My Son Blocked Me From His $40m Merger Dinner Because I’m Just A “Poor Mechanic.” He Didn’t Know I Own The Building Where The Party Was. Now, He’s Begging For A Job. Aita For Evicting His Entire Career?
He flinched.
“You want my help? That’s the help I’m offering. Take it or leave it.”
For a long moment, I thought he’d leave. Thought his pride would win out. Then he said, very quietly, “When do I start?”
“Monday. 6:00 a.m. Don’t be late.”
The first week was hell for him. I could see it. He showed up Monday in jeans and a t-shirt, but they were expensive jeans, designer t-shirt. By Wednesday, they were covered in oil stains. By Friday, they went in the trash.
He worked under Tony’s supervision. Tony who’d never gone to college. Tony whose English wasn’t perfect. Tony who knew more about cars than Michael would ever know about software,.
Michael changed oil dozens of times a day. Dropped the pan, let it drain, replaced the filter, added new oil. His hands got dirty. His back hurt. He ate lunch with the guys—sandwiches from the bodega down the street. He didn’t complain. I’ll give him that.
Second week, he rotated his first set of tires. Struggled with the impact wrench. Tony showed him the technique, patient and kind. Michael listened. Actually listened.
Third week, a customer came in with a weird engine noise. Tony diagnosed it: loose heat shield. Simple fix. While they worked, the customer asked Michael what he did.
“I work here,” Michael said.
“Cool. Cool. You like it?”
Michael paused. “I’m learning.”
Fourth week, he moved out of his apartment and into my spare room. Didn’t ask permission, just showed up with three suitcases.
“The lease is up. I can’t afford anything else. Rent’s 400 a month plus utilities?”
“Okay.”
We lived like roommates. He left for work before I did. Stayed late to close the shop. Made his own dinner, did his own laundry. We didn’t talk much, but sometimes I’d catch him looking at the photo of Ellen on my desk or standing in the doorway of his old bedroom, now my home office, remembering,.
Two months in, he asked if he could work on a brake job. Tony supervised. The customer was a young woman, single mom, worried about the cost.
“How much?” she asked.
Tony quoted her. I could see her face fall. Michael looked at me.
“Boss, could we maybe do just the front brakes today? Get the rears next month when she gets paid?”
The woman looked up, hopeful. I thought about saying no. About making Michael watch her struggle. About teaching him another lesson. But that wasn’t the point anymore.
“Front brakes today,” I said. “Come back in 30 days for the rears. No appointment necessary.”
She almost cried. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
After she left, Michael said quietly, “Is that what it’s like every day?”
“Pretty much. People just trying to keep their cars running so they can get to work. That’s exactly what it is.”
He nodded slowly. “I never thought about it before.”
“I know.”
Three months in, we had dinner together for the first time. I made spaghetti, Ellen’s recipe. Michael set the table without being asked.
“This is good,” he said.
“Your mother taught me.”
“I remember. She always made this on Sundays.”
We ate in silence for a while.
“Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry. For the dinner. For everything. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“You were thinking you’d left all this behind. The working class. The struggling. The people who smell like oil and coffee.”
“I was an idiot. Yes. Victoria’s father was right. I’m not ready to run a company. I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Most people don’t at 29.”
“You did.”
“No. I learned by screwing up. Lost my shirt half a dozen times before I figured it out. Your mother kept us afloat with her teaching salary.”
Michael looked surprised. “I didn’t know that.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know. About struggle. About real work. About what it takes to build something lasting.”
“I’m learning.”
“I know you are.”
Four months in, a man in a suit came to the shop. Found me in the bay. Asked for a minute.
“Mr. Harrison? I’m James Chen. I’m a venture partner at Elevation Capital. Can I help you?”,
“I wanted to talk to you about your son. Michael Harrison.”
I wiped my hands. “What about him?”
“I’ve been following his story. The merger that fell through. The company struggles. I also know about your disagreement.”
“It’s not really your business.”
“Perhaps not. But Mr. Harrison, your son has a brilliant mind for software development. The product he built is genuinely innovative. He just wasn’t ready to scale it.”
“I’m aware.”
“I’d like to offer him another chance. Smaller scope. Better mentorship. A more experienced team around him.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I understand he’s working for you now. And I wanted your blessing before I approached him.”
I looked at this man. This opportunity. This easy way out for Michael.
“Give him six more months,” I said.
“Excuse me?”
“If you’re serious about wanting to invest in him, about believing in his potential, give him six more months here. Let him finish what he started.”
“Mr. Harrison, he needs to…”
“Learn something first. Something he can’t learn in boardrooms and pitch meetings. And when he’s ready, really ready, he’ll know. And so will you.”
James Chen studied me, then nodded slowly. “Six months. But I’ll be watching.”
I didn’t tell Michael about the visit.
Month five. Business was good, really good. Tony asked if we could hire another mechanic. Maybe, I said. Let me think about it.
That night at dinner, Michael said, “Dad, I’ve been thinking about the shop. You’re busy, really busy. And I know I’m not a trained mechanic, but what if I handled the business side? Scheduling, invoicing, customer relations. I’m good at that stuff. It would free you and Tony up to do more of the actual work.”
