Standing Room Only

As soon as I took the photo, I knew it was the best one I had taken.  There was a great chance I could win the contest with this one single photograph.  I knew art and I knew photography was the only way I was going to get out of town.  Winning this competition would put me one step closer to an art scholarship.  

I had dreams of attending the Kansas City Art Institute, but would be highly dependent on what scholarships and grants I could find.  My parents had no interest in paying for an education that would send me nowhere but into “homelessness and obscurity”. I knew following in my parents’ footsteps would lead me down a path I never wanted.  

“Photography will not put a roof over your head or put food in your mouth,” my father told me repeatedly.  Often enough I dreamt about his lecture at least once a week.  I knew by his body language when he was about to launch into another speech about finding a ‘stable’ career.  His shoulders first hunched and then straightened while his busy eyebrows went straight into his hairline. I sighed every time he launched into lecture knowing exactly how he would start and how he would end. 

I was still on a high that night knowing there was a great chance of having taken ‘the photo’.  Only to have my dreams dashed as I walked in on my father talking the undeveloped film out in broad daylight.