Coffee and Cynicism

     They are few and far between, but everyone once and a while a person is born unto this earth that has the power to change everything. These people led nations and change cultures and are admired throughout the ages, Harold Herschim was not one of these people. Harold was a 42 year old beaten down man who had grown tired of the world, but was never one to jump off buildings or the likes so he calmly drank his coffee every morning and wondered what the hell happened to the world? Harold had quit his job with the local news station after getting sick of covering murders and rapes. He in turn took a job at the high school teaching English and hoped the fresh, young faces would rekindle his hope for the world, but unfortunately it was hard to see their inquisitive faces when they were constantly buried in their fancy doo-hickeys. Two years later and the song remains the same and Harold has quietly resigned himself to this life of annoyance and complacence. So, with this lifestyle a mundane routine was set up for Mr. Herschim's life that made the pain of disillusionment at least bearable: arrive only twenty minutes early as the students arrived at the last minute anyways so why rush, drink his coffee and stoically stare at the large poster of Mark Twain in the back of the class. It was a simple routine that was never easy to get through, who wants to teach a dying subject anyways? With the rise of texting and, God forbid, tweeting there seemed to be no point in teaching juxtaposition and the soliloquies of a Shakespearean play because those can't fit in 140 characters. He often wondered what Twain, with all his sarcasm and wit, would respond to this situation with. He would probably have more of a fiery disdain for this than Harold's subordination to it. Whatever the case may be, Twain was dead and there wasn't much Harold could do to stem the tide of social media, so he listlessly sifted through the papers in his home on Sundays, grading as he went. The only joy on these days was the afternoon visits from his son Eric, who was finishing up his last year at business school.

     "I tell ya Eric, it's hard to believe half of these kids made it this far." Harold said, shaking the papers in his hands then letting them softly thud back onto his coffee table.

     "It can't be that bad, things were pretty decent when I went to school pops." his son replied, sitting down on the sofa sinking in a bit.

     "Yeah, but you didn't have these damn phones that do everything for you too!" Harold retorted pouring himself some coffee.

     Eric only replied with a small chuckle as he relaxed a bit back into the couch. Eric was far more optimistic about the future of the world which was only because he didn't have to interact with the future of the world according to Harold that is. Harold also said that was a big part of his mother in him, both of them dreamers as he called it. He and his ex-wife, Helen, came from two separate school of though, the cynics and the optimist. Harold was constantly the rain on her parade which is what most likely led to their eventual split. It all seemed for the better at first, but the details of how everything transpired only fueled Harold's cynicism and drove his family even further way. In fact he had no contact with his son from ages four till nineteen. It was actually Eric's own choice that he reunite with his father, but it still took a few years after he moved out from under Helen's watch. She had refused to allow Harold any sort of visitation rights or joint custody fearing her son would be corrupted by Harold's world view. So, for over a decade Harold had no contact with anyone except for superficial exchanges of pleasantries at work and the occasional bum at the bar. It would be assumed that the visits from Eric would improve his life which they do to some point, but he also worried Eric wasn't prepared for what the world was. 

     "So what have you been up to Dad?" Eric finally broke the silence.

     "Ahh the same old crap" he grumbled shifting through his papers again.

     The conversation trailed off there as usual. The meetings were always a variation of the same thing, Harold complaining about his students and the sorry state of the world and Eric trying to assure him that it really wasn't that bad. The only honest reason Eric even bothered anymore was a vague sense of familial obligation and a guilty conscience over what his over-bearing mother had decreed. He sat there quietly with his father as he graded papers only occasionally engaging in conversation when Harold would snort at an essay. Business as usual it seemed until Harold cracked an uncharacteristic smile and began laughing, actual genuine laughing. Eric shifted a bit wondering if this meant it was a new kind of low-point his father had hit or if it was a simple joke a student had made. Harold studied the paper, smiling still.

     "Well Eric I think it's time for me to retire from all of this." he set the paper down, smile fading.

     "You're in your early forties, really think you can retire?" Eric was taken aback.

     "It's uh...It's just time Eric there's nothing left I can do for them." he shook his head and got up walking to the bay window in his living room and rested against the ledge.

     "That bad huh?" he watched his father pad away to the window.

     "Read it for yourself." he gestured towards the paper and watched the birds outside his window.

     Eric picked it up and read over it. The paper was titled The Death of Words and as far as Eric could tell there was nothing incredibly astounding about it. He set it down with a simple sigh and glanced up at his father searching for an answer. Harold nodded his head slightly and turned around to face his son's confused face.

     "You see?' he smiled as Eric shook his head, "Despite what your mother said I've been proven right, there is no hope. If kids their age already realize their own decline, yet are doing nothing to change it then what more can I teach them? It'd be like trying to teach a wolf how to make a salad, it's not going to learn so you don't try teaching it."

     "But that paper was pretty well written I thought." Eric replied sheepishly.
     "All right for a Midwestern public school 10th grader." He smiled stirring his coffee, "These kids are worse cynics than me, recognizing and identifying the problem yet so sure that no one will do anything to change it that they might as well conform."

     "I guess I just don't get it then Dad." Eric said.

     "The point is there is no point....no one cares about anything anymore so why should we?"