"That isn't fair!"
How many times have you spoken those three words, only to get the reply, "Most things in life aren't"?
I grew up hearing that phrase. My parents always attempted to teach me that I wasn't going to get my way in life most of the time, and that I shouldn't say, "That isn't fair!" My parents have rarely said that simple, yet so complex, phrase in my life, so that's why it surprised me when I heard my dad say that.
Long story short, we were finishing my basement. (I know, random, right?) My dad was, at the time, putting up the ceiling in what will be the "Game Room," complete with a pinball machine and Galaga. He needed some ceiling-making equipment so he told me that I was going to drive him to Lowe's. Now, I was in the middle of an "America's Next Top Model" marathon, and it was the cycle with Jade and all the drama, so, of course, I didn't want to leave in the middle. But there's no escaping when my dad says that I'm driving him somewhere. So I got my license and my keys to my car (whose name is Peter, so when I refer to Peter, I mean my car with the awesome Steelers sticker on the back window), and off we went to Lowe's.
After we almost got killed by a redneck in a red truck and I parked in the worst way possible, nearly taking up two parking space, we walked into Lowe's. My dad shopped around while I texted my friend Kristi and I wasn't really paying attention to much of anything. Of course, my not paying attention and the fact that my dad made me push the buggy ( . . . cart, whatever) didn't necessarily add up, since I ran into another buggy with a TON of wood on it. The guy pretty much gave me the death look. So I found my dad, who couldn't find the ceiling tile he wanted so he went to the checkout line in a small fit of rage and bought the other ceiling making equipment that he did find.
We loaded up Peter with all the ceiling making equipment and everything and I turned on Peter and turned on the radio like I usually do. I then proceed to drive through all the parking spaces because I really don't like driving up and down the aisles like I'm going through a freaking maze. So after I get yelled at a little bit because "people get killed driving through all the parking spaces," my dad started talking to me about college and what I wanted to do.
Now, if he had the power to hack into my mind and decide what I want to do with my life, he would make me go to a small community college close to home for my first year of college and get all my math and science and all the "whatever-blah" classes out of the way before I transferred to UGA and majored in Business Management and minored in Spanish. And then I would graduate, move back near my home, and take over whatever business he happened to be running at that point in his life.
And that's where I'm entirely different.
You see, I want to go to the Savannah College of Art and Design in Savannah (not Atlanta) or the Pratt Institute in New York. As you could tell, neither of them are close to my home in any way. So I would major in photography and minor in creative writing, while being completely awesome in an Independent Winterguard and going on competitions and things like that. (I would, of course, revisit my high school and their guard and play around with them.) After I graduated college, I would move to either Pittsburgh, New York or Los Angeles, and do some freelance photography and writing. Of course, if I were to live in Pittsburgh, I would go to a wide variety of Steelers' games, and if I didn't, then I would watch them on TV.
As you can see, my dad and I are completely different, but alike a so many ways.
There was the weird awkward silence and then only thing you could hear was Taking Back Sunday's Where You Want to Be album, track 4 ("This Photograph is Proof" (I Know You Know)). Then the three words came out of his mouth:
"It's not fair."
We were at a red light, so I had permission to look at him with my mouth hanging open "catching flies," as my mom puts it, and I couldn't think of what to say. I starting stuttering and I didn't really make much sense. My dad continued what he was saying.
"It isn't fair that you have to decide at fourteen what you want to do with the rest of your life."
I'm not fourteen, but I was when I was a freshman. At my school, you have to know what you want to do with your life so you can do all the classes in order to learn as much as possible before you go to college. At that point in my life, I wanted to be a serious journalist. As you can tell, I don't anymore. So I had taken all these classes like Video Broadcasting, so I could learn about digital media, and now . . . I don't really care about learning about that stuff anymore. That class stresses me out enough, why would I want to spend the rest of my life doing that?
I decided that I was more of the laid back type of person who would just like to work for myself and sell what I do, and maybe get a side job. I want to live in an one-bedroom apartment and be a photographer by day and a writer by night. I actually want to struggle supporting myself. I don't want to be rich. I don't want to have money coming out of my butt. I want my only splurges to be a really nice professional camera, a laptop and a TV (with DirectTV, because that's the only kind I know how to work) with a DVR. That's it. No fancy tables or couches or chairs or a bed. When I'm older I'll refurbish my house, and then I'll splurge on that stuff. But I don't want that now.
My dad continued with his story. "When I was fourteen, I wanted to fly planes. I still do, but as you can tell, I obviously don't." The light turned green and I hit the gas a little too hard, and my dad said, "You're going to kill your engine. Like I was saying, you shouldn't have to decide what you want to do forever right now. You're sixteen. You don't know anything about the real world."
Another red light. You get one, you get them all. I stopped, changed the CD to the radio. There was another awkward silence, but instead of Taking Back Sunday, we were now listening to Toby Keith's "God Love Her."
"Heck, the only thing you know that you want to do is live in Pittsburgh."
"Not true," I had said.
"Doesn't matter. Your mind is made up about that. You know that you're going to live in Pittsburgh because that's all you talk about anymore. You say you want to live in New York or LA or Savannah or whatever . . . but we all know you're going to live in Pittsburgh."
"Maybe I won't. I hate the cold."
The light turned green. I didn't kill the brakes this time.
"Kaila, listen to me." I sighed. "You're stubborn. Everyone knows that. When you make up your mind about something, that is what's going to happen. Nobody can change your mind. You're going to do what you said, and there isn't anything anyone could do about it. I could say that you aren't going to live in Pittsburgh, but you would still live there. And everyone knows that once you've made up your mind about something, you talk about in non-stop until you can do something about it. You've said three hundred times since you got in this car that you want to live in Pittsburgh. From home to Lowe's, it's a ten minute car ride. You're going to live in Pittsburgh."
"Fine."
"You haven't talked enough about photography or writing, so you don't really know if that's what you want to do."
I nodded, hit the left turn signal and started to move into the intersection to turn into my neighborhood.
"Like I said, it isn't fair that you have to make up your mind now."
I pulled in the driveway, put Peter in park, turned him off and got out, locking the doors.
"I suppose."
I learned a lot that day.
I learned that my dad actually doesn't thinks things are fair in the world. I learned that I really will live in Pittsburgh. I learned that I'm more stubborn than I thought I was. And most important of all, I learned that I don't have to know what I want to do in my life for at least another five and a half years.
College isn't going anyway. In twenty years, I could major in something entirely different.
So why should I be in a rush to find out who I am?
- Kaila
