Greg sat down at the dinner table, eyes intensely focused on his chili, spoon moving to mouth at lightning speeds. He made a point of avoiding the gaze of his father sitting across from him, for he knew that if they met eyes, the lecturing would begin...
Greg often made bad decisions. He had C's and D's on his report card and got detention often. And every single time his father never failed to give him a long chiding on "ethics" and "selflessness" and "moral compass" and blah blah blah <em>blah.</em>
Greg quickly finished his food and hastily stumbled up the stairs to his bed room; his place of solace. At least his father knew better than to intrude his personal haven. Here, he was safe from the mundane speeches that his old man gave.
Greg picked up an old comic book and aimlessly flipped through pages, with the occasional mirthless chuckle at a character whacking another upside the head. Suddenly, a sharp rap on the door...
"Greg? Greg? Gregory! Open the door, please, I want to talk to you," pleaded his father.
"No, go away dad," Greg snapped. "I'm in a mood."
"It's important, Gregory," his father said.
"Call me Greg. And it's never important," Greg snarled.
His father sighed and eventually left him to his thoughts.
The next Tuesday morning, Greg was rudely awakened by his alarm clock going off, and he grumbled reluctantly as he prepared for school. As usual, he scarfed down a bowl of cereal without making much eye contact with his father, and skateboarded down to the high school, which was only around three blocks away.
