In this mock blog, serial novella, narrator Elizabeth Harper takes her audience through a few memorable anecdotes of her life, in a conversational, good-natured, sometimes goofy (if a little vulgar) style. Stories were originally released surroundin...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Back in the day, I thought adults had everything figured out. As a fully-grown, human woman, I know how ridiculously stupid that was. As it turns out, pretty much everybody's just flying by the seat of their fucking pants from the time they're born to the time they finally kick the bucket. It's just that some people handle it with much more poise and grace than others.
That's definitely what my folks did. What Dad still does...ish.
When I was a little girl, he told me "You can either roll with the punches, or direct them" during one of our many, many, many "Street Fighter" matches. Yes, we still play, yes, he's EVO good, and no, he's never gone. Probably won't. I'm certainly done fucking asking him to.
Anyhoo, at the time I thought he was giving me a tip for playing better (which I absolutely did from then on), but in reality, he was imparting me with a genuine, rock-solid, grade 'A', Reggie Harper Life Lesson™.
One of many I still live by, I might add.
Dad has this weird way of saying something that many would think to be, like, completely innocuous, but that actually ends up being this massive fucking truth bomb. The missing piece of a puzzle ya' didn't even know you were trying to solve yet. It's almost scary sometimes. It's like he's gotten to the point ten minutes before anyone else and he's just waiting for them to catch up. I understand it now, because I have that quality too.
Watching Dad and I communicate freaks my husband Sean out, big time. It's hilarious.
So, adulthood. What was I talking about when I stopped last time...? RIGHT! College!
There was only one college I wanted to go to, and that was Adelphi University in NY, which Mom and Dad attended. See, I inherited equal parts of Pops' bullshit-detecting, 'IT WAS ACTUALLY MR. GODDAMN MUSTARD IN THE DINING ROOM WITH THE ANVIL!', detective curiosity and Mom's hard-nosed, 'You bilked a thousand people out of millions of dollars, and I'm going to expose ya' to the world, jerk!', journalistic curiosity.
Throughout my late teens, I figured that meant I'd have to pick one and stick with it, so I chose to go into journalism, mostly as a tribute to my Mom, but also mostly because I was terrified of guns (for obvious reasons) and knew I'd need to have one as a cop or a detective. Now, I know how to use a gun, and I'm even alright with one, but that doesn't mean I like them. Because I don't and I never will and that's that. I'll only entertain the thought of thinking of possibly using one if it's a life and death situation. Other than that, never. Fucking period.
Anyway, Adelphi University!
I wanted to go there because it was where my parents not only got their education, but also where they met. Meaning if it weren't for Adelphi, I might not even exist. In my application, I name-checked both of them, which I believe is to be credited for Adelphi's swift acceptance letter. I mean, my grades were fucking awesome on top of all that, but having the distinguished pedigree I did certainly helped.
