09
Ethan stayed home from school for a week to
recover.
When he returned, his classmates looked at
him strangely.
I told him his teacher had used his story as a
cautionary tale during morning
announcements.
Ethan was mortified. Humiliated at school, he
faced even more punishment at home.
He became much quieter and started
studying.
When he started middle school, Uncle Mark
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even rented an apartment near the school to
supervise him.
Grandma bragged about Ethan’s excellent
grades.
Aunt Sarah, working at the noodle shop,
proudly told customers she was saving for
Ethan’s college tuition.
Mom ignored them. She and Dad lived
separate lives, but they never divorced.
Dad knew he couldn’t find anyone better than
Mom.
He sent money home every month, but he no
longer gave his entire paycheck to Mom.
Then came the year of my high school
entrance exams. I scored a 607.
Based on previous years‘ cut–off scores, I could get into the best high school in the
Join the bookshelf
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county.
Mom listened to the automated score report
on our old phone, tears silently streaming
down her face. She was never one for
expressing her emotions.
We celebrated, but the official acceptance
letter never arrived.
One day, a neighbor’s son, who attended the
high school, came home for vacation. Mom
asked him about the cut–off scores.
“607? That’s one point shy of the cut–off.
Didn’t the school call you? You can still get in
if you pay a five–thousand–dollar fee.‘
Mom didn’t have a cell phone. Our landline
was an old one Aunt Sarah had discarded.
Dad had a cheap cell phone, so the school
must have called him.
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But Dad hadn’t been home in three months.
Mom knew nothing about the fee.
The neighbor’s son urged Mom to pay
quickly; the spots might fill up. “Jenny’s such
a bright girl. Don’t let this opportunity slip
away! The deadline is the day after
tomorrow.”
Mom frantically called Dad. He answered
impatiently, “All you ever do is ask for money.
If she didn’t get in, she didn’t get in! One
point shy means she wasn’t meant to go!”
Mom didn’t argue. She gave him an
ultimatum: if I missed this chance, she’d
divorce him for sure.
Reluctantly, Dad agreed to meet her at the
school at 10 a.m. the day after tomorrow.
Mom sat on the bed, counting and recounting
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the money she’d saved from the household
expenses.
Twenty–something hundred–dollar bills. Along
with the money she made selling vegetables
and corn, she had less than three thousand
dollars.
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Jenny, I’m sorry. I can’t rent a place near the
school like your uncle did.”
I took her hand. “It’s okay, Mom. I’m growing
- up. I need to learn to be independent.”
