“You won’t get it.”
That was my father’s response when I told him I was among the finalists for
the Morehead Scholarship to the University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill.
This was a big deal.
The full ride, a four-year scholarship covering tuition, books, room and board.
It was proof.
Wasn’t it?
I had done well.
I was worthy.
Wasn’t I?
My excitement, my hope for some sign of my value to him collapsed on his response.
Not enough. Not I. Not ever.
He was right.
I didn’t win the scholarship.
I wasn’t enough.
Not for them. Not for him.
That was my father’s response when I told him I was among the finalists for
the Morehead Scholarship to the University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill.
This was a big deal.
The full ride, a four-year scholarship covering tuition, books, room and board.
It was proof.
Wasn’t it?
I had done well.
I was worthy.
Wasn’t I?
My excitement, my hope for some sign of my value to him collapsed on his response.
Not enough. Not I. Not ever.
He was right.
I didn’t win the scholarship.
I wasn’t enough.
Not for them. Not for him.