There, Ben thought to himself, I’ve gotten it all off my chest, and rather eloquently too. Think I’ll have a little eggplant and assess the damage.
Anwar was, of course, the first to speak in return. He seemed truly heartbroken and managed only to mumble, “Well, I guess that only goes to show that you can’t plan another person’s life for them, can you? I’m very disappointed, but not entirely shocked. I figured you had too much of your mother in you to totally go my direction with your career. And that’s not a bad thing, really. I just hope you can make a good living. There are a lot of doctors around, and reimbursement to them just keeps getting cut by the government and third-party payors. You probably won’t make as much as you would running my business, but I’m sure you will do ok. Just try not to get too far out on the fringe and start hanging out with all those alternative medicine sorts…you know, Portland is chock-full of them!”
“And Benji,” Margaret chimed in, “don’t let that medical school brainwash you either! Your father’s industry controls medical education and makes sure you think they’re God’s gift to the world, but believe me, they’re not. Stick to what I’ve taught you about the importance of diet—lots of organic vegetables, some fruits, and not so much meat, and only grass-fed meat at that. No processed foods, minimal sugar, and plenty of omega-3 fats to keep your immune system balanced. And don’t forget clean water, plenty of sleep, and lots of exercise. I…”
At this point, Anwar just couldn’t take any more. “For God’s sake, Margaret, Ben’s been around you for almost twenty-one years…don’t you think he knows that by now? Son, just keep a balance, don’t go too far to either extreme, and you’ll be fine. We’re very proud of you, and we know you’ll do well in medical school. Take it easy with the girls, too—you certainly don’t want any unexpected pregnancies!”
This time, it was Margaret who had enough. “Anwar! I can’t believe you just said that! Our Benji is not going to get anyone pregnant—we’ve taught him far better than that! And he’s not going to be a drunkard, or a druggie, or anything like that either, so save your breath! He’s a good boy, and we just have to trust that what we’ve taught him will help him to make the right decisions. Isn’t that right, Benji? You’re not worried about any of that stuff, are you?”
“Well, Mom, I’ve already discovered there’s a lot of crazy stuff going on at PSU, or at any college, I’m sure. But you’re right—you and Dad have given me good values and taught me to think for myself, so I’m not worried about any of that. And I am very grateful for you two. You should be proud of yourselves. I couldn’t have asked for better parents,” he smiled. “Hey, let’s have some of that cherry pie I saw on the kitchen counter when I came in—this conversation is getting way too heavy for me!”
“Well put, son,” Anwar agreed. “Enough seriousness! Let’s kick back in front of the fire and enjoy the evening. I love sitting out here on a nice summer evening! Can you believe the view tonight? The way the sun lit up Mt. Hood, just before it went down—you could see the glow for miles!”
Ben nodded in agreement as he devoured a rather large piece of Margaret’s cherry pie. “Your pies are awesome, Mom!” he grinned. “And I’m sure they’re nice Washington organic cherries, too, right?”
“Would I serve my family anything less?” Margaret beamed, enjoying all the attention from her son. “AND, sweetened with stevia,” she proudly added, unable to conceal her pleasure that her influence was going to make a major difference in Ben’s life and ensuing career. Even if he didn’t follow directly in her footsteps, she knew that his priorities couldn’t help but reflect all the effort she had put into teaching him the value of a proper diet and lifestyle.
Even Anwar nodded in tacit agreement. As different as their respective careers had been, he had a deep respect for Margaret and a great appreciation for all her health-promoting ideas. With a twinkle in his eye, he leaned over and spoke softly (yet deliberately loud enough for Ben to hear) in her direction. “You think living with a pharmacist was tough? In another five years, we’re going to have a Minor Deity in the family, and guess what? He’ll be telling BOTH OF US what to do!”
Ben looked up at both parents, smiling and shaking his head. I guess the battle’s over for tonight, he thought. I’m pretty sure the war isn’t yet won, but I’ll enjoy the cease-fire while it lasts, he assured himself before responding, “I do like the sound of that—it’s about time I get some due respect around here!” As he reached for another piece of his mother’s cherry pie, Ben couldn’t help but realize that the path toward that outcome would surely not be an easy one. “And I’ll have the two of you to thank for it!” he added graciously, nodding toward the parents whom he knew had supported, and would continue to support him, every step of the way.
Later That Same Night
Not Far Away
The flag was draped loosely above the old warehouse door at 300 Front Street in Portland’s industrial waterfront district. It was dark now, but a spotlight illuminated the red flag displaying its distinctive emblem—a black eagle clutching a wreath of olive leaves circumscribing a white circle with a black swastika at its center. Three black Ns were strategically placed right, left, and beneath the wreath symbolizing the subversive group known locally as the Northwest Neo-Nazis. To surmise that the rough-looking men presently entering the building were not nice people would be a serious underestimate. To conjecture that they were almost totally lacking in that virtuous quality known in religious circles as “soul” would probably be a more accurate assessment.
Ralph “Buzz” Henderson parked his ’69 Harley in the lot across the street from the gang’s meeting place and waited for his friend Barry to dismount. He and Barry had been with the Neo-Nazis for four years now, and both were well respected by members and leaders alike. They would have a lot to talk about tonight. A recent report of another al-Qaeda strike had been circulating through the members, and there was talk of the group taking their own revenge. As the two men walked toward the warehouse door, Buzz glanced up at the flag and growled to his friend, “Fuckin’ sand niggers! After what they did to us on 9/11, I hope we blow ’em all to hell, and soon too! Bomb their asses! Show ’em not to fuck with white power!”
“Heil Hitler, man,” Barry agreed. “We should blast those cocksuckers into smithereens! Turn that desert of theirs into a giant litter box! Teach them a thing or two about jihad!” he laughed as the two entered the building. “Wonder what Damien’s goin’ to say about all this tonight? I bet he’s pissed! I’d sure hate to be one of them Iraqis livin’ around here when he gets ahold of ’em. Those stupid fuckers better hightail it back to the desert if they know what’s good for ’em. No tellin’ what he’ll have us do to those poor bastards! I’m lookin’ forward to THIS meetin’—hell, they deserve anything we give ’em!”
Other than being big talkers and looking like they just rolled off the Harley-Davidson “bad biker” assembly line, both Buzz and Barry had much-bigger barks than bites. They were right about one thing, though: the gang’s