the moment i reached my seat, i felt overave him that card!oh, no!i didn’t mean to let that out. noer, about my dad, about my life! i don’t remember anything about the rest of that class session. all i could think about that night, filled arrived and i reluctantly got ready for school. ot to the class, i an and dr. simon began giving back the thought cards. he put mine on the desk face doing out in the student union cafeteria talking men about the problems i had “because of my parents”. and they, too, shared the same sort of material ed anyone to take respossibility for himself. no, game etting a student-aid job, blame dad. i constantly complained about my folks and all the guys nodded sagely. these folks the tuition bunch of fools, question punctured that balloon. it got right to the heart of the issue: oing to the student union that day and ht home, strangely depressed, chastened. all evening i thought about it and about something my mother had said: “the millionaire calls himself a ‘self-made man,’ but if he gets arrested, he blames his abusive7 parents. ”
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