My Arrogant Father-in-law Kicked My “poor” Dad Out Of The House. He Didn’t Realize My Dad Was A Retired Dea Agent On A Mission. Did He Deserve The Fbi Raid?

The Spinning Wheel

I was standing in my son Michael’s driveway, looking at my grandson Tommy’s skateboard lying on its side near the garage door. The wheel was still spinning slowly. Something about that image made my chest tighten, but I didn’t know why yet.

I picked it up and walked toward the front door. Jessica answered. My daughter-in-law had that look on her face, the one she always wore when I visited, like she was doing me a favor by letting me into my own son’s house.

“Oh, Richard, you’re early.”

“I said I’d be here at 5:00. It’s 5:00.”

She didn’t move from the doorway. “We’re just getting dinner ready. Michael’s in the shower.”

I held up the skateboard. “Tommy left this outside. Where is he?”

“In his room.”

She finally stepped aside, but just barely. I had to turn sideways to get past her. The house smelled like roasted turkey.

Thanksgiving was still a week away, but they were doing an early dinner because Jessica’s father was in town, Frank Morrison. The name alone made my jaw clench. I’d met Frank exactly three times in the five years since Michael married Jessica.

Each time he’d made it clear what he thought of me. “Factory worker,” he’d called me at the wedding, loud enough for half the reception to hear.

“Well, somebody has to tighten the bolts, right?”

Then he’d laughed and slapped Michael on the back like they were old friends. My son had just smiled and changed the subject. That’s what Michael did.

He was a good accountant and made decent money, but he’d never learned to stand up for himself or for me. I found Tommy in his room, sitting on his bed with his tablet. He was seven years old, small for his age, with Michael’s dark hair and my mother’s blue eyes.

When he saw me, his face lit up. “Grandpa!”

“Hey, buddy.”

I sat down next to him. “You left your skateboard outside. Wheel could get rusted if it rains.”

“Oh.” He looked down. “Sorry, Grandpa. Frank said I was too old to be playing with baby toys anyway.”

My hand tightened on the skateboard. “Frank said that?”

Tommy nodded. “He said when he was my age he was already working on real cars and making real money. He said my dad babied me too much.”

I took a slow breath. Frank had been in town for two days, staying in Michael’s guest room, and I was already hearing about it. “Well, Grandpa Frank doesn’t know everything. You’re seven. You’re supposed to play.”

“That’s what Dad said. But then Grandpa Frank got mad and said Dad was raising me to be soft.”

I wanted to ask more, but Jessica called from downstairs. “Richard, dinner’s ready!”

The dining room table was set like something from a magazine, with fine China I’d never seen before, cloth napkins, and candles. Frank sat at the head of the table even though it was Michael’s house. He was a big man, six-foot-two, still broad in the shoulders at sixty-eight.

He wore a polo shirt with a golf club logo and a watch that probably cost more than my truck. Michael was already seated, looking uncomfortable in a button-down shirt he’d probably just put on. Jessica bustled around serving food.

Tommy slipped into the chair next to me. Frank didn’t stand up or offer his hand. “Richard. Wasn’t sure you’d make it.”

“You asked me to come to dinner at my son’s house.”

“Well, Jessica mentioned she’d invited you. Wanted to make sure you felt included.”

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “How’s retirement treating you? Must be nice not having to punch a clock anymore.”

“It’s fine.”

“What’d you do again? Some kind of factory work?”

I’d been expecting this. Frank asked me the same question every time we met like he couldn’t remember or didn’t care. “I worked for the government.”

“Right, right. Government factory. Would they make paper clips?”

He laughed at his own joke. Jessica smiled nervously. Michael studied his plate.

“Something like that.”

We started eating. Frank dominated the conversation, talking about his real estate developments, his golf handicap, and his new car. Jessica hung on every word.

Michael occasionally tried to contribute, but Frank would cut him off or change the subject. Then Frank turned to Tommy. “So, kiddo, what do you want to be when you grow up?”

Tommy looked at me, then back at Frank. “I don’t know yet. Maybe a teacher.”

Frank’s face soured. “A teacher? That’s what you aspire to? Working for peanuts in a public school?”

Michael started. “Frank—”

Frank said. “I’m serious, Michael. The boy needs ambition. When I was his age, I already knew I was going to be rich. I wasn’t dreaming about some government job with a pension.”

Jessica jumped in. “Dad’s right, honey. Tommy should be thinking bigger. Maybe business school someday, like you went to.”

I set down my fork. “Tommy’s seven years old. He’s got time to figure out what he wants.”

Frank looked at me like I just appeared at the table. “Well, that’s the problem right there. That’s the attitude that keeps people stuck. My daughter married up, Richard. She came from my world. Your son—” He gestured at Michael. “No offense, but he came from yours.”

“I’ve been trying to teach him to think differently, but it’s hard when certain influences are still around.”

The table went silent. Jessica’s face was red. Michael was frozen, his fork halfway to his mouth.

Tommy looked confused. I repeated. “Certain influences?”

“Look, I’m just being honest.” Frank said. “You seem like a nice enough guy, but you’re blue-collar. There’s nothing wrong with that, but let’s not pretend it’s something to aspire to. I’m trying to raise my grandson to be somebody, and that means surrounding him with the right examples.”

I felt that old familiar sensation, the one I’d spent thirty years learning to control. My heart rate was slowing down instead of speeding up, my vision sharpening, and my voice getting quieter instead of louder. “I see.”

“I’m glad you understand.” Jessica said. “This turkey is excellent.”

The conversation moved on. I stayed quiet, watching. Frank drank three glasses of wine with dinner.

His voice got louder. He told a story about forcing a contractor to redo work at half price by threatening to sue. Jessica laughed.