“Look, Daddy. I don’t want to fight. I was just hoping you’d come. Most of the parents are coming.”
“Probably want to see where their tuition money went.”
“You were the one who said I could go.”
“I said you could, not that you should. Art school? What job exactly does this prepare you for?”
“There are lots of successful artists, Dad.”
“Way more unsuccessful ones. You know what your degree qualifies you to do? To come back and live at home. Forever.”
“You’ve made your feelings clear, Father. Fine. Don’t come. I doubt you would understand my piece anyway.”
