Stereotypes In My Life

When my dad was around my age, he wanted nothing more than freedom. My dad grew up on a farm in a small town. Once he was old enough to live on his own, my dad built himself a log cabin. My grandfather had offered to pay all of my dad’s bills, although my dad denied the offer. While I am sure that my dad regrets refusing my grandfather’s proposition, it shows the sense of autonomy that fostered my childhood. I was not raised like the typical American child. My parents raised me to question existing beliefs and stereotypes. While my friends were being brainwashed to believe that no always meant no, I was living a life of sovereignty. In my case, no always meant maybe and rules were meant to be questioned. I did not have a bedtime, I wore mix match clothes to school, I was allowed to roam freely on my bike, and I was allowed to leave the house without asking for permission. I never snuck out, but mostly because I didn’t have to. Contrary to any parenting magazine ever produced, I was not destined to be a complete failure in life. Whether the flip of a coin or the hand of fate, I turned out okay.
It was easy to fall between the cracks in my family. Growing up, I didn’t know anyone that pursued a career in an educational field. My dad was a carpenter and my mother a high school dropout. Most of my relatives had
For instance, in the spring of my Junior year, my older sister agreed to drive me to North Jersey for a college informational session. At the end of the session, the participating colleges hosted a separate question and answer session outside of the ballroom. The mother of the family sitting next to me got out of her seat and sprinted to the college admissions officer, while the student stayed in her seat scrolling through her phone. I looked to my right, only to find my sister dead asleep in her chair. It became very obvious to me that I was on my own in making college