I'd rather not talk about it.
Where has he been?
Squandering all the family money, that's where.
On the far side of the world.
What does he think?
What did he think would happen?
What was my father thinking?
What is my father doing now??
That fellow treated us like we were dead. He went to my father and asked for his inheritance. Now. While my father is alive, he asked for what he had no right to ask - not until my father is dead. You never do that. It's like saying to the person, you are dead to me - now.
Give me my inheritance. Unbelievable.
And then he took it - and wasted it.
He went far away and spent it on one big long party for himself - with loose women, and wine, and no doubt with that noise he calls music.
Now he's back, and he gets another party?
No. No way. This cannot stand. This is unacceptable.
And yet - here he is.
And my father embraces him. He welcomes him back - and throws a party for him.
As if he's regained a lost treasure, or got a dearly beloved lamb back in the fold.
Like the lost coin that woman found when she turned her house upside down looking for it.
“Rejoice with me, for I have found the coin that I had lost.”
Like the lost sheep the farmer left the flock to find - and brought back riding on his shoulders.
“Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep that was lost.”
Now my father has a kid on his own back, again; that's for sure!
And he kills the calf we've been fattening.
No goat for me.
And this is what he has to say about it.
“Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. But we had to celebrate and rejoice, because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life; he was lost and has been found.”
I'd rather not talk about it.
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