Hindsight

“Who’s going to give the eulogy?”

Looking alarmed, their father said, “Not me.”  Jack turned to Jonah. “Then I guess it’s you.”

“Me!  Why me?”

“You were her favorite.”

As Jonah’s eyes widened in disbelief, Jack told him, “I couldn’t have a five minute conversation with her that didn’t begin and end with you.”

“She talked about you all of the time to me.”

“Don’t be selfish.  I’d be terrible at it.”

“You give seminars!”

“That’s different.”

“Boys,” their father interrupted, “that’s enough.  Jonah, you do it.  She would have liked that.”

“Why?”

“Well, you were the one who got to go to camp every year, weren’t you?” Jack snapped.  “I asked and asked but she said we could only afford to send one, and she always picked you.  She wouldn’t even alternate, you know, one summer for you and one for me.”

Trapped and miserable, Jonah said, “I hated camp.”

“A fine way to be grateful now that our mother is dead,” Jack shouted, and stormed out of the room.