I Went to College :: Personal Narrative Essays

Narrative - I Went to College "Well, wish her good luck for me." I said. "Oh. It's none of it luck. She's got the Lord's blessing, and she's all right with that. There's no luck involved." I muttered a reply and walked away. Grandmothers. You just can't say anything to shake their confidence in their grandchildren. This one was trying to get to band camp by selling her artwork. It was clearly work by a fourteen-year-old, but it showed talent and promise. At five dollars a print, it wasn't too expensive. Of course, I can get a print of Escher for five dollars. She clearly likes flowers, that's for sure. She must have painted these in art class; there is a definite progression in her skill. The lumpily-colored frog looks pretty sad, but the lighthouse painting displays detail and careful effort in the lighting. Oh. there's her picture. Nice smile. This average-looking fourteen year old girl expects to pay for band camp by selling five dollar prints of amateur artwork. Wow. They were out of prints of several paintings already. If I wanted one that wasn't in the box, I could special order one. Five dollars. She plays multiple band instruments, with names Grandma doesn't remember. Talent and promise. I know what those are. I once showed talent and promise, back when I was fourteen. I played the trumpet, but I never went to band camp. I was too busy cultivating my stage magic and juggling skills, showing first hints of competence in computer programming, and letting go of my obesity through rigorous physical exercise. I wonder what my Grandma said back then. There was a time that I said "opportunity is my currency." Although I started out at a hardware store, I picked up a few programming jobs, started an Internet publication, and began and independent consultant programming job. Talent was my middle name, and Promise was the name of the pen I signed it with. I was going to live comfortably, maybe even have enough money to help my brother out; his medical costs are very high. I joined a local community band. She wants to become a forensic scientist. There you go, folks. Kids watch a television show about forensic scientists, and suddenly everyone wants to lead the exciting life of sorting through the physical remains of dead people and writing reports about it. On the other hand, maybe she can use her future skills to figure out what ever happened to me; by the time she graduates, I might well be dead.