i've been drawing ever since i was little and have really been pushing my future towards being an illustrator or journalist, as drawing and writing are really the main subjects i excel in. i've never been that good at math; i like science, but the arts have just always been my passion. my dad wants me to become a doctor. he hates the fact that i'm 'wasting my time' with something which, in his eyes, seems pointless and is not meaningful. he believes in occupations with structure, meaning they have income. i understand where he's coming from; he's a cancer survivor and owes his life to the medical field. i have a sister from my father's side who's a doctor, not to mention a horrible human being (she's done everything possible to ruin my father's marriage with my mother, who she's openly expressed she despises). and yet my father manages to still praise and keep her in his favor all because she is a doctor. he cares about money. and believe me, he blows the weight of her wallet way out of proportion. but its not what i want. i don't care how big my paycheck is. i'm not a doctor. i don't want to be a doctor. i've won countless awards and praise for my art since elementary school--and i'm not bragging, its just a fact. my mother and grandmother, both of whom admire literature and art equally, always remind me not to take any note of what my father may or may not want; they say it would be a horrible thing to waste such talents. i take their advice, but in vain. how can i ever manage to express my feelings for art in any way that would make my dad truly understand? i've argued, i've cried, i've told him countless times that i do not, cannot be a doctor. i wasn't made for it. i'm only 15, so his excuse is “well, you're still a kid. you'll think differently when you're older.” all of the money my grandmother sends to fund the art classes he puts into the bank. “you really want to just sit and draw pictures all day?” he tells me. “you know when you'll make money as an artist? when you die. if piccasso were alive he'd be rich!” and he laughs. i laugh too, because i love my dad-- he's not a bad guy. i'm still going to go on with my art, and i'm thinking of majoring in journalism. i just wish my dad could accept the fact that i'm an artist; a literate. not a doctor.