Two words: her parents.
If you are not going to be an engineer then I’m not going to pay your school fees. Who is that girl? What are you doing with her? Is that what I sent you here for? You’ll see who will pay your rent, idiot!
My father has had perhaps the best and worst influence on me. I think I’m the asshole I am today because of him. I hated my childhood and I was clinically depressed for most of secondary school. I remember being skinny as hell and he still called me a fatty. He was about 300 lbs and he called me a fatty. He was probably first person I heard curse, I guess that’s where I get my potty mouth from.
You fucking fat ass
I remember how much I always wanted to please him and how I stayed on campus for my freshman spring break. I was the only person in my 60 person dorm and I didn’t own a TV. Sometimes I think back and wonder why i didn’t go to South Padre that year. The motherfucker was in Nigeria, how on earth would he have known?
Ironically, he cut ties with me because I spent thanksgiving with my aunt and he didn’t know. Yeah, you read that right. Sometimes I ask myself if i begged to be born. Like I came from wherever the fuck I was and I was like, “motherfucker, I need to come out now.” R-I-D-U-N-C-U-L-O-U-S!!!
I have a love/hate relationship with my parents: I hate my dad and I love my mum. Yes, that is my definition of love/hate. My kids will probably think I’m the best dad EVAR. It’ll be like:
Kids: Dad, can we go out tonight?
Me: Yea, just don’t bring a fatty in my house. If you want to fuck a fatty, do that in an alley and make sure nobody sees you.
Kids: Dad, can we talk to you about drugs?
Me: Yea, sure. Don’t do crack, heroin, speed, acid or salvia or else I’ll disown you. You can try weed but not until you are 18.
Kids: Dad, we think we’ve found a career path
Me: What is it?
Kids: Basket weaving
Me: What the fuck? Are fucking with me? You better be a fucking engineer or I’ll kick your ass. I want none of that liberal arts hippie bullshit.
It’s a vicious cycle.