Paper Topic:

epiphany narative

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Skeletons in the Closet

I enjoyed a relatively privileged childhood . My family wasn 't rich and we didn 't live in a fancy house , and there weren 't two cars in our garage - that 's not what I 'm talking about . The kind of privilege I mean has to do with the degree to which my parent 's lives revolved around me : I was their star . I don 't recall a single time during my youth that

my parents weren 't at whatever extracurricular event happened to be going on in my world , nor do I remember a school trip that didn 't include one of my folks as a chaperone . Mine were the parents all the other kids wished they 'd had : they were cool , and that made me proud One year , at my birthday party , each of the kids who came left with a present : a caricature drawn by my father . It was something he 'd been doing since high school , and he was pretty good at it . Not only was I the star in my own world , but with each of those drawings my dad passed out , I grew in stature among my friends , and the feeling wasn 't half bad

I need to make one thing clear : I was not spoiled . I don 't deny that I was well cared for

and that I had my share of toys and opportunities , but my parents were strict , and this was a fact

about which only a few of my closest friends was aware . I was the kid who did chores but

received no allowance : it was my contribution to the family ' I was the kid whose parents

didn 't allow junk food in the house (e .g . soda , white bread , and chocolate . My weekend

freedom came only after I 'd completed all of my homework and helped out around the house

So there were times that the degree to which my friends loved my parents pissed me off . When

those who didn 't know the truth about how strict my folks were commented to me about how

easy I had it , my parents ' level of cool began to feel like a lead weight around my neck

During high school , I began pursuing my father 's dream with a slight alteration : I started cartooning , but where my father wanted to be a famous painter whose work hung in the Louver , I envisioned myself as an artist whose images would grace the pages of comic books . I ran into an immediate problem : no one recognized my work as my own . My father 's influence seemed to take center stage . Frustrated , I grew a large chip on my shoulder and a well-developed I 'll-show-them-who-can-draw mentality . I also began to resent my father 's cavalier attitude about his artistic talent

My resentment culminated one Father 's Day when I killed a family ritual . At some point in my...

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