Rules #1, 2, 3
For years, my dad has implemented three rules:
1) We cannot have a TV.
2) In the winter, the house must be 60°F; in the summer, the AC cannot be turned on unless it’s 100°F, at which point my dad diagnoses the thermometer as broken.
3) I cannot get my driver’s license until I graduate college.
Rule #1: The hardest for young-me to accept. Already a friendless seven-year-old, being clueless to what happened on the latest episode of The Wild Thornberrys or Lizzie McGuire did not help. Characters in books became my best friends—people I physically waved goodbye to as I finished each book. Rule #1 instilled in me a love for others’ stories—why I love history, and why I love documenting others’ lives in a yearbook.
Rule #2: Every season, I construct new armor for combat. Some winters, I sport a self-constructed stuffed-animal-crown to keep warm, and other times, I trust my good ol’ electric heater to do the work.
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When it’s hot, I live on the floor; after all, warm air rises. Rule #2 has made me a fighter—why I strive to never give up.
Rule #3: Only recently relevant. Realistically, it means that every day after school, I ride home with a different friend. This habit fills my post-school life with a plethora of intellectually-stimulating and casual conversations. Rule #3 compels me to embrace every moment—why I love taking risks.
Thank you, dad—because of rules #1, 2, and 3, I am me.