future, it’s a vital undertaking, and right now, I don’t see what your future is, you just seem to be treading water with no direction…”
“Dad, for the hundredth time, I appreciate what you’ve done, I think it’s a great business, but it’s yours, your creation, and there’s nothing driving me to want to take it over. I’d only do it if I had to, and I don’t, and furthermore, I don’t ever want to have to do what you’ve done. Sell it. Take a vacation with Mom. Travel the world.”
Ray Kelso sat back down, leaned forward. “Rick, I only want what’s best for you. I think I know a little something about my son, and I have a feeling, with your competitive nature, that once you sunk your teeth into the business, you’d enjoy it, and you’d make a good businessman, you’d experience a real joy in being a success…”
Kelso said, “Speaking of success, we won our first game, dad. They were O for 20, and now we’re undefeated. How about them apples?”
Ray stood quickly. “I’m getting the steaks. You don’t make any goddam sense at all.”
He walked inside just as mother May entered the patio, placed both arms around the shoulders of her son from behind and whispered in his ear, “How’s my handsome boy?”
“Just fine, mom.”
“I want you to know—your father is very proud of you, Rick.”
“Yeh sure,” Kelso scoffed sarcastically. “Why would he be?”
“Because he knows where your heart is.”
Kelso shrugged. “That’s not enough, and you know it.”
