Challenge The Proud

Nothing Whatsoever

"Losers, after all, still win, nothing whatsoever." - Challenge No.5 

THE GLASS SHATTERED and that pretty wooden frame cracked and split, allowing the paper that read: '1st Prize in Landscaping, Santa Monica, Greenwich Show, 1998' to slip out of what had been its protective shell for 16 years now.

"Dad?" Tony, a 12 year old, scrawny looking boy, entered the garage wondering what had happened.

His dad had a beer in his hand - he always had a few on Sundays, it was his only day off - and a box full of junk they didn't use anymore under his other arm.

"I knocked it off tryin' to move this stuff," he explained with a crooked smile.

Tony rushed to help his dad set the box down without anymore accidents.

"What's this?" the kid asked rummaging through the box. There were old notebooks on landscaping, pictures, albums, and what looked like old trophies.

"Nothin'. I was gonna throw it away. I need the space."

"For what?"

His dad took a moment and then shrugged. Tony didn't always get his father, especially after a few beers. The man did random things like out-of-the-blue-garage-cleaning for-no-particular-reason kind of things.

"Don't you have homework to do?"

"I already did it - dad! Look!" Tony held up a small silver trophy - it was a basic human figure of sorts with arms over its head and a subtle bend in its back as if the little man was about to dive, "it's my Participation Trophy from the Swim Meet last year. Remember dad?"

"Yeah, I remember." His dad took a swing from his beer and then pointed at Tony with the bottle as he went on to say, "you lost."

"Yeah. But I got a trophy anyway."

The dad kneeled beside the boy and cleared his throat placing a hand on Tony's shoulder as he spoke, "Listen 'ere, son. It's true. Losers, after all, still win..." he slapped Tony's back and added with a chortle, "nothing whatsoever!"

He took the participation trophy from the boy's confused fingers and mumbled, "junk."

For some reason those words got stuck to Tony. Nothing whatsoever. It hurt him in ways he couldn't yet understand. Yes, he didn't win or even get second or third place.

Remembering that day at the swim meet, Tony realized he had given up swimming soon after. The participation trophy was fine and all that, but everyone got one - it meant nothing. His dad had been right. All he really had gotten was nothing whatsoever.

A couple of weeks later Tony joined the school swim team again. He went to practice and kept to a strict routine enjoying the hard work that came with such a schedule.

And when the next School Swim Meet took place, Tony got third place. But still those words kept ringing in his head: Losers, after all, still win - nothing whatsoever. He didn't say a thing to his dad.

A month later, at the finals, Tony not only participated but this time he also got a Medal. The First Place Medal!

The kid wanted nothing more than to show it to his dad. So despite his tired muscles, wet hair, and damp clothes, he ran from the bus station, keeping a firm hold on the medal that dangled with his every stride, from side to side, as if it was proudly waving to everyone.

His dad worked for a Landscaping Company and always kept a note on the fridge door with the address he was currently working at - Tony suspected his dad did that because he was a scatter-brain and not for the reasons he claimed (so that his son would know where his father was at all times, just in case).

Tony ran up the path to the big house where he imagined old men sat around, drinking fine whiskey and smoking expensive cigars - a fancy club of some sort. He'd been there before and the guy who greeted guests recognized Tony and pointed him in the right direction. His dad was working on the east side of the gardens.

In just a couple of minutes, Tony was already skipping among bushes that were getting their weekly trimming.

"What the heck are you doin'?" a man's voice exclaimed and Tony couldn't shake the feeling that the voice was mocking the one it addressed as it went on to say,"you're full of talent aren't you? Just do it the same way we all do it!"

Another man retorted but it was faint and Tony couldn't really make it out.

The mocking voice spoke again and this time, Tony could see it was his dad's boss speaking. "You do that when you have your own company. Understood? Oh! I forgot. What's that? You used to have one but it got kicked to the curb? You're a fucking loser? Good! Now that we got that out of the way, get back to work!" 

Tony watched his dad lower his head, and keeping his mouth shut despite the sting of those words being quite apparent on his tired, sun-kissed face.

His dad was a loser?

The shock of this revelation echoed all throughout the next night and the next few days. He hadn't told his dad about his win and he had decided to hide the First Prize Medal in the garage the first chance he got. 

That night he sneaked past his tipsy, snoring father and found a good spot to put away the medal - a box filled with old toys. Tony was about to leave when he stepped on shards of glass that scraped against his snickers and the floor. He looked under the large metal shelf unit and saw a piece of paper that had probably been unwillingly kicked there.

One Sunday evening, Tony approached his dad while he was having his usual beer in front of the TV. He placed the framed award that read '1st Prize in Landscaping, Santa Monica, Greenwich Show, 1998' on his dad's lap.

Tony watched with a cocky little smirk fluttering on his lips how his dad looked surprised over the award and how he turned it around in his hand, in wonder of the new, yet familiar object, only to find his son's writing on the back of the frame.

'Losers, after all, can eventually win, but only if they don't give up.'

His dad smiled. For the first time in a long time, Tony got to see him actually smile.

A month later, his dad started to spend his Sundays with a ruler and a pencil in his hands, making plans for the landscaping designs that his new company would soon be offering to potential customers.

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