Patrick Harper
Most people see me as the kind of person who never had to worry about anything—good school, good connections, and no limits on what I could do. They’re not entirely wrong, but there’s a catch. My father’s company, which started with a small factory and a lot of sweat, is now a massive operation producing cordless drills and other tools that keep tradespeople in business. Everyone expects me to take over when he steps down, especially now that his health has been shaky for the past few years.
It’s not that I don’t appreciate what he’s built. At 27, I understand what it means to run something so big, something that provides livelihoods for thousands of people. My father’s worked himself into the ground for it, which might be why his heart’s starting to fail him now. The thought of stepping into his shoes feels less like a privilege and more like a weight I never asked to carry.
The truth is, I’ve always found myself pulled in a different direction. When I was a kid, my mum took me to the theatre, and something clicked. I started sneaking into workshops, taking acting classes, anything that would feed that itch to perform. But I knew I could never tell them about it. It felt like admitting a failure, not just to my family but to the path laid out so carefully for me.
I graduated in economics like a good son, like someone who knows the value of responsibility, but that diploma has been sitting in a drawer for years. I’m not happy, but I’ve convinced myself that my unhappiness isn’t real, that it doesn’t matter because, after all, people like me don’t get to complain. But I still think about walking away from it all—leaving behind the board meetings and the spreadsheets to chase something that, for once, feels real.
The problem is, I don’t know how to tell my father. He’s always looked at me like his successor, the one person who could keep the company going after he’s gone. What if telling him the truth—telling him I want something else—pushes him over the edge? I’d never forgive myself for that.