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arrow_of_apollo171 - What is the biggest mistake you've made in a relationship?
I let him do it.
Sometimes, when something terrible happens, people look back at the circumstances that led up that something and think to themselves, well, we never saw it coming. There weren't any clues to the way things turned out, no great big flashing signs that said "BAD IDEA" or "TURN BACK NOW". A person steps of the curb to cross the street and gets hit by a speeding truck, or one day your doctor sits you down and tells you that you've somehow contracted a mysterious illness. We can comfort ourselves with knowing that there had been no way to prepare for it.
But what about when you see the flashing signs, and the clues are everywhere around you, in plain sight? What about when you see the truck coming? You would think that a person would do something about it, right? They'd stop or turn around, they'd stay the hell on the sidewalk and not get crushed. And if it was someone else you saw the danger heading straight toward, you'd shout out to them, wouldn't you? Maybe even jump out and try to save them?
I had a little brother once. His name was Zak, and when we were little, he'd follow me damn near everywhere. Mom, Dad and spent most of my childhood years skipping from Fleet Base to Fleet Base, one post to another. There were times when your birthday would roll around and mine and Zak's only wishes were to get to celebrate our birthdays on the same planet the next year 'round.
Most of the time, especially when I was younger, I thought my father was just about the most amazing man in the world. He was part of the Colonial Fleet, and had the coolest job there was: he was a Viper pilot, and the most exciting day of either of our childhoods was when he brought me and Zak to the flight range to show us his where he worked and the Viper he used to defend Caprica and the rest of the Twelve Colonies against the monsters, the Cylons.
If you ever end up in my father's quarters, he still has the picture they took of us all that day. Dad's buddies were ecstatic to have us there, all of them bragging and joking about what great Viper pilots we were both going to make, and which one of us was going to retire with more kills. They even presented us both with miniature flight suits and plastic wings. I'm pretty sure Zak and I slept in those for a week before Mom forced us to give them up for washing.
When we were teenagers, though, and it was getting clearer and clearer that we were both going to end up in the Fleet for sure, that I started seeing the signs. My anger and resentment at my father was at a peak, and on the day I left for college, I was all but convinced that I'd get some kind of liberal arts degree and do something completely different with my life. Zak, on the other hand, couldn't wait to sign up, couldn't wait to be a soldier and join the Fleet.
The problem wasn't his enthusiasm. It was the fact that I knew damn well he wasn't doing it for himself. Zak wanted to please Dad, just like he always had. Approval, respect, even love... I remember how badly we both wanted those things from the great William Adama growing up. I moved on, mostly, looking to define myself by my own terms, but Zak never wavered in using Dad's.
He would talk non-stop about Fleet Academy. Even after I finished Basic Flight and was accepted into the Viper program and told him how competitive the selection process was and how backbreaking the training could get, the fire in him never faded. Dad had been a Viper jock, and Zak was damned if he wouldn't be, either. A man's not a man until he wears the wings of a Viper pilot.
But I knew Zak. His grades were good, not great, at least in the subjects the pilot corps was interested in. He had other aptitudes, and so many other things he could have done with his life. Maybe he could have been the lawyer that Grandpa always wanted to inspire, or something completely different, like we all knew Mom would have preferred. But no, it was Viper pilot or nothing.
And I knew that even if he passed Basic Flight and was accepted to fly Vipers, he wouldn't last a solid week. My brother Zak was a good, fun, happy young man who loved life. He loved it so much I knew that there was no killer instinct in him. He was a bad stick waiting to happen. Even without the Cylons around to shoot him down, there were always Sagittaron separatists or Tauron rebels or smugglers or whatever, still out there.
As it turned out, he never even had a chance to get that far.
At his funeral, as I watched them lower his casket, I knew that I'd failed my brother. I should have listened to the warnings, heeded the signs. I should have done everything in my power to stop him. But I didn't. I let him chase his dream of finally getting Dad to respect him and approve of him. He didn't belong in the cockpit, didn't belong in the Fleet, but we let him. I let him.
I'm sorry, little brother.
(923)
I let him do it.
Sometimes, when something terrible happens, people look back at the circumstances that led up that something and think to themselves, well, we never saw it coming. There weren't any clues to the way things turned out, no great big flashing signs that said "BAD IDEA" or "TURN BACK NOW". A person steps of the curb to cross the street and gets hit by a speeding truck, or one day your doctor sits you down and tells you that you've somehow contracted a mysterious illness. We can comfort ourselves with knowing that there had been no way to prepare for it.
But what about when you see the flashing signs, and the clues are everywhere around you, in plain sight? What about when you see the truck coming? You would think that a person would do something about it, right? They'd stop or turn around, they'd stay the hell on the sidewalk and not get crushed. And if it was someone else you saw the danger heading straight toward, you'd shout out to them, wouldn't you? Maybe even jump out and try to save them?
I had a little brother once. His name was Zak, and when we were little, he'd follow me damn near everywhere. Mom, Dad and spent most of my childhood years skipping from Fleet Base to Fleet Base, one post to another. There were times when your birthday would roll around and mine and Zak's only wishes were to get to celebrate our birthdays on the same planet the next year 'round.
Most of the time, especially when I was younger, I thought my father was just about the most amazing man in the world. He was part of the Colonial Fleet, and had the coolest job there was: he was a Viper pilot, and the most exciting day of either of our childhoods was when he brought me and Zak to the flight range to show us his where he worked and the Viper he used to defend Caprica and the rest of the Twelve Colonies against the monsters, the Cylons.
If you ever end up in my father's quarters, he still has the picture they took of us all that day. Dad's buddies were ecstatic to have us there, all of them bragging and joking about what great Viper pilots we were both going to make, and which one of us was going to retire with more kills. They even presented us both with miniature flight suits and plastic wings. I'm pretty sure Zak and I slept in those for a week before Mom forced us to give them up for washing.
When we were teenagers, though, and it was getting clearer and clearer that we were both going to end up in the Fleet for sure, that I started seeing the signs. My anger and resentment at my father was at a peak, and on the day I left for college, I was all but convinced that I'd get some kind of liberal arts degree and do something completely different with my life. Zak, on the other hand, couldn't wait to sign up, couldn't wait to be a soldier and join the Fleet.
The problem wasn't his enthusiasm. It was the fact that I knew damn well he wasn't doing it for himself. Zak wanted to please Dad, just like he always had. Approval, respect, even love... I remember how badly we both wanted those things from the great William Adama growing up. I moved on, mostly, looking to define myself by my own terms, but Zak never wavered in using Dad's.
He would talk non-stop about Fleet Academy. Even after I finished Basic Flight and was accepted into the Viper program and told him how competitive the selection process was and how backbreaking the training could get, the fire in him never faded. Dad had been a Viper jock, and Zak was damned if he wouldn't be, either. A man's not a man until he wears the wings of a Viper pilot.
But I knew Zak. His grades were good, not great, at least in the subjects the pilot corps was interested in. He had other aptitudes, and so many other things he could have done with his life. Maybe he could have been the lawyer that Grandpa always wanted to inspire, or something completely different, like we all knew Mom would have preferred. But no, it was Viper pilot or nothing.
And I knew that even if he passed Basic Flight and was accepted to fly Vipers, he wouldn't last a solid week. My brother Zak was a good, fun, happy young man who loved life. He loved it so much I knew that there was no killer instinct in him. He was a bad stick waiting to happen. Even without the Cylons around to shoot him down, there were always Sagittaron separatists or Tauron rebels or smugglers or whatever, still out there.
As it turned out, he never even had a chance to get that far.
At his funeral, as I watched them lower his casket, I knew that I'd failed my brother. I should have listened to the warnings, heeded the signs. I should have done everything in my power to stop him. But I didn't. I let him chase his dream of finally getting Dad to respect him and approve of him. He didn't belong in the cockpit, didn't belong in the Fleet, but we let him. I let him.
I'm sorry, little brother.
(923)
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no subject
Date: 2007-03-27 06:09 pm (UTC)If your brother was anything like you, anything like your father, he wouldn't have listened. He would have gone on and done what he thought was best. What he thought his father would have wanted.
no subject
Date: 2007-03-29 06:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-28 06:32 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-29 06:15 am (UTC)