You grow into a fine young lady and produce the necessary A's that get you into medical school. One day, after two years struggling to keep up with the brain-racking life of being a medical student, you pack a small bag and go home to your parents - you're sick of trying to please them. You want to be a fashion designer.
Your mom springs up at the mention of fashion designing and begins to pace up and down the living room, loudly binding and casting every ancestral spirit and every 'soft work' the village people have succeeded in doing to damage your brain. Your dad is seated quietly on the sofa tapping his right foot, his forehead furrowed with bulgy veins. He seems to absently allow your mothers charade for about thirty minutes, then shouts her down. Your mum quietly takes up the space beside him on the sofa as if remote controlled.
Your dad's confident baritone rings out in the now quiet loving room.
'You will do no such thing, Huldah.' You sense the tone of finality in his statement and you know right from that moment that you would become a medical doctor.You take a mental photograph of this moment too, knowing without a doubt that one day you would refer to it.
You put in all your strength and work hard, after seven years of discontented struggle, you make it out of medical school, certainly not on honors.
