Kindergarden attempts
At six-years-old my friends passed around a discarded, lit cigarette smoking it perfectly while I couldn't take a drag properly no matter how hard I tried.
At six-years-old my friends passed around a discarded, lit cigarette smoking it perfectly while I couldn't take a drag properly no matter how hard I tried.
The number two student in my class of over 600, I felt my self-worth diminish rapidly as Columbia, Brown, and Princeton all decided I wasn't good enough.
Insignificant, I am the mother of a 25-year-old son for whom I neither baked a cake nor mailed a birthday card--I did call him--and I want you to know that perhaps your mother feels as guilty as I do about it and that we LOVE YOU--our precious sons--despite our laziness.
I went into the final exam confident, came out confident, and I failed.
I was the smartest person on my floor of my dorm, and probably the richest too, but I was also the only one to flunk out.
Five years and a college degree later, I've discovered that a "risk" is essentially defined by the possibility of failure.
My eyes watered and I got all choked up as the officer checked off the "FAIL" box on my road test application for the 2nd time this week.
I fear that people would believe me to be a malingerer, and even my estranged father, upon hearing about the dilemma which my symptoms presented, commented, "I think you're allergic to work."