I just received my SAT scores. (crap, that totally just gave my age away).
But anyway, since this is really not about how old I am, here it goes, and I hope that you don’t think I’m an average teenage, quintessentially preying off the Jersey girl-wannabes out there. Because I don’t. I’m up at 2 30 am writing about my SAT scores. Call me nerd, if you must.
1680. There we go. Yes, it’s not Harvard-worthy. Nor is it Yale. Or UCLA. Or possibly even Chico State. (woo Party!). Anyway, not the point. The point is that the only person that I wanted to call was my father, and he is at work at the moment, carefully inserting butterfly IVs or whatever type of shenanigans he pulls at work. My father, who was not even a 1680-student, was a “C-” student, got kicked out of a university because of a medical condition (apparently, he wasn’t pretty enough to be one of their students), eventually ended up in a C- school, and worked his way from the very, very bottom (as the Drake song goes).
And he is one of the richest men I know. I don’t know what the hell happened.
1680. It does not mean that you are a terrible person, it does not mean that you’re stupid, it does not mean that you’re not beautiful, it does not mean that you can’t play the piano like Bach, it does not mean that you are just another girl, it does not define you, it does not define you, it does not define you.
I called my dad at work, and apparently, all three ER departments were shocked to have such a late-night call. He sounded frazzled, and I explained to him why I called so late, and eventually told him about 1680, like it was some friend that I’ve known for awhile.
“Hey Dad, 1680’s here.”
“Oh, I meant I got a 1680.”
“What? 1680, like a car number?”
“No, DAD. THE FREAKIN’ SAT’s!”
“Oh, well CONGRATULATIONS! :)”
Huh? 1680 is such a bullshit score. It’s probably him being him.
“No, 1680 is fine. Out of 2400? That’s fine. Just take it again. Congratulations. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go wipe some old lady’s arse.”
My 70-dollar-per-hour father is still wiping someone’s ass. I mean arse. (I lived in England with my family for awhile, so accents are bound to encircle my everyday life).
My father appreciated my score, and by the end of the call, I forgot about the average 1680 and realized that I will leave my father for roughly 5 years for college after all this pre-college stress is over.
I realize that he will only be a phone call away, and for him to be that far yet so close, I cannot begin to thank him enough.