At 32, My Father Mocked My Career As A Consultant, But When His Failing…

The Guests of Honor Arrive

I approached the door and opened it. Andrew Collins, 52, appeared on the front porch in a fitted charcoal suit that probably cost more than my Honda.

He looked like he’d walked out of a Forbes magazine shoot with silver hair, sharp features, and a commanding presence. Rachel Harris, our CFO, stood behind him in a burgundy dress, while Victoria Bennett, our VP of Operations, wore a black pants suit.

“Good evening, Ethan,”

Andrew replied cordially.

“We apologize for being late. Traffic on Interstate 5 was a nightmare.”

“No problem at all,”

I answered.

“Come in.”

I led them into the dining room. Andrew brought an expensive bottle of wine, Rachel had a bouquet of flowers, and Victoria held a covered dish that smelled like honey-glazed ham.

Every eye in the house followed them as they entered.

“Everyone,”

I continued.

“These are Andrew Collins, Rachel Harris, and Victoria Bennett. They work with me.”

“Oh, very sweet,”

my mother remarked, puzzled but polite.

“Please sit down. We have lots of food.”

Dad scarcely looked up.

“So these are the consulting guys. Sure fit in someplace.”

Andrew’s eyes roamed the table until they fell on me, at which point his entire manner transformed from casual pleasant to something between shock and true dread. His back straightened and his smile evaporated.

“Sir,”

he continued, his tone suddenly serious and even respectful.

“I didn’t know. You mentioned family dinner. I didn’t know.”

He paused, looked around the table, returned my gaze, and bowed slightly.

“Mister… I apologize for the intrusion, Parker.”

He added,

“If I had known this was your family, I would have…”

“It’s all right, Andrew,”

I responded gently.

“Sit down, everyone. This is Andrew Collins. He is the CEO of Stratton Global Industries.”

Uncle David’s fork clattered on his plate.

“And Rachel Harris, Chief Financial Officer, and Victoria Bennett, Vice President of Operations for North American Divisions.”

Chris’s face began to lose color. Michael stared at me, his mouth slightly open.

Dad just sat there, fork halfway into his mouth, motionless.

“Wait,”

Uncle John responded softly.

“Stratton Global? That’s… that’s the corporation that acquired Parker and Sons.”

“That’s correct,”

I said, returning to my chair.

“Six months ago. $5 million acquisition. Part of Stratton’s strategic expansion into Pacific Northwest Construction Services.”

The Boss of Bosses

Everyone turned to stare at my father, who was still transfixed. His face varying from red to white to grayish.

“Dad works there now,”

I answered casually.

“How is the new management treating you, by the way? I heard some restructuring announcements were coming next month.”

Andrew caught on right away. I watched the knowledge dawn in his eyes, and his face changed from professional to colder, more calculating.

“Mr. Robert Parker,”

Andrew continued, his voice bland but with an edge.

“I wasn’t aware you were related to our Top Strategy Officer. The man who designed the entire acquisition. The man who has ultimate say on division budgets, hiring choices, and operational restructuring.”

The hush was total. My father murmured,

“Wait,”

and his voice broke.

“You’re…”

I said,

“You are my boss’s boss’s boss.”

“Yes.”

Rachel leaned over and murmured something to Andrew, who nodded slowly, his gaze never leaving my father.

“Mr. Parker,”

Andrew continued.

“I’ve been examining the Q3 performance reports. Your division, the historic Parker and Sons contracts, has underperformed expectations. Margins are down 14%. There has been debate about eliminating superfluous personnel in that section. Redundant.”

My dad’s voice was scarcely heard.

“But of course,”

Andrew continued, staring at me.

“I’m sure your kid would not want us to make any hurried judgments concerning his father’s career. Would you, Ethan?”

Everyone in the room was now looking at me, waiting. My mother’s hand covered her mouth.

Chris seemed to want to disappear into his chair. Michael’s face had become absolutely pale.

Aunt Sarah’s eyes were wide, something between dread and interest. I took a drink of wine, let the moment to breathe, and let them all sit in it.

A Lesson in Modern Business

“Tell me, Dad,”

I eventually murmured, putting down my drink.

“What did you say about actual work?”

His lips opened and closed, producing no sound.

“Because I’m trying to understand,”

I said, my voice calm and even compassionate.

“I want to make sure I have this right. Construction is a genuine job. Building things with your hands is beneficial. But strategic consultancy, supply chain optimization, and digital transformation are nothing. That’s a ruse. Is that accurate?”

Dad’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He couldn’t make words.

“Here’s what I find intriguing,”

I replied.

“The reason Parker and Sons was losing money and you were going to go bankrupt was because your project management was stuck in 1995. You were still completing paper requisition forms. You used Excel spreadsheets to track inventories. You were losing thousands of dollars every job because no one knew where your goods were or when they’d arrive.”

Andrew nodded.

“The due diligence report was lengthy.”

“So when Stratton purchased you,”

I said,

“What did they do? They hired consultants. People like me who use laptops and coffee shops and create PowerPoint presentations.”

“And do you know what happened?”

My father was gazing at me and I couldn’t interpret his expression—shock, fear, or embarrassment.

“Your division’s margins increased by 8% in the first quarter under new management.”

And I said,

“All because someone implemented the kind of pretend work you just mocked me for doing.”

Victoria spoke up.

“And the digital inventory system alone saved $150,000 in the third quarter.”

“But that’s not real work, right, Dad?”

I stood up slowly.

“I told you what real work is. Spending six years building a company from nothing. Working 100-hour weeks to prove a concept everyone said was stupid and earning every single client through results rather than inheritance.”

Chris blanched at that.

“Real work,”

I added,

“is transforming a failed company concept into a lucrative purchase. Managing 52 direct reports across six states is real work, as is sitting in boardrooms making choices that touch thousands of families—including yours.”

The room was so silent that I could hear the kitchen clock tick.

“But you’re correct about one thing,”

I said.

“I drive a 12-year-old Honda because I don’t have anything to prove with a car. I rent an apartment because I travel 40 weeks a year and it seems silly to purchase a house I’d never live in. I don’t have a partner because I’ve been too busy pursuing the profession you just informed me doesn’t exist.”

My mother was weeping now, tears flowing down her cheeks. I addressed Andrew, Rachel, and Victoria, turning to face them.

“Thank you for coming, but I think we should leave. I’m not hungry anymore.”

“Of course, sir,”

Andrew said, rising up instantly. Rachel and Victoria followed suit.

As I approached the door, my father finally found his words.

“Wait, Ethan, please.”

I came to a complete halt and gently turned around.

“Yes, you did, Dad. You always mean it. That is the problem. I was just… I tried to inspire you.”

“Motivate me?”

I laughed, but it came out bitter.

“Dad, I sold my company for $50 million. I also possess ownership in Stratton Global worth $15 million. I made more last year than you would during your whole lifetime. But none of it matters to you since I don’t use a hammer.”

Uncle John had his face in his hands. Aunt Sarah was gazing at me as if she’d never seen me before, and Chris and Michael both seemed ill.

“I didn’t tell you any of this because I wanted you to be proud of me for who I am, not what I produce,”

I said, my voice becoming more steady.

“But you cannot do so. You can’t see beyond your personal concept of success to acknowledge that your son may have accomplished anything.”

“Ethan, please,”

my mother begged gently.

“Don’t leave like this.”

“I’m sorry, Mom, but I can’t sit at a table where I’m openly mocked for my career while the CEO of a billion-dollar company literally bows to me.”

I glanced at my father once again and he was smaller, shrunk. The guy who had seemed so enormous, so certain, so righteous, suddenly appeared old, confused, and little.

“You want to know why I don’t attend Sunday meals anymore, Dad? Here’s why: because no matter what I do, it will never be enough for you. So I quit trying.”

Andrew unlocked the front door and cold November air surged in.

“Sir,”

he asked gently,

“Are you sure about this?”

My father was sitting at the head of the table, his head in his hands. My mother was silently sobbing.

Chris was gazing at his plate and Michael looked at me with an apology in his eyes.

“Yes,”

I answered.

“I’m certain.”