I got a message yesterday, one that every mother dreads.
Yet, there the text was, flashing on my cell phone.
"I love my Irish lit class!!"
The hopes and dreams that my child might leave behind words and writing and low-paying English jobs, those hopes all fell away, like a balloon meeting a sharp pin.
I already knew she loved theater and reading, but she went away to college to study science.
"Remember how much you love doing those little genetic calculations," I'd remind her.
"Think about your internship at the zoo," I'd say. "Maybe you can work in the Camargue" (a wild part of France with bulls, horses and flamingoes).
So she went to college to study science, but this semester she is taking French, Irish lit, history and First-Year seminar. She got closed out of the science classes she wanted to take.
And the hand of fate, or the scheduling wizard, has thrown her to the breast of the literature gods we were trying to avoid. We, her parents, two journalists, hoping to send out children who love words but aren't reliant on them to make their fortune.
We knew it was a long shot, but Grace seemed the most likely to break free. Although she loves words, she is very practical.
Just this weekend, Spencer admitted that he isn't crazy about his Biology 2 class at high school. He had thought he'd study marine biology when he went to college. Both the boys love history, like their father.
I suppose there is no escaping the genetic love for words and stories that they received from both of us, but a parent can always dream.
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