Vignette

The sun didn’t shine as bright in the morning as it usually did. Its light was faint and left only dim luminous beams, refracting into more as it passed through the morning dew. It was a quaint morning, one with the plain sky with only the yolk of the sun. Inside though, it was no less different than usual. The mom had been successful in gathering the family together at the table. All of four came scrambling to the kitchen counter where they would stay there for breakfast. All but the mom, who was already there waiting with only the patience that a mom could have. Scurrying into the rightful places, knowing the common routine, practicing the best manners; it was a daily task belonging to a well molded group. The perfect family had the best chemistry anyone could ever ask for. Some chemistry that would make others say, “the grass is definitely greener on the other side.” However, this image is viewed by outsiders, viewed by people of lesser-knowing, because the four at the table knew of what conundrums could be drawn between the father and the son. Problems, that make you question their personalities, make you question if he’s well-mannered, make you question if he’s responsible, make you question if they’re actually related, make you question if they could be the people from the perfect family. These  things could come out of nowhere, arguments seemingly materialized out of thin air. At times, radical disputes ranged so ridiculously into irrational territory that reason deemed to be useless in winning and winning would prove the better orator. But under closer investigation, it would prove “like father like son” to be utterly untrue.