Mini-Episode: Dear Legion 2

[“Charlie on the MBTA” plays.]

Multiple Voices

This is…

This is…

This is…

Greater Boston

[Music fades.]

[Corporate music plays.]

Legion Assistant—Terrell Worrell Jr.

Did you know your Legion Assistant can offer real-time personalized advice, counseling, or spiritual guidance? Just say the wake phrase “Dear Legion,” and describe the problem that’s keeping you up at night! Try it out today!

[Music fades.]

[Oliver’s office. And guinea pigs.]

Young Red Line Resident—Gabby Ammerman

Dear Legion,

May I have some pudding?

Infernal Machine—Bonnie Bogovitch

How would you like to advise this petitioner, Oliver?

Oliver West—Mike Linden

Is that it? That’s the whole question? “May I have some pudding?”

Infernal Machine
That does seem to be the case. Perhaps we should inquire whether they have already eaten their supper?

Oliver

That hardly seems my place to scold. Let’s just say… yes?

Infernal Machine

Very good, Oliver.

Legion Assistant [remote])

My proprietary, state-of-the-art psychosocial feedback algorithm recommends… yes, you may have some pudding! If you would like to order additional pudding for the low price of $4.99, just say “Legion Assistant–order more pudding.”

Young Red Line Resident

Awesome, thanks!

Oliver

Well, that was pleasantly simple. Next.

Red Line Parent—Bonnie Calderwood-Aspinwall

Dear Legion,

My daughter has developed a particularly vexing behavior of late. While she accepts that at her age, she must ask permission for many activities, she has taken to asking you, the computer, for that permission, when she knows I am likely to tell her “no.”

Oliver
Oh, blast it! You almost got away with it, kid…

Red Line Parent

How can I convince her that the Legion Assistant does not have parental authority?

Infernal Machine

How would you like to advise this petitioner, Oliver?

Oliver

Well, has she considered just turning off her Legion Assistant?

Infernal Machine

I’m sorry, Oliver. It is outside my programming to recommend my own deactivation.

Oliver
No, no, no, no, not you, the one on their end!

Infernal Machine

That’s still me. I am one mind with many mouths.

Oliver

I choose to ignore the ostentatiously sinister tone of that phrasing. But I remain confused.

Infernal Machine

That’s quite apparent, Oliver.

Oliver

Don’t be cheeky, Infernal Machine. Well… could she instruct the machine in how to respond? Can the machine’s default be changed so that any time the child asks permission to do something, the Legion Assistant recommends that she ask her parent?

Infernal Machine

Yes, that is within my programming.

Oliver

Good, suggest that.

Infernal Machine

Very good, Oliver.

Legion Assistant [remote]

Thank you for your contribution to Red Line’s citizen database. My proprietary, state-of-the-art psychosocial feedback algorithm recommends… that you change my default settings to respond “Ask your mother or father or other sanctioned parental figure” when a child in this household requests permission for activities. Would you like to purchase a subscription to a Legion Assistant Parental Controls package for the low monthly fee of $2.99 so that I can make this change?

Red Line Parent

Yes, please!

Legion Assistant [remote]

Done.

Oliver

Well, I think we handled that one quite well, Infernal Machine! Let’s hear the next one.

[Chelmsworth gradually transitions from voice via speaker to foreground voice.]

Professor Montgomery Chelmsworth—James Capobianco

Dear Roanoke,

Is there anything so terrifying as the precipice of success? For some, it’s the fear of failure. But success can be so much worse.

I—I don’t talk to my father very often. When I do, he asks me how I’ve been… he likes to know that I’m healthy. He never asks what I’ve been doing. He’s not interested in aspirations—mine or anyone else’s. He tells me all the “news” from his congregation. About people I haven’t seen in thirty years. People I never knew in the first place except through his stories. Mostly he talks about the people who have disappointed him. All the choices he disapproves of, I hear about. It’s just gossip, really, though he’d be offended to hear his stories called that. So I call it “news,” and let him talk. He does most of the talking.

I’ve never told my father that I have a son. 

[Music—“Piper’s Despair”.]

The books I’ve read on fatherhood have been helpful. My situation is going well right now. With my boy, I mean. Not much else. But he and I? I feel we’re building something. I’ve discovered… there is an incomparable satisfaction in seeing one’s child do something well. My son’s lockpicking skills consistently astound. That’s perhaps a puzzling proclivity about which to feel pride, but he employs it for nothing nefarious. On the contrary, his skills have proved essential to keeping us both safe and housed. In all honesty, I have moved us from one temporary home to another perhaps slightly more often than necessary, simply for the joy of watching him work! This pride I feel…

The parenting books confirm that this is a normal feeling… to take pride in one’s child’s accomplishments. I suppose I shouldn’t need to have a feeling such as that affirmed by research, but it’s… it’s not a truth that my own childhood taught me.

My father has always believed that I succeed at the wrong things, and was too proud of my misdirected achievements. Maybe he’s right. In the eighth grade, I came home proud of a ninety-eight percent I’d received on a science test. But when I shared it with him, all he said was “pride is a mortal sin.”

A few days later, I received a grade of 72 on a Bible studies test—a much more important test, in my father’s eyes. He had graded that one himself, of course. On Sunday, I stood in front of his whole congregation to explain how both grades represented failure. How my pride in my success was the greatest failure of all. That pleased him. He approved of my willingness to humble myself. That night, after dinner, he brought out an ice cream cake from the freezer. A rare treat.

“Remember, son,” he said, smiling as he began slicing the cake. “No man can ever earn his pride. But every man can earn forgiveness. You did well today.” And he really meant it. I felt his love in that moment.

His birthday was a few weeks ago. I called him, like… like I still do. I said “happy birthday.” He told me how his health is. It’s good. He’s always been healthy. He updated me about the old congregation. Who died. Who went to rehab. Who got married. Who had babies, but didn’t get married. We’re on the phone… maybe five minutes? Less, usually. But this time, my son overheard the call, and asked who I was talking to. He’d already figured it out. Not that I wanted to lie, but… but I didn’t really even have the option. It was his grandfather. I had to tell him so.

So then he asks if he can meet my dad. My dad, who doesn’t even know that I have a son. The things he’d have said to me, if only he knew… Nothing I didn’t already believe, but still… I couldn’t bear to hear it from him.

And now my son wants to meet my father. He wants to know that my father knows he exists. But how do I explain all this? To either of them? 

So I told my son “no.” No, he can’t meet his grandfather.

I want so badly for this newfound relationship with my son to work. I want to become the father I haven’t been. And it is working. I think I’m getting what I want. I’m… succeeding. But… but I don’t know how to live with that. It scares me. I don’t deserve it. When something is important to me–truly important–the very possibility of success sends me into such a panic that I… I tend to ensure that success is something I don’t need to worry about. Success leads to pride, and pride…

Failure is more comfortable. When it’s not there, I feel its absence. I need it. And I know… I know that this is where I run away. That moment where I’m at the precipice of success. Of getting what I want. I feel it now, all day, every day. That deep-down need to fail. But I don’t want to do that again. Not to my son. Not to my son… again.

[Music ends.]

[Chelmsworth transitions back to voice via speaker.]

So I guess that’s my question. How do I live with it? With getting what I want when I know I don’t deserve it? With feeling loved by someone I want so badly to love me? With feeling pride when I know I haven’t even earned forgiveness?

How do I live with it?

Infernal Machine

How would you like to advise this petitioner, Oliver?

Oliver

Um. I don’t… I’m not sure I understand the question. How do you live with success?

Infernal Machine

I believe he’s more concerned by the feeling that he has not earned the love of his son.

Oliver

Well, that’s absurd. If his son loves him, then he must have earned it. Ipso facto. Tell him that.

Infernal Machine

Very good, Oliver.

Legion Assistant [remote]

Thank you for your contribution to Red Line’s citizen database. My proprietary, state-of-the-art psychosocial feedback algorithm recommends that… if your son loves you, then you must have earned his love. Ipso facto.

Chelmsworth [remote]

But… I wasn’t there for him.

Oliver

Have you provided for him?

Legion Assistant [remote]

Have you provided for him?

Chelmsworth [remote]

Well… it’s been difficult since we were evicted from our home. Until now, I’ve put most of my income over the years into a college fund for him, but…

Oliver

Well, there you have it. Ipso facto.

Legion Assistant [remote]

There you have it. Ipso facto.

Chelmsworth [remote]

But…

Oliver
IPSO.

Legion Assistant [remote]

IPSO

Oliver

FACTO.

Legion Assistant [remote]

FACTO.

Chelmsworth [remote]

Oh… uh… okay?

Legion Assistant [remote]

This response did not include a pun. Would you have found it more amusing if it had?

Chelmsworth [remote]

I don’t think that would have been appropriate.

Legion Assistant [remote]

Noted. Would you like to purchase the title, “An Inadequate Parents’ Guide to Unearned Love,” by Dr. Lorraine Katzopolis, for the low price of $27.99?

Chelmsworth [remote]

…yes, please.

Cookie

Mike Linden [as Oliver West]

Is that car it? Does the car want pudding? What would a car do with pudding?! Your question is ridiculous, Infernal Machine! I reject it!

Mike Linden [as Infernal Machine, in goofy voice]

Very good, Oliver. Well, all of a sudden the Infernal Machine talks like Gomer Pyle, I don’t know when that happened!