I was currently watching my parents laughing at me as I had relayed for what felt like the fifteenth time why I had decided to quit. I watched them, incredulous at their reaction. I thought they would go mad and start shouting at me but I guess not. The cold had gotten to them. Their brains had finally frozen.
"Have you started applying?" My dad asked yawning.
"I quit yesterday Sir!"
Could I breathe at the very least?
"You've had almost 24 hour rest. It's time to start looking for another job."
I sighed watching them as they watched me. This had now turned serious. My parents didn't have fancy jobs. My dad was a security guard and my mum was a dinner lady at the local primary school. They weren't some fancy professors. They didn't have a big pot of money sitting somewhere for my siblings and I when we turned a certain age. What they did have, was a work ethic. My father was South-African and my mother, Ghanaian. They had met in London as they both hustled in a bid to get a better life. Their varied experiences of colonisation meant that they were determined to make their children excellent in every way possible. They weren't strict parents but what they wanted was commitment. We had to be committed to something and it was either work or school. My brothers knew better than to mess around and bring home a pregnant girlfriend or one night stand and I knew better than to get pregnant. They'd built something out of nothing but I still remember days when we didn't have stuff. When people were watching Disney channel on Sky we were still watching CBBC. We would be in the homes of our family and friends using MSN back when it was a thing. We would be sporting Diadora when our friends would be in Nike/Adidas. For several years, Sports Direct was our home, pride and joy. The only realm they would spend their money on was in education. We had every book, every exam paper, tutors for almost every subject. For them, the only way out of poverty was education. I loved my parents because they didn't force university on me. In an ironic way, their emphasis on education being the only way out of poverty was the reason I started working at such an early age. I wasn't stingy but I was a stickler for saving. I had been saying money since I was 13. I'd been working for as long as I could remember. I started charging my white neighbours to babysit their children and took it from there.
"I think I want an office job now. Maybe I can look for an Apprenticeship or something."
"Or maybe you can go and get your degree while you can. You are very smart Avela. I know you would be very competent in the social sciences your particular love for sociology could really make you a credit to any higher education institution you choose to attend." My dad read a lot. In another life he would have been a lawyer or a politician. My mum nodded in approval.
"I'll think about it." I replied to avoid any lecture that may have been around the corner.
"Where are your children?" I asked them.
My mum shook her head.
"And are you adopted?"
"Who knows." I replied stretching. I saw the look on my mums face and quickly added "Just joking" before she started. Like the dramatic parent she was, it really upset her when I referred to my brothers and her sons rather than my siblings. A few months ago she had cried out of frustration. So dramatic.
"They went bowling with their friends while you were sleeping- for the whole day."
My dad was so shady. I had slept late watching films all night and into the morning. My brothers were also very rude for not attempting to wake me up to join them.
"O yeah, I'm going back with them on Thursday. It's Alisha's birthday. She's throwing a house well a party in her uni halls so I'll be gone the whole weekend and maybe a few weeks depending on how things go."
