- Joined
- Feb 3, 2013
This could probably go in any number of threads, but this is the picture that I see when anyone discusses whether there was any genuine love and affection in 14 Branchland:
Chris is around 10 or 11 years old, before he and Bob fled the county. He's got it in his head to ask his parents if they love him, probably thanks to some cartoon or old sitcom that ended on a warm and fuzzy note. He finds one of them downstairs on the phone. Maybe it's Bob, flipping through the phone book, trying to wrangle a lawyer whose time he hasn't totally wasted in entertaining some crazy civil suit. Maybe it's Barb, thumbing through old correspondence and address books, trying to round up old acquaintances out of the blue for whatever it is fiftysomething women do (pinochle?), only to find that none of them are available. Either way, Chris comes quietly into the room, where they're muttering and "mm-hmm"-ing into the phone. He drops it:
"(Mom/Dad), do you love me?"
"Mm-hmm."
Chris walks away, elated.
Chris is around 10 or 11 years old, before he and Bob fled the county. He's got it in his head to ask his parents if they love him, probably thanks to some cartoon or old sitcom that ended on a warm and fuzzy note. He finds one of them downstairs on the phone. Maybe it's Bob, flipping through the phone book, trying to wrangle a lawyer whose time he hasn't totally wasted in entertaining some crazy civil suit. Maybe it's Barb, thumbing through old correspondence and address books, trying to round up old acquaintances out of the blue for whatever it is fiftysomething women do (pinochle?), only to find that none of them are available. Either way, Chris comes quietly into the room, where they're muttering and "mm-hmm"-ing into the phone. He drops it:
"(Mom/Dad), do you love me?"
"Mm-hmm."
Chris walks away, elated.