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Wallace Parsons amassed great wealth during his life … that’s how they described my father at his funeral. How strange it seemed to be eulogized by an ability to “amass great wealth” instead of by adjectives which described characteristics of humanity. Gentleness, kindness, patience – no such words were spoken this day. Love of money, love of power, love of success – these consumed his heart, leaving not even scraps for a lonely son.
The room was filled with strangers, businesspeople and sycophants, still lapping behind memories of the legend. There was no problem through which my father did not arise victorious. He drew power from challenge, like a rogue wave sucking in great amounts of water right before plunging into villages, ending the hopes, dreams and lives of countless thousands. Perhaps only those laid flat in the wake of Wallace Parsons were not in attendance.
A king among men, he seemed unflappable … unstoppable. In the end, however, it took only a tiny piece of lead to down this respected, feared man, the task completed most effectively by a single gunshot to the head. It was said to be a random act of violence that still had authorities scrambling for answers, another civic benefit of wealth.
“I love you, son.” Unspoken words haunted me from my father’s ornamental box, but I knew better. I would not be teased by ghosts. He was gone, and any chance I had of actually hearing my father speak those words went with him.
As the viewing drew to a close, the time had come to say my final goodbye and I approached his casket amidst sniffs and sighs of sympathy, the sole survivor of a man so admired. Gazing upon the face I’d sought so often for counsel and affection, now admittedly a bit more pallid, I found it seemed no less lifelike than when he looked through me while blood still filled his veins. I leaned in as if embracing a lost loved one and slipped his pearl-handled pistol from my breast pocket into the coffin beneath his body.
My father amassed great wealth during his life ... now it was my turn.
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