After high school I plao go to the Uy of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. My father wanted me to go to Harvard or Prion like some of the sons of other gressmen did, but with my grades it wasnt possible. Not that I was a bad student. I just didnt foy studies, and my grades werely up to snuff for the Ivy Leagues. By my senior year it retty much toud go whether Id eve accepted at UNd this was my fathers alma mater, a place where he could pull some strings. During one of his few weekends home, my father came up with the plan to put me over the top. Id just finished my first week of school and we were sitting down for dinner. He was home for three days on at of Labor Day weekend. "I think you should run for student body president," he said. "Youll be graduating in June, and I think it would look good on your record. Your mother thinks so, too, by the way."
My mother nodded as she chewed a mouthful of peas. She didnt speak much when my father had the floor, though she wi me. Sometimes I think my mother liked to see me squirm, even though she was sweet.
"I dont think Id have a ce at winning," I said. Though I robably the richest kid in school, I was by no means the most popular. That honor beloo Eriter, my best friend. He could throw a baseball at almost y miles an hour, and hed led the football team to back-to-back state titles as the star quarterback. He was a stud. Even his name sounded cool.
"Of course you win," my father said quickly. "We Carters always win."
Thats another one of the reasons I didnt like spending time with my father. During those few times he was home, I think he wao mold me into a miniature version of himself. Since Id grown up pretty much without him, Id e to resent having him around. This was the first versation wed had in weeks. He rarely talked to me on the phone.
"But what if I dont want to?"
My father put down his fork, a bite of his pork chop still oines. He looked at me crossly, givihe once-over. He was wearing a suit even though it was hty degrees in the house, and it made him even more intimidating. My father always wore a suit, by the way.
"I think," he said slowly, "that it would be a good idea."
I khat whealked that way the issue was settled. Thats the way it was in my family. My fathers word was law. But the fact was, even after I agreed, I didnt want to do it. I didnt want to waste my afternooing with teachers after school-after school!-every week for the rest of the year, dreaming up themes for school dances to decide what colors the streamers should be. Thats really all the class presidents did, at least back when I was in high school. It wasnt like students had the power to actually decide anything meaningful.
But then again, I knew my father had a point. If I wao go to UNC, I had to do something. I didnt play football or basketball, I didnt play an instrument, I wasnt in the chess club or the bowling club or anything else. I didnt excel in the classroom-hell, I didnt excel at much of anything. Growing despo, I started listing the things I actually could do, but to be ho, there really wasnt that much. I could tie eight different types of sailing knots, I could walk barefoot across hot asphalt farther than anyone I knew, I could balance a pencil vertically on my finger for thirty seds . . . but I didnt think that any of those things would really stand out on a college application. So there I was, lying in bed all night long, slowly ing to the sink