“It’s a bit like begging,” my dad said to me after I explained
a business proposal to him.
“Not really, pops, I replied. “Only kind of.”
I understood his concerns. We were independent guys. Fools
as well. We’d always wanted to do things “the right way”, but also “our own
way.” And many times, they conflicted.
I was 41. He was 69. Starting up a business wasn’t exactly
something either of us had thought of. There was a time when I thought I hated
my dad. There still are times when I dislike what he does. I’m sure he’s felt
the same way about me.
But I’m tired of chasing my tail. I’m tired of doing a job I
don’t like. I remember in my younger, more naïve days when I said to anyone who’d
listen that I’d never end up in a job I hate. And here I am at 41, in a job I hate.
Yes, it was taken out of necessity. But that was over two years ago. Plenty of
time to GTFO, as the kids would write now.
So, I cooked up an idea one night. I was drinking, I will
admit that, but like all drunks, I believe my best ideas come after at least
four beers.
I’d start up a bar-b-que business with my dad. It would be a
way for us to bond, finally, after all of these years. He’d be the recipe guy,
the “talent” so to speak. I’d be the idea guy, the marketing department, the
capital procurement one. He already had a cooker. All we’d need was a place to
sell.
That’s when I broached the idea. It would be a “retirement”
job for him. A “part-time” gig for me. Hopefully, it would morph into something
special soon afterwards.
My main worries are – 1. My dad’s health. He’s not exactly
in the prime of his life. 2. My ability to run a eatery. 3. Whether we’d fall
flat on our faces. Maybe people won’t like his food on a grand scale. And 4.
Would I enjoy it?
I decided none of those concerns were enough to worry and I plunged
head first. I got up a business plan, I found a location and I set up some
early food and beverage procurements. All of this before I talked to my dad
once.
On vacation, right around his birthday, I decided it was
time to make a sales pitch.
“You’re not a salesman,” was his response. But he smiled at
the idea of me and him being business partners.
“Too bad you didn’t think of this 10 years ago,” he said.
“Dad,10 years ago, I didn’t want to be in the same room as
you,” I replied.
He was hurt, but he understood the message.
“Well, what is this Kickstarter thing?”
“It’s a web site where folks go and ask for money from
others in order to get their project started,” I said.
“So, we beg strangers for money?” he said frowning.
“OK, it is that. But, so is going to a bank and asking for a
loan, right?”
“Yes, but,” he started. I cut him off.
“No buts, it is the same thing. We’re just taking out the
institution from the process. Well, I’m sure the Kickstarter folks are now just
the bank now, and I’m sure they make quite a nice cut. Hopefully, not as much
as a bank.”
“You haven’t looked in to this?” my dad questioning me
openly now.
“No. I haven’t.”
“Not exactly the best way to get started.”
“Well, we could just use my credit cards I guess. Since yours
are most likely nearly maxed out,” I said, too snarkingly.
“No. Me and your mother have paid of most of them,” he said,
smiling at her.
“You mean, she’s paid off most of them,” I retorted.
“Tough crowd tonight,” my brother-in-law interjected. A
hearty chuckle was had by all.
“But back on course here dad,” I said. “We can do this. And I
think it’ll be fun. Open up a BBQ joint, sell your awesome stuff, even venture
into shrimps and tuna, God damn your stuff is good. And I think it’ll be a hit.”
“Son, I’d love to. But I’m too old to start a business.”
“That’s the beauty dad,” I tried to reason with him. “You
teach me how to do the cooking too. You’ve never taught me anything about your
cooking. I’d love to know.”
“You’ve never asked.”
“I know. But you’ve never offered either.”
My dad looked over at my mother, shaking his head.
“You haven’t dear,” she said. My mom loved to poke the bear.
I’d told her many times of the last 15 years that she enjoyed provoking him
more than anything else now. She didn’t get it. But I know she did. She just
didn’t want to admit it. She’s much too smart to be so simple.
“Anyway,” I restarted. “Let’s make a go of it. What’s there
to lose? And we could gain so much from it.”
“Gain?” my dad asked puzzled.
“Dad, maybe you and I could have a father and son
relationship. Finally.”
“But,” he said.
“Dad, I love you. And I love all that you’ve done for me
over the years. It took me a long time to realize that you actually didn’t hate
me. That you were always looking out for me. You just never were able to tell
me. Hell, if we’d thrown a football once or twice when I was 10, everything
would have turned out a whole lot differently. Or maybe not. But, I’d have that
memory. I don’t have it. And this is my way to try and get that memory.”
He teared up. I took a deep breath and a long swig of by now
hot beer. It tasted good, however. It was exactly what I needed at that moment.
I went up to him and stuck my hand out. He put his out. We
shook hands.
“Let’s do this,” I said.
“OK,” he said. “Now let’s have a drink.”
