I remember the day like it was etched in my mind by a sculptor with his chisel. I was seventeen and in no way, shape, or form did I want to be attending Clayton High School any more. The thought was as appalling to me as eating brussel sprouts or liver. Why do I need to go though a bunch of motions to prove that I am worthy of a higher education? I believed that I already knew everything that one of the best public schools in America had to offer. There was no point in wasting time hindering my growth as a writer, a philosopher, a creator of new ideas with immaturities, cliches, and most of all Mathematics.
             As I waited in a very drab office for my parents to arrive, my guidance consulor reminded me of my attendance. I had missed a wonderful 35 days in the last quarter in all of my classes, and I planned to do it again. Let me tell you, these weren't your common junior level classes. These classes were Honors English, Advanced Algebra/Trig., and College Credit Speech. Most of them were only offered senior year. Prior to my vacation, as you can see, I was very studious. Why the dramatic change? Well, I found the marvelous world of partying, drinking, and girls. In my counselors eyes I was "the student that fell off the train", and there was no time to catch up.
             I could hear the clock ticking like it was inside my chest. Tick-Tock, Tick-Tock. Today was the day that I was going to tell my parent that I was dropping out of school to pursue other interest. I knew that they wouldn't handle this well. That is why I had my guidance counselor's support, to soften the blow. All of a sudden I hear a very demanding knock on the door. This could only mean one thing. It's my father! The time had finally come. My counselor opens the door. They exchange pleasantries, and my father and mother proceed to sit down on either side of me. From this po
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