If Wishes Were Horses, More Beggars Would Ride Them

“But I’m your daughter! You can’t just kick me out on the streets can you?” I cried out, but my father’s heart was calloused and even my mother’s crying did nothing to sway him.
“You should have thought of that before you decided to throw away a good education to become an artist,” he said right before slamming the door closed in my face.
I let my mouth hang open, I hadn’t been expecting much support, but my father’s fierce adversity to my career choice had left me in a tight spot.

I had been the model student in high school; I had straight A’s, I was the teacher’s pet, I aced the SATs, I was the editor of the yearbook, captain of the soccer team, and I was even named homecoming queen. I had been all set for college with a full-ride scholarship to study pre-med at my Dad’s alma mater. The only problem was that I got queasy at the sight of blood, and I laughed uncontrollably whenever someone got hurt.

I had found my true love while working on some extracurricular activities. It had started with photography. As I took pictures for the yearbook I started to realize that I loved being behind the lens more than I loved studying biology. Then in my senior year I took an art class and realized I had more creative potential than I originally realized.

In one defiant act I turned down the scholarship and applied to the local liberal arts college. My father, Dr. William Tucker, was unimpressed and definitely displeased. He refused to help me pay for college at all, and told me that I was essentially on my own.

The first semester was easy, I had been working for the past four summers and had saved up enough money from Christmases and birthdays to pay for art supplies of my own, tuition, and a dorm. I tried my best to be frugal, I would sneak food out of the caf in baggy sweatshirts and never bought a meal if it was over $3.

Still, before second semester came into view I found myself in financial crisis. I couldn’t apply for loans without my parents and my father made it perfectly clear that he would in no way help me when it came to school. I had a mere $82.37 left in my bank account and had no way to pay for school.

Which brings me to now, being kicked out by my father for good. I grabbed my duffel bag with all of my earthly possessions and threw it in my beater of a car, a 1997 faded gray Suzuki Sidekick. Not quite sure what to do, I turn on my car and start to drive, not entirely sure where I’m going.

I'm not sure what possessed me to go to my father and ask for help. Maybe I thought that he would see how well I was doing on my own and help me out. I was doing pretty well for myself too, besides the whole money issue. My first semester I had still managed straight A's and my professors all commented how I was naturally talented, and had an eye that couldn't be taught.

I drive through the rich neighborhood I grew up in and towards the downtown area. Before I even realize where I am I’m in the parking lot of a rundown apartment complex above a quaint old shopping center. I park my car, get out, and head up the stairs almost hypnotically. I knew I’d probably come here if I needed anything, but I never thought I’d come here so soon.