If I Make It Out Alive, Tell My Parents I Resent Them

Well, it’s finals week.
The unbearable pressure of pushing yourself through those final pages and putting together yet another annotated bibliography (which I’m still not entirely convinced professors actually read) is starting to take its toll.
The question of why I chose this “academic” lifestyle is one that I return to again and again?
My answer? Blame it on my parents.

Don’t get me wrong, my parents are great folks. Sure, we have our little spats and then we have our bigger ones… but that’s not the point. Why, you might ask, would I blame two caring and kindly people that devoted their lives to making sure I was well-provided for?

Well, the answer is simple really. See, both my parents are doctors. Higher education was in their blood. I’ll never forget the day that I told my dad I wanted to go to art school… I could see the wheels in his head turning as he tried to make sense of the term. “Art school, you say? What is this… art school, you speak of?” Come to think of it, the only time I’ve seen him more confused was when I told him that I was into dudes. Now there are some Kodak moments for ya.

In an effort to appease them, I decided that if I was gonna do art school, I wasn’t gonna half-ass it. It was all or nothing. By the time I finished my undergraduate career (a year early, while making the Dean’s List every semester and graduating with Honors) I had somehow managed to convince my parents that I was some sort of idiot savant.

Those terrible grades from high school? Yeah, those were just a fluke. Maybe I just wasn’t being challenged enough. I hear that’s what happened to Einstein…

Anyway, so in some sort of compromise, my dad suggested, “Why not give this grad school thing a try?” Considering the man has some serious dirt on me (I’ll never live down those baby pictures) it seemed wise just to do whatever he said. So, I applied to grad school and, through some computer error I’m sure, I managed to get in. Since getting in, I for some reason felt compelled to try and finish a 2 year program in half the time. We’re on the third quarter of my first year and I’ve already finished 8 of my 12 classes.

That brings us right about up to date. Sure, it’s been a rough road. Winter vacation? Yeah, that mighta been nice, but I could take a class then instead of going home. What’s that, the recommended course load is 2 classes per quarter? Eh, why not round it up to 3? There’s a very real reason they don’t round it up to 3.

So, it’s been a long and exhausting road and, well, I’ve still got some time to go, but in case I die from exhaustion, can you just do me a favor? Tell my parents I resent them. I mean, yeah, sure, there’s a little love mixed in there, but the overwhelming emotion right now? Well, yeah, I’m a little bitter about this higher education path, but we’ll see how I’m feeling tomorrow.

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