I’ve been reflecting on a difficult subject—admitting wrongdoing, as outlined in my previous post. People don’t like it. That’s normal. There are those who will admit fault after it’s been proven in a logical manner beyond all reasonable doubt. Others require a defining event. Some will never admit wrongdoing. We all know people who will continue an argument, knowing they are in the wrong.
The problem becomes acute when the person in the wrong is the head of the family. If he’s a no-nonsense father, used to commanding a rough group of tradesmen, he will be difficult to approach, maybe dangerous. I find that fascinating. How does a 12 year old boy act as change agent for such a father? How does a woman of faith exert her influence over a powerful, self-assured and stubborn personality?
In my novel, the main character, Zachary, is in the wrong in a fundamental way. Bringing about change requires concerted and sustained work on the part of his loved ones. Further, it requires a personal crisis to make him come to grips with his own problem. The degree of the challenge makes the ultimate transformation more satisfying. To make it personal, I’ve told the story through his eyes. He’s an unreliable narrator and his attitudes jump out at the reader.
I don’t think Zachary is unusual. Perhaps people don’t normally write about him, but he’s present in our lives. Have you found it so?