“Now, it so happened my father was on the school board and took a great interest in the school, and he and the principal saw quite a lot of each other. They were really very good friends; the principal and his wife used to come to our house for dinner, and my father and mother used to go to their house for dinner. Consequently, I was deeply shocked by the principal’s remark. It hurt to overhear myself being called a disgusting little bastard, but it was the disrespect to my father that hurt the most. ‘The Gould boy’! That brought my father into it. If he had just said ‘Joseph Gould,’ it wouldn’t’ve been so bad. It would’ve confined it to me. I felt that the principal had insulted my father. I felt that he had betrayed him. At the very least, he had made fun of him behind his back. In some strange way, it made me feel closer to my father than I had ever felt before, and it made me feel sorry for him—it made me want to make it up to him. So that night, after supper, I went into the parlor, where he was sitting reading, and I said to him, ‘Father, I’ve been doing some thinking lately about what I’d like to be, and I’ve decided I’d like to study medicine and be a surgeon.’ I thought it would please him twice as much if I said I wanted to be a surgeon. ‘That’ll be the day,’ my father said. ‘If you did become a surgeon, and if you performed operations the way you do everything else, when you got through with a patient you’d have his insides so balled up you’d have his heart hanging upside down and his liver turned around backward and his intestines wound around his lungs and his bladder joined on to his windpipe, and you’d have him walking on his hands and breathing through his behind and making water out of his left ear.’ ”
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