“Sheeee-it” Poppa said. He never cursed like a normal person. He turned it into an event. This time the event had his hands high in the air like police where telling him what was what. He brought them down slow, waving off my proclamation as if I’d said the dumbest possible thing in the world.
“I’m serious, Poppa. I’m going to college.”
“And who is paying? You? That Costco job got you right like that and now you want to be Professor Alexander?”
“The job is going to help me cover my room and board. The rest is a scholarship.”
“Who gave you a scholarship? You ain’t even that good at math.”
I sighed. It wasn’t worth it getting mad at him. People are who they are, and Poppa is a man who believes in things being a particular way. “It isn’t for math.”
“Ain’t for ball neither. You can’t dribble, can’t catch, can’t do much of anything athletic with those big ass glasses on your face like that. You know you get that from your momma’s side don’t you?”
Anger died in me a long time ago. At 17 years old all I had left inside was exasperation.
Some Thoughts:
- Did it. Wasn’t peak, but it is a start.