Winter Wonderland

three: a christmas storie

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Dad's a brand-new Range Rover guy. He isn't used to my crappy second-hand car: he doesn't know to twist the key twice to get her going and he doesn't realize how stiff her handbrake is or that the volume dial turns in the wrong direction, but he refuses my offer to take over. At least three times, I tell him to just pull over and I'll drive when he mutters about the jerkiness of the automatic transmission's gear changes.

It took thirty minutes for him to get used to the car, and we suddenly had nothing to talk about when he was no longer asking why the buttons on the radio didn't match their functions. In the end, I plugged in my AUX cable – the Bluetooth hasn't worked for well over a year – and put on one of my driving playlists. We passed Dayton in silence, then Columbus, and when we reach the halfway point between my house and my home, I'm seriously doubting Dad's sincerity about wanting to talk.

But then he clears his throat. He flexes his hands on the steering wheel and pushes his glasses over the bump in his long nose, and he turns down the music. I glance at him, but he's looking straight ahead. He drives like he's still in driver's ed. Hands never moving from nine and three; eyes fixed on the road.

"Why did you lose your job?" he asks. I wonder how long he's been wanting to ask that. Probably all weekend. Probably wondering how a child of his could fail so hard.

"They had to make staff cuts. I was one of the last ones to join, so ... yeah." I shrug. After more than a year of busting my ass waiting tables just to scrape by, I spent six months working behind the desk at a hotel near my apartment – it was easy and convenient and I figured I'd have time to figure out what I want to do. "It was only ever going to be a temporary gig. I just didn't realize how temporary."

I wish high school had prepared me for this. Real life. For four years, it was drilled into me that college was essential, that it would be the best time of my life and it would set me up for the future, that I would never get a job without a degree. No-one ever explained how hard it would be to get a job with a degree, nor did anyone bother to ask if I wanted to go.

Honestly ... I don't know if it was worth it. Perhaps I'm just jaded by the fact that in two years, I haven't had a job that I couldn't have got without going to college, but I don't see the point. I still don't know what I want to do, but at least I can say I got my bachelor's and I can show the certificate to prove it.

"Hmm," Dad muses. I have no idea what he's about to say. We've never talked about my future. I wouldn't know what to say. If I haven't figured it out by now, will I ever? I can't imagine that one day I'll have a eureka! moment when I suddenly see my life's calling. Dad clicks his tongue and hums. "The world of work can be hard. I was very lucky."

Somehow, despite having two kids by the time he graduated – with a master's in business, no less – Dad managed to get straight into investment banking. I was a baby when we moved from the middle of Alabama to the big apple and I had just started elementary school when we picked up our lives again and moved to Cincinnati. After a few years in the city, we moved to the house I call home now. That was the first time I realized my family had money.

That realization was brought into sharp perspective when I came across Dad's tax return a few years ago and the seven figures made my eyes water. That's not just luck. He works his ass off, half of his time spent in Manhattan. I remember him and Mom talking about moving back to New York, back when Daria was a baby. Except it was more like Dad suggesting it and Mom shutting him down. She's a country girl. Forty-five minutes from Cincy is enough city for her.

"This is a setback," Dad says, "but you'll find your feet when you realize what your passion is."

"Was banking really your passion when you were in college?"