Page 45 - James Caan - The Real Deal
P. 45

4 · Teenage Kicks



               At the wedding, when people asked how I was doing I told them
            how wonderful everything was, how I was making a good life for
            myself, and I let them think I was enjoying a fabulous lifestyle. It
            was important to me that no one knew things were just about OK.
               When I saw my dad, I walked straight up to him in my new suit
            and let him know I was fine, if not better than fine. By approaching
            him I knew I was making a statement. If I had let him come to me,
            it would have signalled that maybe things hadn’t worked out as
            well as I was letting on.
               After the wedding, there was a meal back at the family home in
            Forest Gate but for some reason I wouldn’t eat my mum’s food.
               ‘Aren’t you hungry?’ she asked.
               The truth was I was starving, but somehow eating her cooking
            was like admitting defeat, that I wasn’t taking care of myself as
            well as I claimed. I couldn’t give the impression that I needed
            anything they had to offer, so I just watched them all eat even
            though my mouth was watering!
               I swear that all the way home I could still smell that food. By
            the time I got to the flat I was kicking myself. I should have had
            the meal, but it wasn’t just that I couldn’t admit that I needed
            them. There was another reason why I should have eaten with
            them: the more I said how everything was fine, the colder the
            atmosphere became because it wasn’t what they wanted to hear.
            Looking back, it was a clearly the wrong thing to have done. I had
            three brothers and three sisters, and as a parent you wanted to
            demonstrate to the rest of your kids that your errant son’s
            behaviour was wrong. And there was I glamorising leaving home
            at sixteen, making it out to be a cool thing, which it wasn’t. The
            more I said how good things were, the harder it became for my
            dad to be warm. If I’d said, ‘Actually, Dad, I’m really struggling
            and I’ve not had a proper meal for months and I’m working seven
            days a week,’ I think the whole atmosphere would have changed.
            Seeing them again hadn’t repaired any of the damage.




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