Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 85860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
“I don’t give a shit what it is!” my dad yells. “We talked about this. You’re majoring in business.” I stop walking and sit down on the bench outside of Samantha’s dorm. With my face in my hands, I close my eyes and take a deep breath.
“Does it even matter what I’m majoring in if I’m not going to graduate anyway?”
“It does when you’re having to cut out of practice early.” I want to argue with my dad, but I don’t. It’s pointless. It was stupid of me to sign up for those courses in the first place. When I met with my advisor, I thought maybe my choice of major would go under my dad’s radar, and truth be told, had the creative writing class not required a tutoring session at the same time as practice, I might have gotten away with it. But it does, and I didn’t.
“What if I can save that class for another semester?” I ask as a last ditch effort to convince my dad to let me keep my major as English Lit. When he sighs, I think for a moment that maybe he’s going to relent. How stupid am I?
“Nick, you go to North Carolina for football. Your scholarship covers your classes and dorm. I pay for everything else. Your books, your food, your car, insurance, cell phone, clothes. Are you prepared to pay for all of that?” He already knows I can’t. Not if I want to graduate debt free. What if football doesn’t work out? Then I’ll be stuck with loans, and who’s to say I’d even be approved for a loan big enough to cover everything. And getting a job is out of the question. I can’t even attend a damn tutoring session twice a week.
Without waiting for an answer, my dad continues, “Besides, an English degree is a waste of time and money. I went to law school, and so did your grandfather. The men in our family don’t major in English,” he scoffs. “Your coach has notified your professors that you’ll be starting your new classes on Monday, and they know to give you time to get caught up. I need to go, I have a client calling. Don’t forget we’re having a dinner at the house for your mother’s birthday next Sunday.” And with that, he hangs up.
Just as I’m about to stand, my phone rings. Surprise, surprise, it’s my mother. I consider not answering, but figure I might as well get it over with so she won’t continue to call me while I’m hanging out with Samantha.
“Mother.”
“Nicholas, please tell me your majoring in English was a joke.” C’mon, who the hell picks a major as a joke? Clearly her question is rhetorical, but fuck…
“Yeah, Mom,” I say dryly. “It was a joke.” And so were all of the books I had my nose stuck in throughout my entire childhood…
“And what exactly would you do with that degree? What if, God forbid, you got injured? What would you do with a degree in English?”
Oh, I don’t know…maybe write a book…work in publishing…maybe I could teach English…Of course, I don’t say any of that to her. Speaking to her is the same as speaking to my father. A waste of time and energy.
“According to Dad, I won’t even be getting my degree.”
“I heard!” she exclaims. “Can you believe it? Not many football players get drafted their junior year. I told all the women at the country club today. Helen Grotowski, of course, tried to trump my news with news of her son’s early admittance to law school. But I heard from Bertha Stein her husband had to make a rather large donation to the school.” I sit back on the bench and close my eyes, knowing my mom won’t be done gossiping any time soon. Once she starts, she can go on for hours.
I grew up in Piermont, a small town in North Carolina. It’s split down the middle by a set of railroad tracks. On one side is where my dad grew up, in a wealthy gated community. On the other side is where my mom grew up—in a rundown trailer park. My parents met when my mom was eighteen and my dad was twenty-five and fresh out of law school. He had just moved back to Piermont and had begun working at Shaw Management—a sports management agency my grandfather started. He met my mom when she was waitressing at a restaurant he stopped into one night after a meeting ran late. They hit it off immediately. While my grandparents weren’t thrilled about my dad and her dating, she apparently adapted into my father’s life quickly, and soon she was the perfect Stepford wife—although, I’m pretty sure her getting knocked up by mistake has something to do with why he married her. I also think he loved that he was able to mold her into what he wanted her to be. I imagine when you come from nothing, if given the opportunity, you’d do whatever it takes to become something.