Chapter 27 27

In our family, family tradition has always replaced love.There was never a strong emotional outpouring between them.However, we always attend family gatherings, which proves that we are... loyal to our family.There are four major festivals a year: Christmas, Easter, and Thanksgiving. These three festivals are no problem, and there is another grand festival in the golden autumn, which can be called "holy weekend".It can be guessed without mentioning that this last major verse is the full "Armageddon". "Armageddon" in the "Bible" is the decisive battle between the two forces of good and evil in the world, the decisive battle between light and darkness. What I am talking about here is a football competition: Harvard and Yale A decisive battle between the teams.

① "Armageddon" is a Hebrew word, derived from Chapter 16, Verse 16 of "Bible·New Testament·Revelation".The original meaning is the decisive battle between the two forces of good and evil at the end of the world, and it was later extended to mean the decisive battle. On this day, you can laugh or cry.But best of all, it was a day when it was time to yell, to be wild-child-like, and to drink a lot. But our family has to be a little quieter for this festival.Some alumni arrived early before the start of the game, and put down the tailgate of the car in the parking lot to make a dining table for lunch. "Red Mary" ① you drink a glass of each other, but our Barrett family is different. He takes a relatively steady attitude towards sports at Harvard.

① A mixed wine made from vodka or gin and tomato juice. When I was young, whenever there was a ball game in the Military Stadium, my father would always take me to watch it.He is not the kind of person who "catches a meeting once a year", and we can't miss every single one.He explained it to me in detail.So when I was ten years old, no matter how weird the referee's gestures were, I could understand them at a glance.Moreover, I also learned how to drink cheers.Dad never yelled loudly.Harvard played a good game, and at most my father would say "Well done!"Sometimes if our grassland fighter can't perform at his level, for example, once we lost fifty-five to zero, he would just say: "Sorry!"

Dad used to be an athlete himself.He was on the Harvard rowing team (and also competed in Olympic single sculls).The red and black striped honor tie around his neck signifies his membership of the Harvard Varsity Club.He therefore has the right to a special seat at football games.Sit on the right of the headmaster. Year after year, the glory of the Harvard-Yale football game has never diminished, and the grandeur has never changed.What has changed is who I am.Growing up from a young age, I now also have a membership in the Harvard Varsity Club (I was born on the ice hockey team).So I also qualified myself to sit in the special seat at the fifty yard line.Theoretically speaking, I can also take my son and teach him how the referee's gesture is to call a "foul of tripping from behind".

Except when I was in college, and for a few years after we got married, though, I always went to the Harvard-Yale football game with my dad.Mom had been bossy about it all her life, and she had renounced this routine and important event years ago. "I don't understand that either," she said to Papa, "and besides, my feet get so cold just sitting there." When the big game was held in Cambridge, we ate dinner at the century-old Rock & Ober's in Boston.If the final battle was in New Haven, Dad always liked to eat at Casey's—a less quaint place with better food.This year we are sitting here in the Casey Hotel. We have finished watching the game. The team from our alma mater lost 7-0 today.The game was not exciting at all, so there is not much to talk about in terms of football.This will likely involve talking about topics other than sports.I made up my mind never to mention Marcy.

"What a pity," said Dad. "It's a big deal if you lose a football game." I've developed a conditioned reflex to always take an opposing attitude towards Dad's views. "Macie's pass wasn't that good today," Dad said. "Harvard still has two downs in pass defense," I said. "Yes. I'm afraid what you said makes sense." We ordered lobster.It takes a lot of time to make this dish, not to mention there are so many customers today.The store was packed to the brim with boozy Yale stuff.Like a group of barking bulldogs, they were all cheering for victory and singing praises for their brilliant achievements on the football field.All in all, only our table was relatively quiet, and conversations across the room were audible—if we had anything real to talk about.

"How's it going?" Dad asked. "It's pretty much the same as before," I replied. (To be honest, I can only pour cold water on talking to him.) "Do you usually... go out for a walk?" He was trying his best to find something to say.I have to admit that his intentions are hard enough. "Go for a walk once in a while," I said. "That's good," he said. Today I found that my father was more uncomfortable than last year.Not even the time I dined with me in New York before this summer did he feel so uncomfortable. "Oliver," said the tone in which it was clear that he was about to discuss some important matter, "may I speak of something personal?"

Does he have anything serious to talk about? "Go ahead, please," I said. "I'd love to talk to you about the future." "What's the matter with me in the future, Dad?" I became vigilant when I heard it, and the defense troops all over the body were ordered to enter the position. "Not about you, Oliver. About the future of our family." A thought flashed through my mind: Could it be that he has some kind of illness?Or is Mom sick?If something like that happened to them, they would tell me in such a nonchalant manner.Maybe even write a letter (I mean Mom).

"I'm sixty-five," he said. "It won't be sixty-five miles until next March," I said quickly.I purposely said that even a month is not bad, the purpose is to show that I don't care about him at all. "Having said that, I still need a rainy day, so let's make such a plan first." Plan what?Is Dad still waiting to get social insurance money? "According to the provisions of the partnership contract..." As soon as he started talking, I couldn't be bothered to listen to it anymore.Because just twelve months ago, on such an occasion and on such a topic, I have already experienced his long speech.I already know what kind of message he wants to pass on to me.

The only difference today is that our two "characters" performed different "stage actions" after the game than last time.Last year, after chatting with a group of Harvard elites, we went to Boston and went to the same restaurant we were used to.Dad deliberately parked the car next to his office building on State Street, which is the headquarters of "Barrett-Ward-Seymour Investment Bank", the only company in our family that publicly displayed its surname. We got out of the car and walked to the restaurant. As we were walking, Dad pointed to the dark window of the building and said, "Look, it's pretty quiet at night, isn't it?"

"It's been very quiet in your private office," I replied. "That's the eye of a hurricane, boy." "As long as you like it." "Yeah, I like it," he said. "I just like it, Oliver." What he likes, of course, is not money.Nor will it be the dazzling power in his hands. Local governments issue bonds, public utilities or large companies issue stocks, which can cost tens of millions at a time. In this regard, he has a lot of power.No, in my opinion, what he likes is the word responsibility.If the word "responsibility" can also be applied to him, then I think it is the word "responsibility" that inspired Dad's enthusiasm.He never forgot his responsibilities to the spinning mill (without a spinning mill, a bank cannot be run), to the bank, and to Harvard University, the sacred institution that the bank regards as its spiritual teacher.The same is true of our family. "I'm sixty-four," my dad had said that night in Boston, a full year ago, after watching the last Harvard-Yale contest. "It won't be sixty-four miles until March next year," I said then, just to let him know I remember his birthday. "...According to the provisions of the partnership contract, I have to retire when I reach the age of sixty-eight." The two did not speak for a long time.We just walked silently on the quiet street in the center of Boston, seeing that the style of this street is indeed worthy of being the capital of a state. "We should really talk it over, Oliver." "What are you discussing, Dad?" "Who will replace me as the main person in charge..." "Isn't Mr. Seymour very nice," I said.On the letterhead and on the signboard, it is clearly written: the bank still has two partners after all. "Seymour's family is only twelve percent," said Pa. "Ward's even less, ten percent." God has eyes!I didn't ask him about these things. "Aunt Helen also has some symbolic shares, which are all managed by me." He took a breath and said, "The rest are ours..." I couldn't help but object to it on the spot, so that he wouldn't go down the line. "...In the final analysis, it is yours." I wish I could change the subject, but I know all too well how much Papa has put into these words.For the conversation at this juncture, he must have prepared with all his heart. "What's wrong with having Seymour in charge?" I asked. "Of course that doesn't mean it can't be done. But that's unless there is such a situation, that is: if there is no one... to take charge of the equity of our Barrett family." "Then what if he is the main person in charge?" The implication is: What if I resolutely quit? "In that case, according to the provisions of the partnership contract, they have the right to buy all our shares." He paused. "Of course that's another situation." His last sentence is not a coherent inference.That's what he was begging for. "What?" I asked him. "Our family ... will inevitably have difficulties," Dad said. He knows I understand.He knew that I also understood why we walked so slowly along the way.But the road is short and the story is long, and in a blink of an eye we have arrived at the Rock-Ober Restaurant. His feet were about to step into the store door, and he only had time to add hastily: "Think about it carefully." Although I nodded my head and said yes, I was determined in my heart, and I made up my mind and never considered it. The atmosphere in the restaurant was not peaceful that night.Because the Harvard team created a miracle that afternoon.God stumbled Yale at the last minute, and a young quarterback on our team named Kempy, by God, scored 16 straight points in fifty seconds before the game, and the Yale kid got all the way As a result, the Harvard athletes evened the score.This tie was really elated, and it deserves a big celebration and a special celebration.Therefore, the happy singing is floating everywhere in the shop. Our athletes are invincible, Such as Hurricane rushing towards the goal. We are willing to fight endlessly for the prestige of Harvard, To cross the last white line to build our great achievements. That time we didn't talk about keeping the family tradition alive.Rugby is being talked about at every table.Everyone praised Kempi and Gato, and also praised the Harvard striker for being great.Let's toast to Harvard's undefeated record this season. Counting from the era before my father entered college, Harvard's achievement like this is still the first to solve the problem! But today, another day in November, the situation was completely different.The air is so heavy!It's not because we lost the game.To be honest, the real reason is because a whole year has passed and the issue is still there, unresolved.Not only is it pending, but now it has to be decided. "Dad, I'm a lawyer and I think I have my duty. Responsibility, if you can call it a duty." "I understand. But even if you move your daily work base to Boston, you may not be able to engage in your social activities at all. On the contrary, if you work in a bank, you can think that there is something in the other side's camp." The power of the 'action faction'①." ① "Actionist": A term that became popular in the American anti-Vietnam War movement in the 1960s, referring to the anti-war activists at that time. I just can't bear to break his heart.So I didn't say: his so-called "opposite camp" is to a large extent the target of my struggle. "I see what you mean," I said, "but to be honest..." At this point I hesitated, and I paused for a long time, so that the sharp rebuttals could be smoothed out and turned into non-stinging words. "Father, thank you for coming to ask for my opinion. I appreciate your kindness. But I'm really not that old... To be honest, I'm very...very unwilling." I think what I said was clear enough.Dad didn't persuade me to think about it again as usual. "Got it," he said. "I'm disappointed, but I understand what you mean." Driving back on the expressway, I just felt that a big stone fell to the ground in my heart, and I was so happy that I teased myself: "One financial tycoon in a family is enough." All I could hope was that Marcie would be home by now.