“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.

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