Question by Maddie: Hey, hey, hey. Want to read this and criticize?
Here is the first chapter my new project I started at midnight last night. Critique, compliment, etc. please? Thank you.
Dream Big, or Stay Home
I believe I was around twelve when the plan was brought up. Obviously it was a scheme my parents had been holding inside themselves until this precise age. It is at twelve when school is to be taken seriously. It is at twelve when our minds are not completely our own yet and parents can still pull this on us. And it was at twelve when I was in the sixth grade, still not completely sure what I was doing. At all. So this would make perfect sense as to why the plan became very dear to me. It was something set that I knew I had to do. Just follow the plan and nothing can go wrong. Mismatched socks? That’s okay, all part of the plan. Following off the rope in gym, don’t worry, completely intentional. Making it to the 8th grade continuation dance only to gossip with friends in the bathroom, all part of the plan. Trivial things like these didn’t matter because they were supposed to happen. So all I had to do was deal with those incidents, play nice, do my homework, and keep up with my chores. I was on my way to success. The plan was my metaphysical bible and I drank it up like Eucharist.
I don’t remember the exact day or setting, but I do remember the exact words. My dad decided to tell me the secret to life, what I’ve been babbling about for a page now. This is how it went:
THE PLAN
1. Graduate high school (‘Well, duh, Daddy.’)
2. Go to a four year college
3. Begin dating
4. Find ‘the one’ (Magically, of course.)
5. Get married
6. Have babies
7. Keep working (Because stopping to stay a housewife is unacceptable.)
8. Retire
9. Spend most of the rest of my life in a beach house in Aruba
10. Reflect on my life (Possibly in a nursing home.)
I hate to admit it, but it sounded like a peachy plan to me when I was twelve. I never let the plan go, it was etched in my mind like Fred Flintstone chiseling away at a slab of stone. It was also helpful. I’ve always liked knowing what I was doing, and having this set agenda to follow was a great thing. And that idea lasted up until 10th grade. That’s when everything hit me. I realized that I don’t care what other people think. I embraced myself and was finally comfortable in my own skin. It was like I literally woke up one day and was cured of whatever infects kids with ‘high school cliché’ syndrome. This was also the time in my life that I realized I didn’t want to be apart of the plan. Not that I was trying to rebel and be cool, I just did not want my life to be that way. I remember in government class and in English we would always talk about the ‘American Dream’. Like it was an object that you could buy at the store if you followed the plan correctly. I spent most of those lectures making sarcastic comments in my head and rolling my eyes behind my teachers’ backs. It was everyone’s dream, but it was my nightmare.
I struggled through my last years of high school. Not in the grade department, but the itch to get out of there. I just wanted to stand up in the middle of Pre-calc and leave. Leave the school, leave my house, leave my state. It was all I could do to fake the plan. I did my work, did my chores, got a job, and socialized on the weekends. And when I told my dad that I wasn’t going on the conveyor belt, it wasn’t a big catastrophe. No one yelled, I never got grounded. I just calmly said that I wasn’t sure if I wanted to go to college. The two of us were walking our labs around the block and he just questioned me about what I was planning instead. But that was the thing, I didn’t just not want his plan, I didn’t want any plan. I told him that I could be happy working at Starbucks, saving my money, and just traveling in my free time or writing or taking art classes. But that wasn’t his dream or the American dream, it was my dream. “You’re going to college, Em,” he said it as if it was final. I replied bluntly with a “No” and he said “Yes, you are” to which I said “No” again and then he said “Fine, have fun working as a barista” and then I said “Good, I will!”. Although I was playing and being serious at the same time, I think he was mainly being serious. But I let it roll off my back, because at this time I was in 11th grade and I was really adamant about doing what I wanted. My mom always said that she doesn’t care what we do, as long as we are happy. And I knew my dad felt the same way, but he was really adamant about me going to college. I knew he just wanted the brightest future I could have for myself, but his little vision was outlined with red, white, and blue stars.
After we made it back home (after the last half mile in silence) I was actually getting really angry. I didn’t care what people thought, but I was still upset that 1. No one would support me, and 2. That people actu
actually believe that ‘The Plan’ is the best thing to follow (completely hypocritical, I know). At school my friends would ask what I wanted to do after high school and I would tell them my bright idea of just leaving to New York and being a barista or something. They would just say “Oh…” and ask another friend to their right. That drove me nuts. I just kept thinking that these fools are living their lives to a standard that they think is the only option. And then they would think I’m weird for actually doing what I want. Isn’t the point of life to live? I didn’t want to waste my life in school, looking at the clock every five minutes waiting for my life to begin. So I did it. I followed my idea, not plan. Because like I said, I didn’t really have a set plan, just a rough idea.
After countless family gatherings with an aunt or a grandparent asking me what I wanted to do with my life and being looked at weird for not being a prototype, cloned American like they were, I jumped.
Wow. That’s a lot, sorry.
I walked across the stage (Without tripping like I really expected I would.), grabbed my diploma (And didn‘t forget anyone‘s hand to shake like I really expected I would.), switched my tassel, smiled for the camera, and jumped the set of stairs to the ground. I said bye to my real friends and bye to the kids I was never really friends with but grew up with, and then my family and I drove home. My parents kept telling me how proud they were and my mom kissed my cheek a million times. It was sweet and sentimental, but by the end of the day I wasn’t sad anymore. Graduating high school was the happiest day of my life. Actually I take that back, the day after graduation was the happiest day of my life. May 22nd was the day I left for New York.
Best answer:
Answer by softballchickey!
Following off the rope in gym= falling off…
and u probally need to decide wether its u telling the story like u know its a book
or if the girl is like living it…if that makes any since
What do you think? Answer below!