Handing Out My Own Scholarship

People can get the most esoteric college scholarships. I’ve been doing a search online for options for financing college for my son, a rising senior in high school. And I’m feeling downright negligent. Because if I were a Dress Barn employee or a “roadway worker killed in a work zone,” he’d be all set. If I’d married (or was) a Van Valkenberg (do you know any?), we’d be sitting pretty. If my son was a vegetarian or suffering from Crohn’s disease, he’d have more options. If any of us were members of the Cattleman’s Association, money would be heading our way.

I’m feeling dull and ordinary and like we’ll be paying full freight.

This reminds me of my husband’s encouragement, years ago, when I ran a marathon in the slowest time known to man. He reframed my marathon experience. I didn’t finish just before the Marines who sponsored the race went home and the tents and bananas were put in the clean-up trucks (and after the earliest finishers had finished and had two-Bloody Mary brunches). No… my husband told me that I had, in fact, “won my division” (“Breast Cancer-Surviving Mothers of Three who Hate to Run and who love ‘Leave it to Beaver.'”

So maybe my son will get a scholarship for “Guys that are Civil War reenactors who love bicycling and work enthusiastically in a restaurant and look forward to school starting again and eat breakfast at Steak & Egg with their mothers regularly.”

That’s some of what I love him for… and that beats the Cattleman’s Association vegetarian any day.

~ by Cary on July 31, 2008.

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