“Well,” he said, his tone upbeat, “I’m thrilled we’re having this conversation.” If our grandmother’s view was even partially accurate, Bob explained that he realized I had lacked love and support. He described it as an additional factor beyond our parents’ decision to place him in a locked ward, where he was expected to accept his diagnosis and surrender his identity. Grandmother’s remarks added another dimension to his self‑understanding. His voice conveyed a sense of release, as if this harsh awareness of the challenges he faced as a young man might finally free him to pursue his musical aspirations. I was relieved to hear this hint of liberation, yet I remained skeptical that a clearer grasp of this painful history would propel him forward. Although I suppressed my doubts, his conviction seemed misguided — an expression of vulnerability and, in my view, a weakness. I also felt excluded by what appeared to be his obsessive focus on correcting the past.
As our sessions continued, I expressed concern that Bob’s relentless ambition was creating distance between us, that his desire, at age 64, to redeem the past by proving himself as an artist erected a barrier around him. Writing this sentence now, I wonder whether my comment was an unconscious, subtle attempt to undermine him, a resurgence of deep‑seated rivalry I hoped had faded. Why should it concern me that he strives for greater artistic achievement — beyond leading his church band and occasionally performing for a modern dance company in New York?
Bob responded with acknowledgment. “I have many relationships with parishioners and colleagues,” he told Benjamin. “But honestly, besides those, there’s Pam.” He then mentioned the two close friendships he’d formed over the decades; one friend had died, and he’d lost touch with the other. “When I get home, I start practicing the piano or doing singing exercises. On Saturday, I do the same. Pam and I might go for a bike ride, then I write my sermon or practice the piano. None of this ranks higher than having coffee with somebody or having a beer with somebody or ——”
“Call my brother,” Benjamin suggested.
“Or call my brother.”
“Daniel can’t compete with this ambition,” Benjamin asked. “But is there room for him to join? Could we find time to share and be together if his ambition pauses for just thirty minutes?”
I added that if I shared something vulnerable with Bob, “my words would have to push through the barrier that surrounds him, because his desire to rectify the past isolates him and prevents him from being fully present with me.”
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