As a parent, I know now that is true. But at 22, coming from an alcoholic home where my role in the family dynamic was “perfect child”, I had never failed before. Not in public. My father was a monster at home, but when he was at the bar he always bragged real hard on me. All I ever heard when I went to drag him home was how proud he was of me. And like any kid in that situation, I grasped at that.

At 22, I was failing. And I believed that if I failed, my father wouldn’t have anything to brag about. And then there would be nothing but hate.

I believed it so hard it almost killed me.

I know now that parents forgive.

I didn’t know that, though, until it happened.

I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up, but I know I want it to be spelled right and punctuated correctly. I guess that’s something.

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