I thought it would be fun to write part of a short story and then let you readers and writers out there finish it for me.

The name of our “Finish This Story” contest story is “OLD SCHOOL.” It is a fictional piece that deserves a creative ending. Will you provide a twist? Something darkly humorous? Or even fantasy or something in the horror genre? It’s your call. Complete the partial story (which presently has about 1350 words) by adding your ending as a “comment” below. The finished story should max out at 2000 words or less. Deadline:  end of the day,  June 8.

We will award our winner a 30 story subscription to LongShortStories, valued at $12, and announce the winner’s name and publish the entire story for everyone to enjoy. Good luck!

OLD SCHOOL

 

Copyright © 2010 Wayne C. Long

 

 

 I’m an old school father. In fact, all the males in my family, going back many generations were old school. All the daughters of all of us men understood what was expected.

 The problem was with the suitors, the young men whose own fathers lacked the backbone to insist on the old school way. These unenlightened young men wanted what they wanted, when they wanted it, and they didn’t want to have to work hard for it. We were determined to hold to the ways of our forefathers, for the good of the family.

 My future son-in-law was such an unenlightened one. Brash, unskilled in the social graces, and used to getting his way by intimidation. That is, until he started dating my one and only daughter.

 These two had been dating for about a year and things looked pretty serious to me and my wife. My daughter, knowing things would be coming to a head soon, sat her young man down and laid out the rules of an old school marriage within this family. My daughter’s boyfriend was shocked to say the least. At least that’s what she told me the day after her heart-to-heart with Phil.

 “I won’t do it!” raged Phil. “Fuck that old school shit! I’m gonna marry you whether he approves or not! We’ll go to Vegas and get married!”

 “No you’re not!” exclaimed my Cassie as she laid out the generations-old tradition of the young suitor sitting before the future father-in-law and selling himself, proving his worthiness of becoming her husband, finally leading to the asking for the father’s blessing of the joining of the two families through marriage.

 “That’s the way my dad’s family has been doing it since they came over on the boat from the old country. You’ve gotta get past my dad or it’ll never happen. Pure and simple. And if you want that down payment on a house as a wedding gift from Mom and Dad, you better suck up your pride, Phil!”

 Somehow, young Phil scraped up the courage to call me one evening to ask if we could meet for supper at my favorite eatery. Just him and me, to kind of get to know each other better. My daughter had kindly tipped me off to expect such an invitation. Looks like the old school thing was about to happen.

 As I parked my car in the lot outside Red’s Bar-B-Que, I couldn’t help hearing the distinctive rumble of a Harley Davidson motorcycle. There he was. Ready to do battle for my daughter’s hand. This was the moment I had lived my 46 years for. This was the moment of truth.

 “Hi, Phil!” I shouted as he swung his muscular leg over the body of the candy-apple red motorcycle.

 “Hi, Mister Davis! Glad you could make it!”

 We both made small talk as the waitress seated us in a quiet corner of the restaurant. Even though Red’s was air conditioned, I couldn’t help noticing that Phil was sweating profusely.

 We ordered and then I sat in stony silence, waiting for his first move. It finally came, albeit in fits and starts.

 “Mister Davis, I’m glad you agreed to meet me here tonight. I have something important to discuss with you. It’s about Cassie!”

 With that, I raised my eyebrows in expectation of one of the most calculated, predictable sales pitches I had ever witnessed. This was going to be fun!

 Young Phil here first laid out for me in great detail how much he loved my Cassie and how she loved him too. They had many things in common. She completed his sentences. Blah, blah, blah.

 I nodded and held back any reply as this amorous gladiator fought for his very life in between delicious bites of ribs and throat-soothing pulls on his glass of Miller Lite.

 Young Phil must have wondered if he was making any progress with me, but I smiled and encouraged him to go on.

 After the dinner plates were cleared away and he stopped sweating, Phil pushed back in his chair and fumbled for something in his pants pocket.

 He burst out, hoping for the big close. “Mister Davis, Here is a 2-carat diamond engagement ring that I have been saving for for many months. Sir, may I have your permission to marry Cassie? Your blessing would mean the world to us!”

 I tried to stretch out the silence between his plea and my response. Damn, I love drama!

 Phil cast me a worried glance as I examined the open velvet-lined jewelry box with the diamond engagement ring proudly shining for all the restaurant patrons to see, if they happened to be looking our way. It was a beauty, probably costing young Phil here at least two month’s pay. Surely Cassie had given it her approval when they visited the jewelry store.

 I hunkered down in my chair and did my duty, just like my father before me and his father before him.

 “You certainly have bought a beautiful engagement ring for my daughter, Phil! I can see that you are serious about this. Her mother and I have been expecting this for some months now and I’m glad you have come to me like this to ask for my blessing. Cassie means everything to us. And I can see that she means everything to you. Before I say yes, I have a few questions for you. Okay?”

 What could this nervous young suitor say? He looked physically drained, his eyes bloodshot. He fidgeted in his chair as I rolled out my questions one by one.

 How solid was his job at the plant? How did he feel about having kids? Had he and Cassie picked out a house yet?

 It was in answer to this last question that Phil responded with just a bit too much self-confidence, having probably heard from Cassie that we would give them a check for a down payment on their first house as a wedding gift. His usual brashness and, I detected, my daughter’s tell-tale impetuousness and sense of entitlement, began to rake on my sense of goodwill. It was all about the party with these two. Pure and simple.

 “Tell you what, Phil. I like you and my wife likes you. Cassie obviously likes you. But I’m from the old school and I believe that marriage is the most serious thing a couple can enter into. It’s not a game and it’s not something that should be entered into lightly. There’s just too much divorce in this country and I, for one, won’t stand for it!”

 I gave Phil a chance to suck some oxygen into his body before I went in for the kill.

 “Cassie’s mom and I had been planning to give you two a down payment on your first house for a wedding present, in the event that you came to me to ask for her hand in marriage. You have answered my questions and, by your actions, sealed your intent to marry my daughter.”

 I kind of laughed to break the tension in the air and then said this to my bewildered future son-in-law.

 “I give you permission to marry Cassie, Phil!”

 He rose out of his chair to vigorously shake my hand, voicing every word of gratitude he could muster. I motioned for him to sit back down for a minute. I wasn’t quite finished with him.

 “One last thing and then I’ve got to get on home, Phil!”

 He eyed me like a cornered animal, not knowing what move I’d make next.

 I opened with “I have decided not to give you money for a down payment on a house. Instead, I want to protect my investment.” He squirmed.

 “You can marry Cassie but I will be putting that down payment money in a special interest-bearing account at my bank. If you and Cassie can stay happily married for at least ten years, that money will become yours upon your 11^th wedding anniversary. Those are my conditions. Pure and simple. Now, do you still want to marry my daughter?”

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