My dad was always very strict: No grades below a B, he’d pre-approve every class, and there’d be weekly check-ins. Despite working hard and mostly getting A’s, I had a few B’s. That was enough for him to say, “I’M PULLING YOUR COLLEGE FUND.
YOU DIDN’T MEET THE STANDARD.” I didn’t argue. Honestly, I felt relieved. I’d rather be in debt than controlled for four more years.
So I paid for college myself—job, loans, hustle. But he never told anyone. He let everyone think he was funding it.
At a family BBQ, my uncle asked him, “So how much is tuition these days?”
I snapped, “Why are you asking him when I paid for every damn cent?”
It got quiet real fast. My dad gave me that look—the one that always meant, “Don’t embarrass me.”But I was done pretending. My uncle raised an eyebrow.
“Wait, what do you mean you paid for it? I thought your dad had a whole account set aside?”
I took a sip of my lemonade, trying to cool off. “There was.
But he pulled it the second I got a B in calculus. Said I didn’t meet the ‘standard.’”
Everyone around the table went silent. My cousin Mallory blinked and whispered, “You worked full-time while going to school full-time?”
“Yep,” I said.
“Nights at the diner, weekends stocking shelves, summers doing landscaping. Loans helped, but most of it? I earned.”
My aunt, who’d always been Team Dad, looked genuinely shocked.
“That’s… that’s a lot. Why didn’t you say something?”
I shrugged. “Didn’t see the point.
He wasn’t going to change. And I didn’t want pity. Just wanted to get out.”
My dad cleared his throat, trying to steer the conversation away.
“Let’s not make a scene. I raised my kid to be strong and independent, and clearly, it worked.”
That’s when I realized—he liked the new version of the story. He was going to pretend it was all part of the plan.
Like he knew I’d rise to the challenge. But I didn’t let it go. You didn’t raise me to be strong,” I said, loud enough for the backyard to hear.
“You micromanaged me into silence. Then punished me when I wasn’t perfect. So no, I didn’t do this thanks to you.
I did it in spite of you.”
A few people got up and awkwardly went inside. The BBQ smell suddenly felt sickening. My stomach churned, but I stood my ground.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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