My Parents Gave Me $10,000 to Pay for College — I Was Shocked to Find Out What They Wanted in Return
I am about to graduate high school and I have been applying to universities and going on tours. My parents decided to gift me $10,000 to cover college costs. I was excited about this gift until they told me what they wanted in return. I refused their terms and walked away but now they are calling me ungrateful.
Parents giving cash gift to daughter | Source: Getty Images
Growing up in a small state with big dreams, I always envisioned my future in New York pursuing my dreams. My vibrant brushstrokes, which had been a part of me almost all my life, kept my dream going.
My room was a kaleidoscope of colors, filled to the brim with paintings that spoke volumes of my journey through high school. I won art competitions and its perks were evident in the array of accolades adorning my walls.
A young woman painting | Source: Getty Images
But art wasn’t just about the trophies; it was about the stories behind each brushstroke, each piece holding a piece of my heart. Among these masterpieces, a subtle hint of my side gig lingered, paintings created with love, for lovers, whispering tales of romance and passion.
A room with framed artwork | Source: Getty Images
Painting was more than a hobby to me, it was my passion and my identity. My parents, on the other hand, saw it as a fleeting interest, something that would never sustain a ‘real’ career. They encouraged me to explore more ‘practical’ fields, but my heart was set on pursuing an art degree in New York, a city that pulsed with creativity and opportunity.
A woman painting her room | Source: Getty Images
One evening, amidst my college applications and tours, the dinner table conversation started off innocently enough. My parents had a surprise for me, a gesture so generous it left me speechless. “We’ve decided to give you $10,000 to help pay for college,” my mom announced, her smile as warm as the summer sun.
I was over the moon. “Thank you so much! This means I can apply to my dream art schools in New York!” I exclaimed, visions of bustling city streets and inspiring art galleries dancing in my head.
A happy daughter receiving cash gift from parents | Source: Getty Images
But the warmth quickly faded as my dad cleared his throat, signaling the onset of conditions I hadn’t anticipated. “There are two rules,” he said sternly. “First, you can’t leave the state for university. And second, you can only choose from the degrees we approve of — medicine or law. We don’t think an art degree is the right path for you.”
My heart sank. “But I’ve been painting my whole life. You know how much this means to me,” I countered, trying to keep my voice steady despite the turmoil inside.
A daughter sad at her parents terms | Source: Getty Images
“We’re doing this for your own good, Ruth. Stop being ungrateful. We just want you to have a secure future,” my mom chimed in, her voice softer but no less firm.
The argument that ensued was not just heated; it was a clash of dreams and practicalities, each word sharp with the tension of unmet expectations. “How can you call it help if it comes with strings that strangle my dreams?” I cried out, my voice cracking under the strain of emotion. My parents, steadfast in their stance, responded with equal fervor.
A mother repremanding daughter | Source: Getty Images
“Ruth, we’re not trying to strangle your dreams, that is an ungrateful thing to say. We’re trying to ensure you have a future that’s not dependent on whims,” my dad countered, his tone laced with frustration and concern.
“Art isn’t a whim! It’s who I am. Don’t you understand? By restricting me to medicine or law, you’re asking me to give up a part of myself,” I shot back, desperation creeping into my voice. Each word felt like a plea for them to see me, to really see the person I was and the dreams I harbored.
Very upset parents scolding their daughter | Source: Getty Images
My mom sighed, her usual composure faltering. “We’ve seen too many struggles in fields like art. We don’t want that life for you. Can’t you see we’re doing this out of love?”
“But love shouldn’t come with conditions that force me into a mold I don’t fit,” I argued, my heart aching with the need to be understood. “I appreciate the gift, I really do. But if it means sacrificing my passion, my dreams, then what’s it worth? Isn’t my happiness and fulfillment important too?”
Angry father with daughter | Source: Getty Images
The room fell silent, the air thick with unspoken words and unresolved emotions. I stood there, feeling more alienated than ever. It was clear that the gap between us wasn’t just about the money or even about my career choice; it was about recognition, about them not validating my identity and aspirations.
Unable to bear the weight of their expectations and the pain of feeling so fundamentally misunderstood, I stormed out, the sound of my departure echoing through the house.
A daughter leaving home | Source: Getty Images
The door slammed shut behind me, a symbolic closure to a conversation that left me feeling more lost and alone than before. The gift that was meant to pave my way to the future now felt like chains binding me to a path I couldn’t walk, a future I couldn’t accept.
In the weeks that followed, I sought refuge at my friend’s place, a sanctuary where I could escape the stifling atmosphere of my home. It was a time of reflection and, surprisingly, of understanding. I realized that my parents’ intentions, albeit misguided, came from a place of love. They wanted me close, and safe in a career they deemed secure.
A sad daughter | Source: Getty Images
But a fire still burned within me, a desire to follow my dreams. I started working on a presentation, pouring my heart into every slide. I gathered testimonials from successful artists, statistics on the demand for creative professionals, and a detailed budget plan to manage my expenses beyond the $10,000 gift. My aim was to show not just the viability of an art degree but the depth of my commitment to my passion.
A daughter thinking about her future | Source: Getty Images
With the presentation ready, I reached out to my parents, asking for a chance to discuss my future. They agreed, and on the day of the meeting, a mix of nerves and determination filled me. As I walked into the hotel lobby to meet my parents, a knot tightened in my stomach, and my palms grew clammy with nerves.
Nervous woman walking | Source: Getty Images
Despite my determination, fear gnawed at me, whispering doubts and uncertainties. The weight of the impending conversation pressed heavily upon me, each step forward feeling like a leap into the unknown. Yet, amidst the fear, a flicker of hope persisted, driving me forward with the belief that this meeting could change everything.
Nervous daughter presenting to parents | Source: Getty Images
“Mom, Dad, I understand your concerns, but I need you to see things from my perspective,” I began, as soon as we were done with the pleasantries. Clicking through slides that represented my dreams and plans. I spoke of compromise, of understanding, of a future where passion and pragmatism could coexist.
A woman presenting | Source: Getty Images
“Pursuing art is not just an urge; it’s my passion, my calling. I need the freedom to explore this path fully,” I said meeting my parents’ gaze with determination.
Acknowledging their worries, I continued, “I know you want what’s best for me, and I appreciate that. So, here’s what I’m proposing, regular check-ins and updates on my progress. You’ll see firsthand how committed I am to making this work. Please, trust me to follow my dreams.”
Parents listening to their daughter | Source: Getty Images
As I talked, I saw the change in their expressions, from skepticism to contemplation, and finally, to understanding. “We never realized how much this meant to you,” my dad admitted, his voice softer than I’d heard in weeks. “Your presentation… it’s clear you’ve thought this through.”
Happy parents with daughter | Source: Getty Images
My 6-Year-Old Granddaughter Came to Visit for the Holidays—Then Spilled the Beans About What Her Mom Says Behind My Back
Every grandmother loves spending quality time with their grandkids during the holidays. But when my six-year-old granddaughter started calling me names, I put a plan in motion that helped me discover that not everyone in your life will appreciate you.
Every holiday, I look forward to having Brittany, my six-year-old granddaughter, stay with me for the winter break. I was excited about our usual traditions: baking cookies, watching movies, and spoiling her with gifts. But last year changed everything.
Chocolate chip cookies baking on a pan on the stove counter at Christmas | Source: Midjourney
The week before her arrival, I transformed my house into a winter wonderland. Also, my kitchen counters disappeared under bags of flour, sugar, and chocolate chips for her favorite Christmas cookies. I really went all out to make it special for her.
Anyway, when I pulled up to my son, Todd, and his wife Rachel’s house to pick her up, Brittany burst through the front door with her PAW Patrol backpack bouncing behind her. Her pink winter coat was only half-zipped, and one of her boots was untied.
Little blonde girl running through the front yard holding a Paw Patrol backpack | Source: Midjourney
“Nanny!” she squealed, launching herself into my arms. Her hair smelled like strawberry shampoo, and she squeezed my neck so tight I could barely breathe. “Did you get the special hot chocolate? The one with the little marshmallows?”
“Of course, I did, sweetheart. And maybe some other surprises too.” I winked at her while fixing her coat and boot.
Rachel appeared in the doorway, phone in hand. “Her pajamas are in the front pocket,” she said without looking up. “And try not to give her too much sugar this time. Last visit, she was bouncing off the walls for days after.”
I gave Rachel a reassuring smile and ushered Brittany to my car.
Elegant woman in her 60s smiling in her front yard | Source: Midjourney
That first night, Brittany refused to sleep in the guest room. “Please, Nanny? I want to see the Christmas tree lights!” She looked up at me with those big brown eyes, clutching her favorite stuffed dog. “Chase wants to see them too!”
I wasn’t sure about a child sleeping in the living room, but I figured one time wouldn’t hurt. So, I helped her make a nest of blankets on the couch, right where she could see the tree.
While I cooked dinner, she sprawled out with her coloring books, humming along to the Christmas music playing softly in the background.
Little blonde girl coloring on a kitchen island | Source: Midjourney
“Hey, old lady,” she called out suddenly, giggling. “Can I have some juice?”
I nearly dropped the spatula. “What did you say, honey?”
“Old lady!” she repeated, giggling harder. “Can I have apple juice?”
I gave her the juice and brushed off her words… at first. I knew kids picked up all sorts of things at school.
But over the next few days, things got worse. The playful “old lady” turned into “wrinkly hag” and other names that made my stomach twist.
Elegant woman in her 60s looking worried in her living room | Source: Midjourney
These weren’t things children should say, but Brittany never said them maliciously. I think she thought they were just nicknames, but I had to find out for sure.
One afternoon, while Brittany was coloring again, I pulled up a chair beside her. “Brit, honey, where did you learn to call me ‘old lady’ and ‘ha-hag’?” I stuttered. “Was it at kindergarten? Did you hear the other kids say them to others?”
Without missing a beat, she shook her head. “That’s what Mom and Dad say about you all the time when you call!”
A little blonde girl coloring with an elegant woman in her 60s sitting beside her looking worried | Source: Midjourney
My heart stopped.
Todd and Rachel? My own son and daughter-in-law were speaking about me like this? To their six-year-old? That wasn’t fair, especially after everything I’d done for them over the years.
My late husband and I had helped them buy their home, and I’d later chipped in with their mortgage payments. Also, I’d often rearranged my schedule to watch Brittany when their babysitter canceled.
I’d even paid for their family vacation to Disney World last summer. My eyes watered, remembering Rachel’s tight smile when I handed her the check. “You really don’t have to do this,” she’d said, but she took it anyway.
Woman in her 30s with a tight face holding a check in her living room | Source: Midjourney
Had she been resenting my help all along?
That night, I came up with a plan, but I knew I had to wait until my granddaughter’s vacation was over
The next day, I gently explained to Brittany that calling me those names wasn’t nice, and to her credit, she stopped. We spent the rest of her winter break enjoying our usual activities.
We baked enough cookies to feed an army, watched every Christmas movie in my collection twice, and stayed up until 10 p.m. on New Year’s Eve drinking hot chocolate with extra marshmallows.
A woman in her 60s sitting on a couch with her little granddaughter watching movies | Source: Midjourney
A few days after New Year’s, it was time to take Brittany back to Todd’s. While she was in the bathroom, I hesitated, then slipped a small voice recorder into her PAW Patrol backpack.
When I dropped her off, Rachel barely looked up from her phone. That was fine with me; I wasn’t sure I could hide my feelings.
I focused on my girl instead, hugging her extra tightly. “Love you, sweetheart,” I whispered.
“Love you too, Nanny,” she replied, skipping inside with her backpack.
Blonde little girl running to the front door of a house | Source: Midjourney
I went home and waited. I knew the recorder wouldn’t last more than a day, but I didn’t want to seem overeager. I waited almost two weeks before I finally called Rachel.
My hands shook as I dialed. “I was thinking Brittany might like to spend the weekend,” I said, keeping my voice light. “It’s been so quiet without her.”
“Oh, sure,” Rachel replied with a sigh. “That would be… helpful. We were thinking of having some people over anyway.”
Woman in her 30s holding a phone and looking inconvenienced | Source: Midjourney
That Friday, when Brittany arrived, I waited until she was engrossed in her new PAW Patrol episode before retrieving the recorder from her backpack. My fingers trembled as I plugged it into my computer.
At first, there was mostly crackling or incomprehensible noise. But then Rachel’s voice came through loud and clear, and soon, Todd joined the conversation.
They talked about nothing important for what felt like an eternity. And then, I heard it.
“She’s so exhausting,” Rachel said. “Always calling, always trying to help. Like we can’t raise our own child? Did you see how many toys she bought this time? She’s trying to buy Brittany’s love.”
Woman in her 60s walking through the mall holding bags of toys | Source: Midjourney
“I know, but she’s my mom,” Todd said weakly. “She means well.”
“Well, I’m sick of it,” Rachel added. “I bet she has Easter already planned for us and this summer’s vacation. I thought telling Brittany to call her names would get her to back off, but I bet she’ll be calling to babysit soon.”
“I’m tired of her meddling too,” my son chimed in. “Maybe, we should start putting some boundaries. Let’s plan something for this summer for ourselves.”
A blonde man in his 30s looking worried while talking to a woman at the kitchen table | Source: Midjourney
That was more than enough. I slammed the laptop shut and breathed intently through my nose.
I had all the confirmation I needed. They had intentionally set up my granddaughter to call me names. They also thought I was too intrusive in their lives.
Fine. If they wanted boundaries, I’d give them boundaries. They wanted me to mind my own business? I’d do just that.
That Sunday, I invited them for dinner. I made Todd’s favorite lasagna and even bought Rachel’s preferred wine. Brittany ate too much and fell asleep on the couch afterward. I thought that was a good time to face my son and daughter-in-law.
Little blonde girl sleeping on a couch | Source: Midjourney
“I have something you need to hear,” I said, setting my laptop on the dining table and pressing play.
Their faces went pale as their own voices filled the room. Rachel’s wine glass froze halfway to her mouth.
“Mom, I can explain,” Todd stammered but wouldn’t meet my gaze.
I held up my hand. “No excuses,” I said. “I’ve spent years supporting you both, loving you, being there whenever you needed me. And this is what you do? Teach my granddaughter to disrespect me?”
Elegant woman in her 60s sitting on a kitchen table with one hand up looking serious and upset | Source: Midjourney
I pulled out a bag of new toys I’d bought for Brittany. “These are for her. Because no matter what you think of me, I will always love that little girl. But things need to change. If you don’t appreciate my help or generosity, then I’m done.”
Rachel sat there, mouth opening and closing like a fish. Todd slumped in his chair, looking like the little boy who used to crawl into my bed during thunderstorms.
A man and woman in their 30s looking surprised and sad sitting at the kitchen table | Source: Midjourney
“These are the boundaries you wanted: no more financial help and no more babysitting unless I want to,” I sighed, crossing my arms. They still couldn’t say a word, and honestly, I didn’t want to hear anything from them. “I think it’s time you take Brittany home. Don’t call me unless it’s an emergency.”
Slowly, they stood and left quietly, carrying their sleeping daughter and the bag of toys. I locked the door behind them and sank onto my couch, exhausted but somehow lighter.
Elegant woman in her 60s sitting on a couch looking relaxed but pensive | Source: Midjourney
A while later, I made myself a cup of tea and turned on my favorite show. The house felt too quiet without Brittany’s giggles and running footsteps.
Sometimes standing up for yourself hurts, but it’s better than letting people walk all over you. I just hoped that one day, my family would understand that my love didn’t mean they could take me for granted, or that they could teach my precious granddaughter to hurt me.
Elegant woman in her 60s sitting on a couch drinking tea looking relaxed but pensive | Source: Midjourney
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