being smith

my dad has always drilled it in our heads, "smiths never quit".  that and, "smiths never fail".  so what happened the day i failed my drivers test?  i wanted to quit driving, but instead, he made me stop at long john silvers, like i wanted to eat, and made me drive us back home, because i was a smith, built ford tough.  i was never so mad at my dad.  he obviously had no sympathy like my mom would have, and he wanted a conversation between his french fry bites.  no thanks, dad.  that was sixteen years old when door slamming was popular.  it was my only option, slamming doors, locking doors, and ignoring the parentals, all because i was never allowed to quit anything.  point of story is this:  i quit my job.  no more maurices.  i cleaned out my closet, and i'd be more than happy to talk to my dad about the decision over not-long john silvers or any type of french fry.  he would be proud, i've become more sensible.  i call it simplification.  it's, like, my new sophistication.

we all come so far in our attempts to figure out who we are through our experiences with our very own temperaments, those unusual personal attitudes we have and our peculiarities that have us disinclined to submit to any kind of rule.  i'll be finishing this chapter later; i have a starbucks date.