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Satire
I Want to Be a Neurosurgeon, but My Parents Want Me to Do Improv
There’s no need to argue, parents just don’t understand
“Sweetie,” Mom began, her voice trembling like she was delivering a cancer diagnosis, “we’ve been thinking… medical school might not be the right path for you.”
Ugh, I knew this was coming. “What do you mean?”
My dad nodded along with her, “We just think you are too charismatic to be stuck in some lab learning about rare brain diseases and how to save lives. You need to show the world how talented you are!”
“You mean… like being a surgeon?” Now I’m confused.
“Oh God, no!” My mom said as she grabbed my hand and looked me straight in the eye with all the love in her heart. “We mean improv! Imagine how much joy you could spread if you were on stage, riffing, yes-anding, and playing zip zap zop!”
I knew this day would come.
They had been dropping hints for me to abandon my dream of attending Harvard Medical School on a full scholarship and eventually becoming a neurosurgeon. But they had a better idea: I should become an improviser and be subjected to a life of basement theaters and pasty white boys.
