sure that I have to work.” Dad never minds if you skip something for a job, unless of course what you’re ditching is church or schoolwork. “In fact, that reminds me, I’d better get going. The Stockton’s yard is a total mess. And they gave me a nice raise.”
Dad beams. His favorite words are:
scholarship, raise, perfect attendance,
and
it’s not broken.
I say good-bye to everyone, promising the little kids that I’ll come back to visit soon and play Old Maid with them.
Out in the front yard Teddy and Davy are tossing a Nerf football, though Davy is too small to catch it and has to chase the ball down after every throw. “It’s never too early to think about sports scholarships. If not football there’s always swimming. Or cross-country,” I encourage them. Teddy is still skinny as a fishing pole. He throws the ball at my head but I catch it and then run over and tickle him until he collapses onto the ground. Davy piles in, shrieking with delight.
It’d be fun to hang out with them, but I know Bernard will be biting his cuticles off if I’m not home in plenty of time for tonight’s mission. Backing out of the driveway I notice that Teddy is wearing one of Eric’s old football jerseys and recall how I always made fun of my older brother’s devotion to being a jock. And now the joke is certainly on me. Not only does Eric get free tuition and board, but his football scholarship even gives him an allowance for books.
Mom and Dad give me $2,000 a semester, and that’s a lot for them. But tuition is $24,000 a year, not including books and art supplies. It’s another $5,000 for housing. Second semester I’d moved to an off-campus share because it was half the cost of dorm living. It also put the “off” in “off-campus.” With so little parking near the main buildings it’s basically a one-mile hike to class or the art rooms. And without the meal plan, we tended to subsist on pizza, Ramen noodles, care packages from Suzy’s mom, who owns a restaurant, and Bernard’s weekend brunches.
Obviously I can’t ask my folks for more money. They have another six kids to educate—whoops, make that seven soon—and tuition is only going up, up, and up. In fact, if you can’t be really rich, then you’re better off being
really
poor. Because if you’re in the middle, like my family, then you get screwed—no breaks and hardly any financial aid. The aid office conveniently counts our home as a “liquid asset,” fully expecting Mom and Dad to sell our house that’s worth about seventy thousand dollars, turn that over to the college in order to cover partial tuition for one child, and then move to a public park with their six younger kids. What they give instead are big fat student loans that cause you to graduate a hundred thousand dollars in debt. Meantime, entry-level jobs for graphic designers are hard to find, especially without a résumé full of internships. But if you’re working during vacation, then you don’t exactly have time for internships.
Now I understand why Dad gets so cranky when the bills pour in—car payments, mortgage payments, insurance premiums. And that doesn’t start to take into account food, clothing, sippy cups, and school supplies.
Maybe it’s time to reconsider my bookie pal Cappy’s proposal regarding the rebate shop, even if I just set it up and then when school starts again in the fall he finds someone else to take over. Living clean hasn’t done a thing for my solvency. What was going through my head when I passed on his offer to make a hundred grand a year, honestly? Or dishonestly, such as the case may be. And whatever was I thinking when I kept avoiding losing my virginity throughout the school year? Did my parents’ and Sunday school teachers’ hammering away about sin during my formative years suddenly take hold? Because if so, there’s still time to consider Pastor Costello’s invitation to be a counselor at Bible camp this summer. Sure, the pay isn’t
Dad beams. His favorite words are:
scholarship, raise, perfect attendance,
and
it’s not broken.
I say good-bye to everyone, promising the little kids that I’ll come back to visit soon and play Old Maid with them.
Out in the front yard Teddy and Davy are tossing a Nerf football, though Davy is too small to catch it and has to chase the ball down after every throw. “It’s never too early to think about sports scholarships. If not football there’s always swimming. Or cross-country,” I encourage them. Teddy is still skinny as a fishing pole. He throws the ball at my head but I catch it and then run over and tickle him until he collapses onto the ground. Davy piles in, shrieking with delight.
It’d be fun to hang out with them, but I know Bernard will be biting his cuticles off if I’m not home in plenty of time for tonight’s mission. Backing out of the driveway I notice that Teddy is wearing one of Eric’s old football jerseys and recall how I always made fun of my older brother’s devotion to being a jock. And now the joke is certainly on me. Not only does Eric get free tuition and board, but his football scholarship even gives him an allowance for books.
Mom and Dad give me $2,000 a semester, and that’s a lot for them. But tuition is $24,000 a year, not including books and art supplies. It’s another $5,000 for housing. Second semester I’d moved to an off-campus share because it was half the cost of dorm living. It also put the “off” in “off-campus.” With so little parking near the main buildings it’s basically a one-mile hike to class or the art rooms. And without the meal plan, we tended to subsist on pizza, Ramen noodles, care packages from Suzy’s mom, who owns a restaurant, and Bernard’s weekend brunches.
Obviously I can’t ask my folks for more money. They have another six kids to educate—whoops, make that seven soon—and tuition is only going up, up, and up. In fact, if you can’t be really rich, then you’re better off being
really
poor. Because if you’re in the middle, like my family, then you get screwed—no breaks and hardly any financial aid. The aid office conveniently counts our home as a “liquid asset,” fully expecting Mom and Dad to sell our house that’s worth about seventy thousand dollars, turn that over to the college in order to cover partial tuition for one child, and then move to a public park with their six younger kids. What they give instead are big fat student loans that cause you to graduate a hundred thousand dollars in debt. Meantime, entry-level jobs for graphic designers are hard to find, especially without a résumé full of internships. But if you’re working during vacation, then you don’t exactly have time for internships.
Now I understand why Dad gets so cranky when the bills pour in—car payments, mortgage payments, insurance premiums. And that doesn’t start to take into account food, clothing, sippy cups, and school supplies.
Maybe it’s time to reconsider my bookie pal Cappy’s proposal regarding the rebate shop, even if I just set it up and then when school starts again in the fall he finds someone else to take over. Living clean hasn’t done a thing for my solvency. What was going through my head when I passed on his offer to make a hundred grand a year, honestly? Or dishonestly, such as the case may be. And whatever was I thinking when I kept avoiding losing my virginity throughout the school year? Did my parents’ and Sunday school teachers’ hammering away about sin during my formative years suddenly take hold? Because if so, there’s still time to consider Pastor Costello’s invitation to be a counselor at Bible camp this summer. Sure, the pay isn’t
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