¶ … blew dust off of the book sitting on top of the washing machine, into which I had just dumped a second load of laundry. This was only the first time my mother had entrusted me to take care of the family linens, after she taught me how to measure the detergent, set the buttons on the machine, and pray that nothing shrank. The hardcover book, which read something like Psychology and Modern Man was a relic of higher education. While the first grunts of the washing machine made their way to my ears, I thumbed through the worn out pages of the textbook. Not able to comprehend much of what I read, I brought the book to my dad. "Oh!" He exclaimed. "That's my old college psych textbook!"
Thus began my love affair with the subject. I thereafter gravitated toward psych classes in high school, when we were taught the rudiments of psychological theories like psychoanalysis and perception and cognition. When my junior year came around, my psych teacher kept me after class one day.
Where are you thinking of applying for college?" she asked.
A haven't really thought about it," I replied.
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