After College

Give and Take

The subway ride back to a four bedroom house my wife and I have in the suburbs has become part of my routine. I find myself staring at the tired, bored faces of fellow commuters. We are all sick of work. We're just working to make ends meet. I'm just working to support my family. I have a standard job as a high school teacher at a private school. This job was something that I never thought I would do, but I should appreciate this ordinary life that I now have.

Ordinary. That is a word that has never been used to describe my life up to the end of college. My life was always extraordinary, but throughout my extraordinary period, I always thought every day was ordinary. I had a driver that picked me up from elementary school to high school. I had my own credit when I was twelve and I could sign anything. There was no limit. I had a personal chef at home and a personal trainer. I took piano lessons from a renowned retired pianist. I went to elite schools built for the wealthy, yet no one seemed very rich to me. Almost everyone else was like me. We were born with a vague idea about poverty—just hearsay to us. We didn't need to work very hard and everything came easily. The best college? That was definitely attainable. Father just needed to donate a library or a stadium. Plus, all of our family members graduated from the best colleges.

Waterhouse Station. Waterhouse Station. The next stop is . . .

Like a robot, I get up from my seat and walk towards the subway doors. After getting off this stop, I go to the parking lot and then drive forty-five minutes back home. When I arrive home, my four-year-old daughter, Rebecca, rushes to greet me. I let her jump into my arms as I carry her into the kitchen to find my wife, Juliette, setting the dinner table.

"You're just in time," she says the same line every day. "Today it's turkey meat loaf, potatoes, and broccoli." Then, she explains how this time she added this ingredients to make this dish different and that she hopes I'll like the changes.

"Sounds good," I find myself always replying. "I'm sure it'll be yummy."

"I hope so! You know Rebecca can be so picky with her food . . ." she murmurs while heading to the kitchen drawers for the cutlery. "Like you."

I place Rebecca in her seat at the dining table and answer, "Sorry that she probably got that from me. At least both of us dislike the same things."

"Yes, but you should set a good example for her . . ."

All I hear is blah, blah, blah and I distract myself by asking Rebecca how her day was and if she washed her hands. Rebecca says, "Good! We read a book today at the library."

"Oh. What book?"

"Disney!"

"Disney isn't a book," I remind her.

"Cinderella!"

"I didn't know they taught kids that so early already," I mumble to myself.

Juliette all of a sudden hollers, "Did you even hear what I was saying, Gabe?"

"Sorry," I apologize. "I was talking to our little princess."

"You spoil her too much," Juliette complains. "You don't even know how hard it is to take care of her. I wish your parents would consider looking after her. That way, I can go back and work. You know how babysitters can be so expensive and even daycare . . ."

Again, Juliette drones on and on about how much she wants to go back and teach. Juliette and I met while I was interning at a high school for Teacher's College. She was already teaching at that place and was my supervisor. At that time of my life, I was lost and felt forced into this profession. I had studied History in college and although I sometimes had dreams of becoming a historian and a professor, those dreams collapsed when my father's company went bankrupt after I graduated from college. Our family went from everything to nothing so quickly. My father tried his best to find work, but no one would take a prominent past CEO. In the end, a close friend of his felt sorry for him and so my father became his friend's personal driver. My mother had no idea how to live and would keep spending money even when we had nothing. She kept swiping her credit card and applying for more when that one fell through. She couldn't accept not being part of the elite and later drank herself to death. My younger brother was pulled out of the expensive private school and forced to work part-time while finishing his high school degree. He became anti-social and too quiet.