#17 CHAPTER 17 My dad looked over the papers in the manila folder for forty-five seconds, sat back, moved his glasses from his nose to up on top of his forehead, and said his most favorite word in the English language. You guessed it. NO. “No what?” I said. “I didn’t even ask anything.” “No on everything,” my dad said. “All of it.” “Just like that? Without an example? My teacher always says you have to give examples to support your arguments.” “All righty, then,” my dad said. “No, because this Performing Arts whatever it is, is not a normal school with a normal education that you can use for the rest of your life. And no because performing is too hard, nobody makes a living at it. And no, because it’s not what we Zipzers do. We don’t perform like circus cats. We work for a living . . . a concept you will become well acquainted with as you get older.” My dad sat back in his chair, satisfied with his explanation. “But, Dad,” I said, “that’s only three measly examples.”
