I was well and truly delighted when I got the email that said I had been accepted to The Rib. Writing, comedy, and women are three of my life’s great passions, and after a full week of being denied from other elite campus activities, it was a welcome confidence-boost. After a little happy dance to the heavens, I quickly called my dad, who has always been my biggest cheerleader when it comes to my writing.
“Hey, Al, how’s it going?” he asked.
“Really well, Dad. I actually just found out I got accepted to write for a blog! I sent them a writing sample and they let me in!”
“That’s awesome! Can I read what you wrote?”
“Of course!”
As the words slipped from my mouth, I could feel my eyes widen and the camera that I assume is always recording my life zoom in on my shocked face. I replayed that first article in my head, the words “cock-blocking” and “jello shots” jumping out at me.
Dear God.
I love my parents, and I’m very open with them, but we’re not one of those weird hippie families that just talks about everything. In my eighteen years of life, I only ever let one swear word slip in front of one of my parents. It wasn’t even a real swear word. I told my mom that the cafeteria fish sandwich at my high school “sucked,” and she and I both almost fainted from shock. I’m pretty sure neither of them are ready to read about my misadventures in flirting and other debauchery, not to mention that my paralyzing fear of the internet forces me to look at every word as a potential deal-breaker for future employers. I don’t want to jeopardize my chances at being a barista for eight dollars an hour! I don’t want my mommy and daddy to think of me as some wanton rapscallion!
But… I also don’t want to stifle myself. So here goes.
Mom, Dad, Starbucks… I’m eighteen years old now. A full-fledged college student. And a lot of what I write here is going to be about new experiences that I’m having, and sometimes it’s going to scare you to think your little girl/future employee is going through them. But also, a lot of what I write here is an exaggeration, or even a white lie. (Confession: I’ve never had a jello shot. I don’t even know how they work. Do you drink them? They’re jello. You can’t drink jello.)
If you’re not comfortable with what I write, here is my advice to you: Pretend that I’m acting. Pretend that I’m writing hyper-realistic fiction. Because you might be right in some cases, but I’m not going to censor myself. In fact, I don’t think anyone should.
My parents always told me that college would be an adventure, and that I should take any opportunities that come my way. The opportunity for finding myself through writing isn’t one I want to miss, and I don’t think either of them would be too upset knowing that.
So brace yourselves, parents – both mine and those of other kids experimenting with newfound freedom. It might not be easy seeing your babies streak across campus screaming “WOO, COLLEGE!”, but it’s an important phase for us to go through.
After all, you did it too, right?
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