Obie waited for the phone to finally stop ringing. He knew it was his mother. She always rang on the landline. He would call her back, but right now, he really couldn’t face another lengthy and sarcastic interrogation about Martin and the art gallery. “I paint I have painted, and I always will paint. Its what I do. It makes me happy, and now, thanks to Martin, it’s finally making me some money.”
Unlike his brothers and sister, Obie had no desire to be involved in any way in the family business, a string of 35 dry cleaning stores across two states. “Obie, a hobby is a hobby,” his mother would tell him, “and it’s right you should have one. And it’s right you should want to do well at it. But it’s not real life, damn it, Obie! That’s not gonna get you by in life.”
Discussions such as these invariably ended in pointless and endless circular arguments. Obie’s mother would never understand what drove him or what inspired his art. She wouldn’t even allow him the time to explain.
Obie had to think a little before speaking with his mother this time. His family, being minor celebrities as significant sponsors of community events in a small town in rural Pennsylvania, was known to the local TV news station. The station had invited his parents to appear on the evening news to discuss the exhibition of her son’s paintings in a Greenwich Village art gallery.
Great character, great details!
Thank you!