The Old Man and the C++

The horrific unforeseen consequences of a degree in English Literature

“I’m afraid the diagnosis is unambiguous,” the doctor sighed. He couldn’t look the young man in the eye. No one ever wanted to hear this about their own father, but it was inescapable.

“You mean…?” Sam choked, unable to complete his sentence.

The doctor nodded. “Yes. Advanced Hemingway Parody Syndrome. Completely incurable. And, sadly, not fatal. Which means your father will be writing Hemingway parodies for a long, long time.”

Sam thought about the implications: if word got out, he’d be a social pariah. Of course, his friends would pretend to understand, pretend that he, Sam, wouldn’t necessarily go the same way eventually. Pretend that studying Engineering would, by some undefined miracle, protect Sam from the malignant gene that was now destroying his father’s credibility and threatening the sanity of those around him.

“Is there any chance that your diagnosis might be wrong?” Sam asked, knowing even as the words stumbled from his mouth what the answer would be.

“I’m very sorry,” the doctor said. “I’d love to be wrong about this, believe me. But we have irrefutable evidence.”

The doctor pushed a sheaf of papers across the table for Sam to inspect.

Glancing down, the young man instantly recognized his father’s handwriting. He sighed. He picked up the top page and began to read.