Hug of the decade

It was the most awkward thing I had ever seen. It should have been simple; a man should be able to hug his son without looking like he's trying to shag a cactus. He was a millionaire (if that means anything anymore) who remembered fondly every dime he had brought in the same way most people remember a favourite aunt. His son, on his 25th birthday, worked for dear old dad learning the trucking business from the shop floor up to driver, presumably soon enough into the office. Hard working kid, if a tad entitled. He would take any load any place, but he might make an unauthorized detour on the way. He'd fix his own equipment, but he  might take tools with him from the shop, and he might complain too loudly about little things. Nice kid, if a bit arrogant.

The old man had, according to the company legend, built a sailboat back in the 70's, which he sold to finance the purchase of an old trucking company. Not that he knew trucks, or how to drive them, only saw an opportunity and hired people to do the work. Equipment was scrounged, stretched, and over-used. Nothing was to be thrown away. Trucks, trailers, chains, employees, use it until it falls completely to pieces. Duct tape and wire and scabbed on pieces of steel kept most things on the road far beyond what reasonable expectations or safety concerns would allow. All in service of another dollar.

Predictably, there had been a failed marriage, doomed from the start by long hours and four tight fists. She had her own company, counting other people's money, and in the end they had two grown children and lawyers with new summer homes. It was a topic best avoided. The daughter only called for money, though it was hard enough to get she might might have had an easier time with a second job. The son worked for his dad, impatiently biding his time, waiting to inherit the kingdom.

So it was that I witnessed the worst hug of the decade. Wealthy, clueless daddy had clearly wandered through a hardware store the day before, hoping for something to jump out at him, and so presented his son with a torque wrench for his birthday. Present unwrapped, Dad went in for the embrace, and there was a long moment where the son didn't understand what was happening. He eventually realized what was expected, and moved to assume the position. Neither of them knew where they were supposed to put their heads, their torsos, how long to hold on. Whose arms go on top? A couple pats on the back and it was finally over. Dad looked proud of how it had all worked out, son stood awkwardly saying thanks for the wrench, and I sat, embarrassed for them both.