Unremarkable

“And your parents?”

“They were unremarkable.”

“What do you mean, ‘unremarkable’?”

“Utterly unremarkable! They did nothing memorable.”

“What?”

“They were just there. They accomplished nothing like what I have done!”

“But they raised you. Surely you can remember something of significance.”

“No. Nothing!”

“Not a single thing?”

“My mother - she never worked that I can remember. My father he made nothing of himself. He was an accountant or school teacher or something.”

“Wow. Sad.”

“What is sad?”

“I just can’t believe that’s all you have to say. It’s sad.”

“What’s so sad? They're nothing! I'm published in five languages all over the world! I run the writing program for the university and I'm the managing editor of the literary journal. I've brought you a long way, too! Don't you think?”

“Far enough.”

“What?”

“Hearing you say that about your parents makes me realize what my worst nightmare would be: After stopping my whole life, sacrificing, switching gears to motherhood, falling in love with my kids, giving them all my heart and sole, devoting so much of my own identity to them – that in fact, proudly, my identity is them, only to have my own sons 40 years from now say that I was ‘unremarkable’. It’s a shame. I feel bad for your mom and dad who probably gave so much of themselves, and you don’t appreciate it.”

“Let’s stop talking about this.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve no interest any longer. More vodka!”

“No. Thank you.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’ve no interest any longer.”

An actual conversation with my mentor one night over Russian vodka. The realization of a false idol.