Free The Downside of Being Up by Alan Sitomer Page A

way that made it look like I was just reaching into my pocket to feel for a set of keys or something.
    After all, I knew all the hide-your-woody tricks.
    â€œWhatever you want, Dad,” I said.
    Like I really care.
    â€œNow trust me,” my father said. “This is for your own good and you’ll . . . Excuse me. What’d you say?”
    â€œDoesn’t matter.” I tossed my stuff down. “I’ll do whatever. You choose.”
    He studied me for a moment.
    â€œWhat’s wrong?”
    â€œNothin’.”
    â€œHey, slugger,” he said, softening. “Come on. What’s up?”
    He used to call me slugger all the time, back when we played baseball and did stuff together, but with him working so much and me developing a permanent case of erection-itis, well, he hadn’t called me it in a long, long time.
    And I can’t say I missed it. Fact is, these days I sorta thought my dad was a goober.
    However, I was desperate. But was I really desperate enough to seek help from my lame-o father?
    â€œIt’s a girl,” I said.
    I guess I was.
    â€œA girl?” he replied.
    â€œYeah, a girl.”
    He motioned toward the couch. “Come. Sit. Chat.”
    Suddenly, I regretted saying anything.
    â€œC’mon, slugger,” he repeated. “Sit down.”
    I let out a sigh and trudged over to the couch.
    â€œYou’re not gonna give me a birds-and-bees talk, are you?” I asked. “’Cause that would be, like, awkward.”
    â€œJust sit down and tell me what’s up.”
    Dad loosened his tie and kicked off his shoes. He wore tan socks that perfectly matched his tan shirt.
    I told him all about Allison. About my feelings for her. About how I had the tingles for her and about how cool she was and about how green her eyes were. And also about how I really wanted to ask her to the Big Dance but chickened out and now felt just so miserable and stupid and loserly.
    I let it all out. Dad didn’t interrupt once. It must have been a record length of silence for him.
    â€œI can help you,” he said once I’d finished.
    â€œYou can?” I said.
    â€œYep, I can.” He sounded so confident and sure. Maybe my dad wasn’t such a goober after all?
    â€œOkay.”
    â€œYou see, Bobby, what you need to realize is that our family are second-place people. We’re not the number ones in life. We do best when we play it safe. Take the conservative route. Don’t stretch. If you don’t expect too much in this world, you won’t ever be too disappointed. The stuff of champions and victors, that’s TV, that’s not the Connor family.”
    I looked at him sideways. He leaned forward to make sure he was being clear.
    â€œThe problem you’re having is that you’re a second-class guy chasing a first-class girl. Fix your expectations and you’ll fix the problem.”
    Huh?
    â€œStay within your limits, Bobby. Know who you are and you’ll avoid a whole lot of troubles in this world, son. That’s how I picked your mom, you know. No stretching. No reaching. No head all up in the stars,” he said. “See, she and I are in the same category. We’re both down here,” he said, holding his hand a little lower than his waist. “Does that make sense?”
    â€œUm, yeah,” I stuttered.
    â€œYou sure?”
    â€œYeah, Dad. Um, thanks,” I said, standing up.
    â€œDon’t mention it, Bobby. Remember, aim low. Play conservative. Grab the stuff that’s easily within your reach and let the rest of the junk go,” he said. “You get more of what you try for if you don’t try for that much, if you know what I mean. It’s a recipe for life that will take you far.”
    â€œYeah, Dad,” I said. “Thanks.”
    â€œDon’t mention it, slugger.”
    Dad reclined in his chair. I could tell that he felt good about just having had a real