When.

Chapter 3

When I was in second grade, we got an assignment in class. We had to draw a picture of what we wanted to be when we grew up, and write a story about what it would be like to do that. I remember walking home from school with Matt that day. I asked him what he was going to say. He said he wanted to be a famous football player. He asked me what I wanted to do. I told him it was a surprise.

That night I showed the project to my dad. I asked him to guess what I wanted to be when I grew up. He guessed things like princess or ballerina. I shook my head every time. When he finally gave up, I told him I wanted to be like him.

I didn't really know what my dad did at the time. I thought he was in charge of a bunch of people. I thought he was powerful and successful and that he made a lot of money.

My dad is works in a factory in the next town. He got the job straight out of high school. He never went to college. He worked his way up, and he became floor manager. I just thought that meant he was the boss. But I was too little to understand.

I remember the look on my dad's face when I told him that. I thought he would smile. I thought he would be proud of me. But his face fell. And then I guess mine did, too, because he smiled again all of the sudden, and he picked me up and put me down on his lap. He asked me what I meant, and I told him I meant that I wanted to be the boss of people.

He laughed, and he shook his head. And he told me that that was good, but that I didn't want to be like him.

He told me that I was going to be much better than he was. He said, if I worked hard, I was going to get everything that I wanted. I was going to be the boss of a whole bunch of people, as long as I did my best in school. He made me promise that I would always work hard, and he said that then, one day, I would be an even bigger boss than him.

So, I worked really, really hard.

Freshman year, I figured out exactly what I was working towards. I wanted to be the editor of the New York Times. I remember the day I decided it. My parents were divorced by then, and I was living with my mom, but I called my dad and arranged to have dinner with him that night, so I could tell him all about it.

And he told me, again, that if I worked hard, I'd get it. And I promised that I would.

I was on the school newspaper all four years, and I was President of the Literary club for two. I took all AP and Honors classes, and I never got anything below a B. I tutored other students in English after school. I got a 35 on my ACT. And my junior year English teacher helped me get into a summer college program at Vanderbilt for English.

I didn't go to parties. I didn't do drugs or drink alcohol. I didn't have sex. I didn't do anything that might jeopardize me getting into my dream school. I stayed in. I studied. I worked hard, like I promised I would.

Of course, I knew that nothing was guaranteed. I knew that--even though my father told me otherwise--there was no sure way that I'd get everything I had been working for. I knew that things would go wrong, and that some things just weren't meant to be. I had back up plans and safe-fails. I was prepared for that.

But I guess I just didn't realize how off-course things could get.

I have a tumor. A brain tumor. I have for some time. It seems to be malignant, cancerous, or something. I stop listening after a while. I don't need to know every single little detail. I don't want to know every single little detail.

To be honest, everything is kind of a blur the entire time. My mother is crying. The doctor is talking to her, trying to explain the various treatment options. But it's all hazy.

I don't cry. I don't do anything. I don't know what I'm supposed to do. People my age aren't supposed to deal with this kind of stuff. I mean, sure, it happens. It happens all the time. People my age have to deal with a lot of stuff that they shouldn't have to deal with. Things worse than having a brain tumor. But they're not supposed to. Not at my age.

But I've found that things do not not happen just because they shouldn't.

Which sucks.